The ring sat in Lucien’s coat pocket for eleven days before he worked up the courage to give it to her.

Which, frankly, felt ridiculous considering he had survived revolutions, eldritch corruption, and multiple assassination attempts.

Cassian found out on day four.

Of course he did.

“You’re pacing,” he announced from the safehouse kitchen while Lucien stood near the sink pretending he wasn’t staring into space dramatically.

“I am standing.”

“You’ve reorganized the tea cabinet three times.”

Lucien looked down.

The tea cabinet had indeed been alphabetized.

Twice.

Cassian pointed accusingly.

“You’re emotionally spiraling.”

“I am considering a conversation.”

“You look like a Victorian ghost preparing a suicide note.”

Fair honestly.

Lucien rubbed one hand slowly across his face while Cassian leaned back in the kitchen chair with the delighted expression of someone discovering new emotional blackmail material.

“You do realize,” Cassian continued, “that Seraphina once fought an immortal cult leader for you.”

“That is not helping.”

“She literally chose eternal life partly because you looked sad.”

Lucien stared blankly at the wall.

God.

When phrased like that, somehow the pressure worsened.

The ring felt heavy inside his pocket again.

Old silver.

Worn smooth with age.

The crest engraved into the surface belonged to a family that no longer existed anywhere except memory.

His family.

Or what remained of it.

Lucien had not spoken the name aloud in nearly two hundred years.

Cassian noticed his expression shift.

The teasing softened immediately.

“Oh.”

Lucien looked away.

“It was my mother’s.”

The kitchen fell quiet after that.

Even Cassian knew when sarcasm stopped being the correct response.

“You don’t have giving it away if it hurts,” he said more gently.

Lucien’s thumb brushed absently over the ring hidden inside his coat.

“That’s the problem,” he admitted quietly. “It doesn’t.”

Because that terrified him too.

How natural forever with Seraphina had started feeling.

Not impossible.

Not frightening.

Wanted.

God.

Immortality changed the meaning of commitment entirely. Humans promised forever knowing time would eventually make liars out of everyone.

Immortals didn’t get that excuse.

When Lucien said always—

he meant it literally.

And somehow Seraphina still stayed.

The actual conversation happened three nights later on the safehouse balcony overlooking the river.

Prague glowed softly beneath summer evening lights while music drifted faintly upward from restaurants reopening along the waterfront.

Normal city sounds.

Alive city sounds.

Seraphina sat curled sideways in the balcony chair reading one of Cassian’s political reports with growing horror.

“These reconstruction budgets are emotionally upsetting.”

Lucien leaned lightly against the balcony railing watching her over the rim of untouched coffee.

“You once destroyed a relic reactor.”

“Yes, but that felt spiritually expensive. This is mathematically expensive.”

A smile tugged briefly at his mouth.

God.

He loved her.

The realization no longer arrived dramatically these days.

It existed quietly now.

Constant as breathing.

Or whatever immortals technically did instead.

Seraphina flipped another page before groaning softly.

“Why are there six separate committees regulating vampire transportation permits?”

“Because humans fear vampires.”

“Humans fear stairs and weather.”

“Historically fair concerns.”

She laughed quietly under her breath.

Then finally looked up at him properly.

And immediately frowned.

“You’re doing the thing again.”

Lucien blinked once.

“What thing?”

“The emotionally haunted staring.”

Damn.

Seraphina closed the report slowly and set it aside on the small balcony table afterward.

“What’s wrong?”

Lucien looked out across the river instead of answering immediately.

Cowardly behavior honestly.

The bond between them shifted softly with nervousness.

Actual nervousness.

Which immediately got her attention because Lucien rarely felt nervous anymore.

Concerned?

Frequently.

Existentially exhausted?

Constantly.

But nervous?

Interesting.

Seraphina stood slowly and crossed the balcony toward him.

“You fought a Gate entity the size of a cathedral,” she said carefully. “Why do you suddenly look terrified of eye contact?”

Lucien let out one quiet breath of laughter.

Not enough.

She stopped directly beside him afterward.

The summer wind moved softly through her hair while the city lights reflected gold beneath the river below.

“Lucien.”

God.

The way she said his name still undid him.

Not because it sounded dramatic.

Because it sounded like home now.

Lucien reached slowly into his coat pocket afterward.

Seraphina’s expression shifted immediately.

Oh.

No.

God.

For one horrifying second, Lucien considered putting the ring back and fleeing permanently into the river.

Centuries old predator instincts remained emotionally useless under pressure.

Then Seraphina touched his wrist gently.

Grounding.

Always grounding.

Lucien looked down at the silver ring resting in his palm.

The old family crest caught softly beneath the balcony light.

A wolf surrounded by thorns.

Ancient.

Weathered.

The last surviving piece of a dead bloodline.

“When I was human,” he said quietly, “this ring belonged to the head of my family.”

Seraphina stayed completely still beside him.

No interruption.

No nervous joke.

Just listening.

“My mother gave it to me before the plague reached Marseille.” A faint sad smile touched his mouth briefly. “She said it represented duty and legacy and several other deeply aristocratic concepts.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It truly was.”

God.

Her answering smile nearly destroyed his composure entirely.

Lucien turned the ring once between his fingers.

“For a very long time,” he admitted softly, “I kept it because I didn’t know what else surviving was supposed to mean.”

The honesty of it settled quietly between them.

Prague moved below the balcony unaware while distant music drifted through warm summer air.

Lucien finally looked directly at her afterward.

“And then I met you.”

Seraphina’s throat tightened immediately.

No.

He stepped closer slowly.

Not dramatic.

Not kneeling.

Lucien would rather set himself on fire than perform public theatricality voluntarily.

Instead he simply stood there beneath the balcony lights looking at her with terrifying sincerity.

“I cannot promise eternity will always be easy,” he said quietly. “We are both too damaged and politically inconvenient for that.”

A laugh escaped her weakly.

Good.

Lucien’s expression softened.

“But if we are speaking honestly…” His thumb brushed lightly across the ring again. “I no longer think forever sounds lonely.”

God.

That nearly broke her.

The city blurred slightly around the edges.

Lucien lifted the ring slowly between them.

Not demanding.

Not assuming.

Just offering.

“I know immortality already forced enough choices onto you,” he said softly. “So this is not obligation.” His voice gentled further. “It’s simply me asking whether you would like building the rest of existence together.”

Seraphina stared at him through sudden tears.

Not because she doubted the answer.

Because after everything—

after all the blood and grief and monsters and war—

he still asked like her choice mattered most.

Always her choice.

God.

She reached for the ring with trembling fingers.

Lucien’s breathing caught softly the moment she touched it.

“You know,” she whispered shakily, “this is the least normal proposal in human history.”

“We are significantly past normal.”

“Fair.”

Lucien smiled faintly then.

Small thing.

Still beautiful.

Seraphina took the ring fully from his hand afterward and turned it carefully beneath the balcony light.

Ancient silver.

Dead family crest.

Future.

She looked back up at him slowly.

“Yes,” she said.

The single word hit him harder than surviving the apocalypse ever had.

Seraphina stepped closer immediately afterward until her forehead rested lightly against his chest.

Lucien wrapped both arms around her automatically.

Tight.

Certain.

Like part of him still couldn’t fully believe someone chose forever with him willingly.

And standing there above the rebuilt city beneath warm summer lights—

the last heir of a dead family finally offered his future to someone who made immortality feel less like surviving and more like living.