“You are so dramatic,” she said, voice shaking. Tears slipped down her cheeks, shining in the city light.
I waited.
“Arthur,” she breathed, stepping closer until the tips of her boots nearly touched my knee. “You absolute, impossible, perfect man.” She wiped at her face furiously. “Yes.”
Then louder— “Yes.”
Relief moved through me so fast and clean it nearly stole my balance.
Behind her, Caliban exhaled audibly, like a man who had been holding tension for a week.
Eloise let out a triumphant sound that echoed across the hill.
“I told you,” she shouted into the night. “Chapter three!”
Artemis laughed again, shaking her head as I slid the ring onto her finger.
She reached for me immediately, pulling me to my feet before I could complete any further ceremonial dignity.
Her arms wrapped around my neck. Mine closed around her waist. Wind whipped around us. Bagpipes drifted faintly from somewhere below. The city shimmered at our backs.
“You’re kneeling on ancient stone in Scotland,” she murmured against my mouth. “You are miraculous.”
“I am consistent,” I corrected.
She kissed me.
Caliban cleared his throat pointedly behind us. “Shall I alert the clan,” he asked dryly, “or do we prefer to enjoy this moment before the paperwork begins?”
Eloise smacked his arm. “Letthem breathe.”
I rested my forehead against Artemis’s. “You said yes,” I whispered.
She smiled, tears still clinging to her lashes. “I said yes.”
Eloise hooked her arm through Caliban’s and tugged him downhill with theatrical discretion. “We’re giving you privacy,” she announced, loudly enough to ensure the opposite.
Caliban inclined his head. “We are masters of subtlety.”
“You are wearing a coat that costs more than my first car,” Eloise said. “Nothing about you is subtle.”
They bickered their way toward the path, hands brushing, shoulders aligned in a way that would have scandalized my younger self.
I watched them go, then I looked back at the woman I loved.
Artemis stood at the edge of Calton Hill, the wind lifting her hair in restless ribbons around her face. Edinburgh spread below us—stone and spire and gold-lit windows. The castle cut a dark shape against the sky, ancient and unmoving.
She held her hand up slightly, turning it so the city lights caught the ring.
Old gold. New stone.
Past reshaped. Future chosen.
Her laugh was softer now. Quieter. The kind that settled instead of erupted.
“Arthur,” she said under her breath, as if testing the sound of it in this version of the world. “You proposed to me on a hill in Scotland.”
“Yes.”
