Steven’s POV
The tuxedo was too expensive.
I knew that before Dylan said anything about it. I knew it the second he pulled it from the wardrobe in his room like it was just another piece of clothing and not something that probably had its own insurance policy.
Black.
Tailored.
Smooth enough that I was afraid my fingers might leave evidence if I touched it wrong.
Now I stood in front of Dylan’s mirror wearing it, and I still felt like I had borrowed someone else’s life by mistake.
The white shirt fit better than anything I owned. The jacket sat right on my shoulders. The black pants looked like they had been made by someone who believed wrinkles were a moral failure.
And the bow tie hanging loose around my neck looked like it had personally defeated me.
I stared at my reflection.
Then at the bow tie.
Then back at my reflection.
“This thing hates me.”
Dylan stood behind me, already dressed and annoyingly calm.
His suit was dark, clean, and perfectly fitted. Not quite as formal as mine, but close enough that he still looked like he belonged in a room full of polished wood, old family portraits, and people who knew which fork to use without guessing. His tie was a deep blue with a silver thread running through it, and a folded silver pocket square sat neatly in his jacket.
He had said he toned it down.
That had been the exact phrase.
Toned it down.
I still had not recovered.
“The bow tie does not hate you,” Dylan said.
“It does. I can feel it.”
“You tied it incorrectly.”
“That sounds like something an enemy would say.”
“It is something a mirror already told you.”
I looked at him through the reflection.
Dylan’s mouth barely moved, but I knew that almost-smile by now.
He was enjoying this.
Quietly.
Britishly.
Which somehow made it worse.
“I watched a video,” I said.
Dylan stepped closer and studied the black fabric around my neck.
“Did the video survive?”
I glared at him.
“It was harder than it looked.”
“Most things are.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It was not intended to be.”
Dylan reached forward and took the ends of the bow tie before I could argue again.
I held still because I had already tried three times and nearly strangled myself once.
His fingers moved with irritating confidence.
Loop.
Cross.
Pull.
Adjust.
Like this was nothing.
Like tying a bow tie before a wedding was no more difficult than breathing.
“You really are comfortable around all this fancy stuff, huh?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Just yes?”
“I was born and raised in it.”
“That must be nice.”
“At times.”
“And other times?”
Dylan tightened the bow tie with careful precision, his expression calm in the mirror.
“It is still a cage. Only better dressed.”
I blinked.
“That was depressing.”
“It was honest.”
“You could try lying before my wedding.”
“You would notice.”
He had a point.
I hated that he had a point.
Fang lay stretched across the bed behind us, black scales marked with yellow stripes, his head resting on one folded coil. He had claimed the bed like it had been placed there for his inspection and had not moved since I started getting dressed.
His yellow eyes watched me through the mirror.
Your collar is crooked.
I closed my eyes.
“You are not helping.”
Dylan glanced toward the bed. “Was that Fang?”
“Yes.”
I am helping. You are crooked.
I opened my eyes and looked at Dylan. “He says he’s helping.”
Dylan’s gaze moved from Fang to my collar.
“And?”
I sighed.
“And apparently I’m crooked.”
Dylan stepped closer and adjusted my collar.
“He is not incorrect.”
“Traitor.”
Fang’s tongue flicked once.
Better.
“Thank you for your generous approval,” I muttered.
Do not ruin it by speaking.
I looked at Dylan. “He says I shouldn’t talk.”
Dylan smoothed one side of my jacket. “That may also improve the ceremony.”
“Wow.”
“You asked me to stand with you. You did not ask me to lie continuously.”
“I didn’t ask you to attack me either.”
“You seemed nervous. I adapted.”
I stared at myself in the mirror again.
Nervous.
That was one word for it.
My stomach had been twisting since I woke up. Not because I doubted Aqua. Not because I wanted to run. Not because any part of me did not want to stand on that hilltop and marry her.
I wanted that more than I knew how to hold.
That was the problem.
Wanting made everything bigger.
The tux.
The vows folded in my pocket.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The red rose waiting on Dylan’s dresser.
The fact that somewhere in Worthington, Aqua was getting ready too.
Aqua.
My bride.
The thought hit me so hard I had to grip the edge of the dresser.
Dylan noticed.
He always noticed more than he acted like he did.
“You can keep it,” he said.
I blinked at him through the mirror.
“What?”
“The tuxedo.”
I turned around. “I can absolutely not keep it.”
“Why not?”
“Because this tux costs more than every shirt I own combined.”
Dylan adjusted one cuff as if that were irrelevant.
“That is not a difficult number to surpass.”
“Dylan.”
“I was going to replace it eventually.”
“That does not make it less expensive.”
“No,” he said. “It makes it available.”
I stared at him.
He looked back at me as if that should have settled everything.
That was the thing about Dylan.
He said impossible rich-person sentences with the same tone other people used to say the sky was cloudy.
“It can be a wedding memento,” he added.
“A memento?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“Most people keep a flower or a picture.”
“You already have the flower.” His gaze shifted to the dresser. “And I assume someone will arrange a picture.”
“I don’t even know how to argue with you.”
“That is not new.”
I huffed out a breath and turned back toward the mirror.
The tux did look good.
That was the annoying part.
It looked better on me than anything I had ever worn.
It made my shoulders look sharper. Made me stand straighter. Made me look almost like someone who knew what he was doing.
Almost.
Dylan stepped back and looked me over.
I glanced at his suit again.
“You said you toned yours down.”
“I did.”
“That is toned down?”
“I did not want to outshine the groom.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “Very generous of you.”
“You are welcome.”
Fang made a low sound that might have been amusement.
I dragged my fingers through my hair, trying to push it back into something that looked intentional.
It immediately tried to become my hair again.
I tried again.
It fought back.
“Do I look good?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Dylan looked at me through the mirror.
“Yes.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was choosing the least irritating answer.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Dylan sighed.
“You look good, Steven. The tux fits. The bow tie is no longer a crime. Aqua will like it.”
My chest tightened.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because if she sees me and immediately regrets everything, I’m blaming the tux.”
“The tux has done nothing wrong.”
“That’s what it wants you to think.”
Dylan gave me a long look.
Then he reached for the red rose boutonnière on the dresser.
It was small.
Just one deep red rose, a few green leaves, and a silver pin.
Somehow, that made it feel heavier than the tux.
Dylan held it up.
“Still want it?”
I looked at the rose.
Red for Salvatore.
Red for fire.
Red for all the things I was trying to carry without letting them become my father’s.
Aqua had said I should have something that represented me.
She had not flinched from the red.
She had not asked me to hide it.
She had made room for it.
For me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I want it.”
Dylan stepped closer and pinned it over my heart.
The small weight settled against the black tuxedo.
Red against black.
Fire against cloth.
My chest felt tight beneath it.
Dylan’s fingers moved away.
“There.”
I looked in the mirror again.
The rose changed everything.
Not because it was large.
Because it was mine.
I swallowed.
Then I asked the question I had been trying not to ask all morning.
“Do you think Aqua will regret it?”
Dylan’s hands paused near his own cuff.
“Marrying you?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“It was not a difficult question.”
I looked away from the mirror.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
“No, you don’t.” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “I’m dangerous. My father is dangerous. The Salvatore Clan is dangerous. Atlantis is worse because of me now. Aqua had problems before she ever met me, but being with me makes everything harder.”
Dylan was quiet for a second.
Then he said, “Aqua had problems before she ever met you.”
“That doesn’t make me less dangerous.”
“No.” Dylan’s gaze held mine in the mirror. “But it does make you less central than your guilt prefers.”
I stared at him.
“Did you just insult my guilt?”
“A little.”
“On my wedding day?”
“It seemed active.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
But the feeling in my chest had not loosened enough.
“I mean it,” I said. “What if she wakes up one day and realizes marrying me tied her to all of this? My father. My blood. The fire. The hunger. The clan. Everything.”
Fang lifted his head from the bed.
Aqua chose you with her eyes open.
I looked toward him.
His yellow eyes were steady, old, and far too sharp for a creature pretending to lounge.
Do not insult her choice by pretending she made it blindly.
The words hit harder than I expected.
I looked back at the mirror.
Aqua had chosen.
Not because she did not understand fear.
Not because she had never known duty.
Not because she had mistaken danger for safety.
She had chosen me with more courage than I deserved.
“You and Dylan have the same bedside manner,” I said.
Dylan glanced toward Fang. “I assume that is not a compliment.”
It is not.
“He says it’s not.”
Dylan nodded. “Good.”
I let out a breath.
It shook a little.
I hated that.
Dylan noticed that too, but he did not comment.
That was one of the reasons I could stand being around him.
He saw things.
He did not always grab them.
“I just want to do right by her,” I said. “I want to be the best man I can be for her. I don’t want her to wake up one day and realize she tied herself to someone who only knows how to hurt things.”
The room went quiet.
Not empty.
Just quiet.
Dylan looked at me through the mirror, his expression less dry now.
“Then keep being there for her.”
“That’s it?”
“That is most of marriage, from what I understand. Being there. Having each other’s back. Especially when it matters.”
“It’s that easy?”
“No,” Dylan said. “It is work. Most important things are.”
“You’re not married.”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“My parents are.”
“And they told you that?”
Dylan’s expression shifted slightly.
Not sad.
Not exactly.
Softer, maybe.
“No. They demonstrated it enough that I noticed. Whenever something important happened, they stood with each other. Even when they disagreed. Even when it was inconvenient.”
He adjusted my collar once more, though it probably did not need adjusting.
“Aqua can see that you are trying. I doubt she would want someone who was not.”
I looked down at the polished buttons of my shirt.
Trying.
That was all I had sometimes.
Trying not to burn too hot.
Trying not to take too much.
Trying not to let every Salvatore instinct become a command I obeyed before thinking.
Trying to love Aqua in a way that made her freer, not smaller.
“Are you just saying whatever sounds nice because I look like I might throw up?” I asked.
“Partly.”
“Partly?”
“The rest is true.”
Fang lowered his head again.
Do not throw up on the tuxedo.
I closed my eyes. “Thank you, Fang.”
It is not yours yet.
“He says I can’t throw up on it because it isn’t mine yet.”
Dylan’s mouth curved slightly. “Practical.”
“I’m surrounded by monsters.”
“You invited us.”
“I regret many things.”
“No,” Dylan said. “You don’t.”
I opened my eyes.
He was right.
I did not.
Not really.
Not Dylan standing here.
Not Fang on the bed.
Not the red rose pinned to my chest.
Not Aqua waiting somewhere beyond this room, closer to the hilltop with every minute that passed.
The vows in my pocket felt suddenly heavier.
I touched the folded paper through the fabric.
Dylan noticed.
“You have been practicing?”
“All week.”
“Good.”
“I keep thinking I have them memorized, and then I look in the mirror and forget how language works.”
“Then speak slowly.”
“That’s your whole advice?”
“Yes.”
“You’re bad at wedding support.”
“You have not run yet, so I consider myself effective.”
“That is a low bar.”
“It is the important bar.”
Fang’s voice slipped into my head again.
If you forget, look at Aqua. Then speak.
I looked at him.
“That was almost nice.”
Do not get used to it.
I smiled faintly.
The smile faded when Dylan reached for another small paper on the dresser.
It was not mine.
Fredrick’s handwriting sat across the top, clean and controlled.
Ceremony Order
Dylan picked it up.
“You should hear the rite order once more.”
“I already heard it.”
“You were distracted.”
“I was engaged.”
“You are still engaged.”
“Barely. I mean, after today—” My stomach flipped. “Never mind.”
Dylan ignored the panic in my voice with admirable cruelty.
“There will be the human vows first,” he said. “The legal words. Then the Four Families rite.”
“That’s the blood part?”
“Yes. A drop from each of you. My father will use his Crown ring. It has a concealed needle made for formal rites.”
I looked at him.
“That sounds very Worth.”
“It is very old.”
“That also sounds very Worth.”
Dylan continued as if I had not spoken.
“You and Aqua will hold the chalice together. My father will draw a drop from each of you into it. The rite recognizes the union through shared blood, choice, and cultivation.”
“That sounds intense.”
“It is meant to be.”
“And the dual cultivation part?”
Dylan looked up from the paper.
“Symbolic, Steven.”
“I know that.”
“Your face suggested otherwise.”
“My face is under stress.”
“Clearly.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, then remembered the bow tie and stopped before I messed it up.
“So the chalice does what exactly?”
“The rite strengthens the bond between husband and wife,” Dylan said. “It steadies the Shade you are already in, makes the connection between your powers clearer, and gives a small lift in strength. Usually, it should not force anything beyond what is already there.”
“Usually?”
“Magic involving you has not been famous for behaving politely.”
“That’s fair.”
“But it is not meant to be dangerous,” Dylan said. “If anything feels strange afterward, do not panic.”
“Strange how?”
“You know when you cultivate and the power rises too quickly? When it feels as if there is more inside you than your body has decided what to do with yet?”
“Yes.”
“It may feel like that for a moment. Overfull. Unsteady. Maybe light-headed. Nothing too drastic.”
“That is your version of reassuring?”
“It is my version of preparing you.”
“And if one of us starts swaying?”
“That is what Dipsi and I are for.”
“Catching us?”
“Part of the job.”
I pictured Dipsi catching Aqua with one hand and making a comment about dramatic timing.
Then I pictured Dylan catching me and looking mildly inconvenienced.
Somehow, both images helped.
“Aqua knows all this?” I asked.
“Yes. Dipsi was told to explain her part.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Dipsi explaining anything sounds dangerous.”
“At least we agree.”
Dylan set the paper down.
“You will be fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“No ceremony is entirely without risk.”
“Dylan.”
“But my father will be officiating, the wards will be steady, and Aqua will be standing across from you.” His gaze met mine. “Focus on that.”
Aqua standing across from me.
Aqua in white.
Aqua choosing me in front of Fredrick, Dylan, Dipsi, and Fang.
My chest tightened again, but this time it hurt differently.
Better.
I looked in the mirror one more time.
Black tux.
White shirt.
Black bow tie.
Red rose over my heart.
Hair that looked almost controlled.
Almost.
I dragged my fingers through it once more.
Dylan caught my wrist.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“You will undo whatever progress your hair has made.”
“It has made progress?”
“Some.”
“That sounded generous.”
“It was.”
I lowered my hand.
A knock came at the door.
Every thought in my head stopped.
Dylan looked at me.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Convincingly, then.”
I tried.
It only partly worked.
Fang lifted his head again.
Dylan went to the door and opened it.
Henry stood in the hall, posture straight, expression calm, dressed neatly as always. If he noticed that I looked like my body had forgotten how to exist, he was polite enough not to mention it.
“Sir Steven,” he said. “Master Dylan.”
My stomach dropped.
Henry gave a small bow.
“We are ready for you.”
For a second, I did not move.
Ready.
The hilltop was ready.
Fredrick was ready.
The arch was ready.
The chalice was ready.
The vows were ready.
Aqua was not there yet.
I had to go first.
I had to stand there and wait for her.
The next time I saw her, she would be walking toward me as my bride.
Not because someone ordered her to.
Not because Atlantis expected it.
Because she chose to stand there.
And I chose to meet her.
I could be afraid.
I could be dangerous.
I could be unfinished.
But I could still stand there, trying to be better than everything I came from.
Dylan stepped aside, waiting.
Henry waited in the hall.
Fang slid down from the bed with quiet grace and moved toward me, his black body rippling with yellow stripes.
He looked up at me.
Walk, boy.
My throat tightened.
I nodded once.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m going.”
Then I stepped toward the door.