“Well,” she sighed after a long moment, “at least this particular disaster appears legally and magically binding.”
I snorted unexpectedly.
Menon made a low, amused sound beside me before pressing a kiss softly against the top of my head.
The simple affection nearly undid me.
Because no one had ever chosen me publicly before.
Not fully.
Not without conditions.
Not without trying to reshape me into something easier to love first.
But Menon?
Menon looked at me like I was the answer to a prayer he’d stopped believing in.
And gods—I felt the same way about him.
“Amrin, are you certain?” Mother asked.
“Yes. I love him, Mom. And I’m safe with him,” I said quietly.
The words left me before I fully realized I meant to say them aloud.
But they were true.
Terrifyingly true.
Menon’s arm tightened around me instantly.
Protective.
Possessive.
Certain.
Mine.
Across from us, my mother looked suddenly tired.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Just… tired.
Years of rigid control and coven politics seemed to weigh visibly heavier on her shoulders now beneath the floating festival lights.
“I know that now,” Evelyn whispered softly.
The admission stunned me more than the fight had.
Because for the first time in my entire life—she looked at Menon not with suspicion or disdain.
But acceptance.
