Steven’s POV
By the time we reached the top of the hill, the sun had dropped low enough to turn the sky gold near the horizon and lavender at the edges.
The trees stood in dark shapes against the light. The lake beyond them caught the sunset in long blue-orange streaks, still and shining like the world was holding its breath.
Then Aqua saw the picnic.
She stopped.
Completely.
The blanket had been spread near the old tree where the branches reached out over the grass. Soft pillows rested along one side, arranged neatly. Tideglass lanterns had been placed around the blanket, each one glowing blue-white from the stone sealed inside it.
The light did not flicker like flame.
It pulsed softly, almost like water catching moonlight beneath the surface.
Fairy lights hung from the lower branches above the picnic spot, tiny points of soft light woven through the leaves. Not too bright. Not too much. Just enough to make the tree look like it had borrowed stars before night fully arrived.
In the middle of the picnic blanket sat a little glass vase filled with blue moon flowers.
The petals had begun to bloom wider in the dimming light, soft blue glow spilling from them like they recognized the hour. They were the same kind Aqua kept on the windowsill at home. Seeing them there, between the tea and sweets, made the hilltop feel less like a staged place and more like a piece of our life had been carried carefully into the sunset.
A low tray held pastries, fruit, little sandwiches, and a small plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.
No candles.
Dylan had won.
I hated that he had been right.
Aqua’s hand tightened around mine.
“Steven,” she whispered.
That one word nearly finished me.
I set the basket down because my hand had started to sweat around the handle.
“Is it too much?”
She turned toward me slowly.
Her eyes were bright.
“Did you do all this?”
“With help from my new friend.”
The words came out before I could make them sound casual.
Aqua’s face softened in a way that made my chest ache.
“Your new friend.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re proud of me.”
“I am proud of you.”
I looked away.
“That’s worse.”
She laughed softly, then looked back at the blanket, lanterns, flowers, and fairy lights.
“I cannot believe you both did all this for me.”
“For us,” I said.
The words slipped out.
Too big.
Too close.
Aqua looked at me.
I looked at the flowers.
“For the one-month thing,” I added quickly. “The anniversary. Celebration. Picnic. All of that.”
Her mouth curved.
“Do humans usually go this far for one-month anniversaries?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“Yes.”
“Steven.”
“It depends on the human.”
“And are you that human?”
My face warmed.
“Tonight, apparently.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
Not teasing this time.
Soft.
“I like this human.”
I forgot how to answer.
Aqua stepped onto the blanket carefully and knelt near the flowers. The tideglass lanterns lit her face from the side, and the blue moon flowers answered with their own glow. She reached out and touched one petal with the tip of her finger.
“They are like the ones at home,” she said.
“That was the idea.”
Her gaze lifted.
My throat tightened.
“I wanted it to feel like us,” I said, quieter. “Not just… fancy.”
Aqua looked at the vase again.
“It does.”
That was all she said.
It was enough.
I sat beside her on the blanket, close but not too close, because if I sat too close I was going to forget the order of things. Aqua smoothed her dress around her knees and looked over the tray with open curiosity.
Her eyes stopped on the strawberries.
“What are those?”
I picked one up carefully.
The strawberry was dipped halfway in chocolate, dark and glossy, with a thin drizzle of white over the top.
“Chocolate-covered strawberry.”
Aqua tilted her head.
“Humans cover fruit in chocolate?”
“When we want fruit to feel fancy.”
She blinked.
Then laughed.
I held it out.
“Try it.”
“For me?”
“Yeah.”
Her fingers brushed mine as she took it. She studied the strawberry for a second like it might reveal some hidden human secret, then took a small bite.
Her eyes widened.
I stopped breathing.
“Well?”
She covered her mouth politely while she finished chewing, but her expression had already answered.
“It is sweet,” she said. “But the fruit is still bright underneath.”
“Good bright?”
“Very good bright.”
Relief hit me so fast I almost laughed.
She took another bite, slower this time, and her eyes drifted closed for half a second.
That half second ruined me.
Not in the dangerous way.
In the way where everything inside me went quiet except one thought.
This.
This was what I wanted.
Not only her in battle with lake water rising around her.
Not only her standing against Atlantis, chin lifted, voice clear.
This too.
Aqua on a blanket under lantern light, discovering chocolate-covered strawberries like the world still had gentle surprises left to give her.
Aqua smiling because of something I brought her.
Aqua safe enough to be curious.
Happy enough to tease.
Free enough to choose what she wanted next.
My hand went to my pocket.
The ring box waited.
She opened her eyes and caught me staring.
“Steven?”
I pulled my hand away from my pocket.
“Yeah?”
“You are doing it again.”
“What?”
“Looking like you have swallowed a secret.”
My heart hit my ribs.
“I haven’t swallowed anything.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know.”
The humor in her face softened into concern.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.” The answer came fast, but this time it was true. “No, nothing’s wrong.”
She set the rest of the strawberry down on the little plate.
I hated that I had interrupted her happiness.
Then I realized I was not interrupting it.
I was trying to add to it.
If I did this right.
If I did this honestly.
I took a breath.
“Aqua, there’s something else I wanted to talk about.”
Her posture changed slightly.
Not afraid.
Listening.
“About us,” I added.
Her eyes stayed on mine.
“All right.”
I looked down at my hands.
No sparks.
No fire.
Only the faint tremble in my fingers.
“I keep trying to think of the right way to say this,” I said. “And every version sounds either too dramatic or not enough.”
Aqua’s mouth softened.
“You may say it badly.”
I let out a shaky laugh.
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“That might be the only way I can say it.”
“Then I will listen badly.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
I looked at her, and somehow that helped.
Aqua did that.
She made impossible things feel like they could be approached one small, clumsy step at a time.
“When I met you,” I said, “I didn’t know what my life was supposed to be.”
Her expression shifted.
Quiet.
Focused.
“I mean, I thought I did. I thought I was just trying to get through things. Help my mom. Stay out of my father’s way when he came back. Take care of Fang. Go to school. Pretend I wasn’t angry all the time. Pretend I wasn’t scared.”
The words scraped a little on the way out.
Aqua’s eyes softened, but she did not interrupt.
“Then you came out of the ocean,” I said.
My mouth twitched despite my nerves.
“That sounds insane when I say it like that.”
“It was rather dramatic.”
“You were dramatic.”
“I was lost.”
“You were beautifully lost.”
Her cheeks colored faintly.
That almost made me lose the rest of the speech.
I forced myself to keep going.
“My life got stranger after you. More dangerous. More complicated. I found out about things I didn’t know existed. Families. Powers. Crowns. Atlantis. Old promises. Bloodlines.”
My fingers curled against my knee.
“But it also got…” I stopped.
Aqua waited.
“Bigger,” I said finally. “Not in the scary way. Well, sometimes in the scary way. But not only that.”
The lanterns glowed around us.
The sun sank lower.
The blue moon flowers opened wider in the glass vase.
“I started wanting things,” I said. “Not just surviving things. Wanting them. Tea in the kitchen. You laughing at me. Fang pretending he isn’t listening. Walking through Worthington with you. Training, even when Dylan makes me regret having bones.”
Aqua laughed softly.
The sound loosened something in me.
“I want boring days with you,” I said. “And strange ones. And whatever this is, this life we’re making here. I know it’s not simple. I know Atlantis isn’t gone just because Orion left. I know I’m still figuring out who I am and what this power means and how to not mess everything up.”
My throat tightened.
“But I don’t want to wait until I’m perfect to tell you what I want.”
Her breath caught.
My hand went to my pocket again.
“I’m scared,” I admitted. “But this isn’t because I’m scared.”
Aqua’s brows drew together.
“I don’t want to claim you,” I said, the words rougher now. “I don’t want to own your future. I don’t want to make love feel like another duty someone placed on you.”
Her eyes shone in the lantern light.
“I just want to be part of your future,” I said. “If you want me there.”
Aqua stared at me, still as the first moment I saw her under moonlight.
Then she whispered, “Steven, what are you trying to say?”
My heart slammed once.
Hard.
This was it.
The day.
The moment.
The question.
I shifted onto one knee.
Aqua went still.
The blanket caught slightly under my shoe, and for one terrifying second I thought I was about to fall directly into the tray of snacks.
I caught myself with one hand.
The strawberries trembled on their plate.
Aqua’s lips pressed together.
“Don’t laugh,” I said.
Her shoulders shook once.
“I am not laughing.”
“You are absolutely laughing.”
“I am trying not to.”
“This is important.”
“I know.” Her eyes were bright now. “That is why I am trying.”
A laugh broke out of me, nervous and breathless.
Hers followed, soft and warm, and somehow that made the moment better.
Less perfect.
More ours.
I pulled the blue velvet box from my pocket.
Aqua’s laughter faded.
Her eyes dropped to it.
The hilltop went quiet around us.
I opened the box.
The aquamarine caught the lantern light and flashed pale blue, almost silver at the edges.
Aqua’s lips parted.
“Aqua Waters,” I said.
My voice cracked.
I swallowed and tried again, because if there was ever a moment to at least attempt dignity, it was this one.
“Aqua Waters, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
For a heartbeat, she did not move.
She stared at the ring.
Then at me.
Then at the ring again.
The sunset slipped lower behind the trees, and the fairy lights above us glowed brighter as the sky darkened.
Aqua’s eyes lifted slowly.
“Is this…” Her voice came out soft. Stunned. “Are you proposing to me?”
My hand tightened around the box.
“Yeah.”
Her eyes widened.
“I mean, yes,” I said quickly. “Yes, I’m proposing to you.”
---
Aqua’s POV
Steven was proposing to me.
The thought did not fit inside my mind at first.
It arrived like a wave too large for the shore, breaking over every careful thing I thought I understood about the evening.
The sunset.
The hilltop.
The tideglass lanterns.
The fairy lights trembling in the branches.
The little glass vase of blue moon flowers blooming in the center of the blanket.
The chocolate-covered strawberry still sweet on my tongue.
Steven on one knee in front of me, holding a blue velvet box with both hands as if it contained something fragile enough to break if he breathed wrong.
Not announcing.
Not informing.
Not placing a duty into my hands and calling it honor.
Asking.
My heart beat once, hard enough to hurt.
In Atlantis, futures had weight before they had voices.
Mine had been shaped in rooms where I was expected to stand still and listen beautifully. Marriage was a promise spoken around me before I fully understood how small a person could become inside a palace. Duty wore silk. Expectations wore pearls. People smiled while discussing my life as if I were a treaty waiting to be signed.
Orion had not been cruel.
That had made it harder.
He had been honorable. Loyal. Trained to believe the path beneath our feet had been laid by people wiser than us. He had looked at me and seen a future he had been taught to protect.
Steven looked at me now and saw a choice.
His hand shook.
The ring trembled slightly in the box.
The aquamarine caught the lantern glow in pale blue flashes, shaped like a tear of water held by silver. The band curved around it gently, not swallowing the stone. Not trapping it.
Holding it.
My throat tightened.
The ring was perfect.
“Steven,” I whispered.
His face went pale.
“Is it bad?”
“No.”
“Too much?”
“No.”
“Too fast?”
I looked at him.
The question in his eyes was not only about time.
It was about me.
My answer.
My comfort.
Whether he had made the space wide enough for me to step back if I needed to.
My chest ached.
I wanted to answer him immediately.
Yes.
The word was already there, pressed against my ribs, warm and certain.
But human proposals had steps. I knew that much. There was kneeling. A ring. A question. Then something with the hand.
Or perhaps the ring came after the answer.
Or during.
Or perhaps I was already doing it wrong.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
For a second, Steven only blinked.
Then his face changed.
Not laughing at me.
Softening.
“If you want to say yes,” he said carefully, “you give me your hand. Your left hand. Then I put the ring on.”
My left hand.
For a breath, I only looked down at it.
Then the last few days rearranged themselves in my mind.
Steven watching my fingers at the kitchen table.
Steven brushing his thumb over my knuckles in bed.
Steven staring, then looking away too quickly, as if my hand had caught him keeping a secret.
He had not only been looking at my hand.
He had been imagining this.
The ring.
The question.
How it might look if I said yes.
My throat tightened as I lifted my left hand toward him.
And somehow, he had known.
The aquamarine, the silver, the soft curve of the band.
He had known what would feel beautiful to me.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Steven went completely still.
“Yes?” he asked.
The word was so fragile in his mouth that my heart nearly broke.
My smile came then.
Bright.
Shaking.
Mine.
“Yes, Steven.” My voice trembled, but the answer did not. “I will marry you.”
For one breath, he did not move.
He stared at me like I had spoken in a language he understood but had never expected to hear.
Then his eyes shone.
“Oh,” he breathed.
I laughed softly.
“Is this the part where you put the ring on?”
He startled.
“Right. Yes. That part.”
He took the ring from the box.
His fingers shook so badly that I reached out with my other hand and steadied him. His skin was warm beneath my touch. Too warm, almost, but not burning. His pulse raced beneath my fingers, alive with nerves and joy and something deeper that answered my closeness.
“Steven,” I said softly.
“I know.” He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I know. I’m fine.”
“You are shaking.”
“I’m aware.”
“It is sweet.”
“It is embarrassing.”
“It can be both.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
For a moment, all I could see was him.
Not the Salvatore power.
Not the Crown he would one day have to carry.
Not the fear that still sometimes flickered through him when the hunger inside him woke too quickly.
Steven.
Nervous, honest, shaking in front of me with a ring he had chosen because he knew the color of my eyes, my flowers, my name, the water I came from, and the life I wanted beyond it.
This messy, trembling moment did not ruin anything.
It made it real.
He slid the ring onto my finger.
The band warmed faintly as the Arcanum charm woke. A soft shimmer of green-white light curled over the silver, adjusting the ring until it fit as if it had always known the shape of my hand.
The aquamarine settled against my finger.
Pale blue.
Clear.
Beautiful.
For several seconds, I forgot to breathe.
“It looks like water,” I whispered.
Steven swallowed.
“I wanted it to look like you.”
My eyes lifted.
His face turned red immediately.
“That sounded less strange in my head.”
“No.” I touched the stone with my thumb. “It did not sound strange.”
The ring caught the glow from the tideglass lanterns and the last of the sunset at once. Blue light slipped through the aquamarine and scattered faintly over my skin.
A tear slid down my cheek before I noticed it.
Steven panicked instantly.
“Aqua?”
I laughed and wiped it away too quickly.
“Good crying.”
His shoulders dropped with relief.
“Right. Good crying. I knew that.”
“You did not.”
“I was getting there.”
I looked at the ring again.
Then at him.
He was still on one knee.
Still watching me like he was afraid joy might disappear if he blinked too long.
Something fluttered in my chest.
Human proposals really did have many steps.
I searched his face.
“Is there another part?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“After the ring.” My cheeks warmed. “Is there something else I am supposed to do?”
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
Then lifted too quickly.
His entire face flushed.
“This is usually the part where you kiss me.”
My smile softened.
“Then you should have said so.”
I leaned down.
He rose just enough to meet me.
Our lips touched beneath the fairy lights.
The hilltop went warm.
Not with flame.
With Steven.
With the careful heat of him, the tremble of his hands as they found my waist, the way his breath caught when my fingers touched his cheek. His mouth was soft and unsteady against mine at first, as if he still feared he might do the wrong thing even after I had said yes.
So I kissed him again.
Deeper.
Clearer.
His hands tightened slightly at my waist.
The ring brushed his cheek when I touched his face, and he made a small sound against my mouth that sent warmth through me all the way to my fingertips.
I smiled into the kiss.
He pulled back just enough to look at me.
“What?” he whispered.
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing smile.”
“I am engaged.”
His eyes widened.
The word hit him.
I watched it land.
Engaged.
Steven stared at me, then at my hand, then back at me.
A laugh escaped him, breathless and almost disbelieving.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “You are.”
“To you.”
His expression broke open.
Not dramatically.
Steven rarely knew what to do with happiness when it came too quickly. It moved over him in pieces. His mouth parted. His eyes shone. His shoulders lowered like some invisible weight had slipped off him without warning.
“To me,” he said.
I touched his cheek again.
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes for half a breath and leaned into my palm.
When he opened them, I saw the boy from the beach, the one who had looked at me like the sea had handed him a miracle and a problem at the same time.
Now he looked at me like the miracle had chosen to stay.
For so long, my life had been written around me.
By Atlantis.
By duty.
By bloodlines, expectations, and promises I had not chosen.
But this chapter was different.
Steven had asked.
I had answered.
Willingly.
Happily.
And as the aquamarine glowed softly on my finger, I felt something settle inside me that was quieter than excitement and deeper than relief.
Peace.
For once, the next chapter of my life belonged to me.
---
Steven’s POV
Aqua said yes.
She said yes, and the ring was on her finger, and I still could not make my mind hold all of that at once.
Engaged.
Aqua was engaged.
To me.
The word moved through me in slow waves, impossible and real, until I had to look at her hand again just to make sure the ring had not vanished.
It was still there.
The aquamarine caught the tideglass glow every time she moved, a small blue tear of light resting against her skin.
Mine.
No.
Not mine like something taken.
Mine because she had chosen to place her hand in mine.
Mine because she had said yes.
And I was hers because I had never wanted anything more.
I shifted to sit beside her on the blanket.
Or tried to.
My knee hit the edge of the tray, and the chocolate-covered strawberries trembled.
Aqua caught my arm before I could destroy them.
I froze.
She looked at me.
I looked at the strawberries.
Then back at her.
“I meant to do that.”
“No, you did not.”
“I was testing your reflexes.”
“My reflexes are excellent.”
“I know.” I glanced at the ring again. “That’s why I picked you.”
Her laugh slipped out, soft and bright, and I felt it in my chest like warmth.
We moved the tray farther away before I could cause a second incident.
Aqua settled back on the blanket, still smiling. The fairy lights above her glowed through the leaves. The tideglass lanterns pulsed blue-white around us, answering her Currena magic in quiet little waves. Her hair spilled over one shoulder, pale and blue-streaked, and the ring flashed when she tucked a strand behind her ear.
I could not stop looking at her.
Aqua noticed.
She always noticed.
“What?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“I just…” My voice failed.
Her expression softened.
“You just?”
I leaned closer and kissed her again because words were not enough anymore.
Aqua made a tiny sound of surprise, then melted into me so quickly that my whole body forgot the cold edge of fear. Her hands touched my face. Mine found her waist. The kiss was slow at first, careful and full of all the things I had been too scared to say without stumbling.
Then her fingers slid into my hair.
And slow became harder to hold.
Her love was everywhere.
Not something I could see with my eyes.
Something I felt.
Warm.
Bright.
Terrifyingly open.
It wrapped around me with every kiss, every breath of my name, every brush of her ring against my skin.
And something inside me answered.
Not fire.
Hunger.
My Salvatore side reached before I told it to.
A small pull opened deep in my chest, instinctive and aching, drinking in the love she was pouring toward me.
I froze against her mouth.
Aqua’s eyes opened.
“Steven?”
I pulled back just enough to breathe.
“I’m sorry.”
Her fingers tightened against my shirt.
“For what?”
“Your aura.” My voice came out rough. “Your love. I’m… I think I’m taking some of it.”
Her expression did not turn afraid.
That almost made it worse.
“Are you hurting me?” she asked.
“No. I don’t think so. Not yet.” My throat tightened. “But I didn’t mean to. It just—my Salvatore side—”
“Craves love,” she said softly.
I looked away.
“Yeah.”
Shame burned through me, hot and sharp.
I should have been better at this.
I should have known the difference between kissing her and feeding from her. Between loving her and taking from the part of her that loved me back.
Her hand slid from my shirt to my cheek, guiding my face back to hers.
“Steven,” she whispered. “I know what you are.”
My chest ached.
“You shouldn’t have to feed me.”
“I am not a meal.”
“I know.”
The words came out too fast.
Too rough.
Aqua’s thumb brushed my cheek.
“And you are not a monster for needing what your bloodline was made to need.”
I could barely breathe.
The hunger inside me trembled.
So did I.
Aqua looked up at me, eyes bright beneath the tideglass light, her left hand resting against my chest where the ring glowed between us.
“Take a little,” she said.
My eyes snapped to hers.
“Aqua—”
“A little,” she repeated. “Because I choose to give it. Because I chose you.”
The words hit deeper than yes.
Or maybe they were part of the same yes.
Another answer.
Another trust placed in my hands.
“I don’t want to take too much,” I whispered.
“Then listen to me.”
“I am.”
“If it becomes too much, I will tell you.”
My throat tightened.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
The word settled between us like another vow.
Her love wrapped around me again, warm and bright and freely given.
My Salvatore side reached for it.
This time, I felt the pull before it began taking.
I stopped.
Aqua’s fingers tightened around mine.
“A little,” she whispered.
My breath broke.
“Only a little.”
“Then stay with me.”
So I did.
I kissed her beneath the tideglass glow, slow at first, careful enough to feel every breath she gave back to me. Her ring brushed my knuckles. Her love slipped into the hungry place inside my chest in small, careful waves, not stolen, not forced, but offered.
Chosen.
When the kiss deepened, Aqua did not pull away.
She smiled against my mouth, and that smile ruined what little restraint I had left.
Not because she was taking control from me.
Because she was giving me trust.
I moved the tray farther aside before I could knock it over for the second time that night.
Aqua laughed against my mouth.
“Protecting the strawberries?”
“They survived the proposal.” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “They deserve respect.”
Her laugh softened when I kissed her jaw.
Then the warm, delicate place beneath her ear.
Her breath caught.
My Salvatore side ached for every bit of love she gave me, but I listened this time. To her breathing. To the way her fingers tightened when she wanted me closer. To the quiet tremble in her voice when she whispered my name like an answer.
Nothing stolen.
Nothing forced.
Every touch asked for.
Every touch answered.
I caught her hands before she could hide her face from me and held them gently above her head against the blanket.
Not hard.
Never hard.
Just enough to make her breath catch and her smile tremble.
The aquamarine glowed near her temple, catching blue-white light every time she moved.
“Still yes?” I whispered.
Her smile shook.
“Still yes.”
That was all it took.
I kissed her again, and this time the night seemed to fold around us. The tea went cold. The strawberries were forgotten. The world below the hilltop grew distant beneath the hush of leaves, fairy lights, and tideglass glow.
Aqua pulled me closer beneath the fairy lights, and I followed her down onto the blanket, loving her with the parts of me I understood and the parts I was still learning how to hold.
I knew we should go home eventually.
I knew the world would still be waiting beyond the hilltop.
But when she looked up at me, breathless and glowing, her ring catching the tideglass light between us, I knew tonight would be long.
And for once, I did not want the hunger to frighten me.
I wanted to learn how to love her with every part of me.
Even the parts that craved.