They moved on, encountering more people who offered congratulations or nodded acknowledgment. Not everyone was friendly. Some still looked away, uncomfortable with shadowwitch and mated tiger walking their streets. But no one spat curses. No one reached for weapons.
Lucien appeared near the Book Nook's stall, his dark hair tied back, green eyes assessing in that way he had. Moira stood beside him, her mahogany curls escaping from beneath a knitted cap.
"Maren." Lucien's voice carried approval despite his neutral expression. Lucien's gaze moved to Tristan. "You chose well. Try not to screw it up."
"Planning on it," Tristan said dryly.
Moira rolled her eyes at her mate. "What he means is we're happy for you both. And if you need anything, family-wise or magic-wise, you know where to find us."
"We do. Thank you."
They continued through the market, accepting well-wishes and carefully worded congratulations. Maren felt Tristan's awareness through the bond, his steady contentment mixing with protective instinct that rose whenever someone looked at her wrong.
Eventually they reached the bonfire at the square's center. Families clustered around it, children roasting marshmallows while adults passed around mulled cider. The heat was welcome after the cold walk.
"You're glowing," Tristan said quietly, his hand still warm on her back.
"Am I?"
"Yeah. Happy looks good on you."
Maren looked around the square, at the people who'd wanted her exiled a week ago now offering careful acceptance. At the town that had hunted her finally seeing her as something other than threat. At the man beside her who'd stood between her and chaos without hesitation.
"I didn't think I'd ever have this," she admitted. "Community. Belonging. Someone who chose me despite everything."
"You have it now." He turned her to face him, both hands cupping her face. "And you'll keep having it. Every day. For as long as we both live."
"That's a long time."
"Not long enough." He kissed her forehead, the gesture tender despite the public setting. "Maren?"
"Yes?"
He held her gaze for a moment, as if taking her all in.
"Marry me."
The words hung in the cold air between them. Around them, the market continued its noise and movement, people laughing and children playing. But in their bubble, everything went quiet.
"What?" Maren's voice came out barely above a whisper.
"Marry me." Tristan's ice-blue eyes held hers, steady and certain. "The mate bond makes us permanent in shifter tradition. But I want human permanent too. Want you to be my wife. Want everyone to know you chose me the way I chose you. You don't have to answer now. I know it's fast. I know we just completed the bond yesterday. But I'm done waiting for the right moment." His thumbs brushed her cheekbones. "So marry me. Please."
Maren's shadows flared bright silver, responding to the surge of joy and love and absolute certainty flooding through her. The bond hummed approval, both their emotions tangling together until she couldn't tell which feelings were hers and which were his.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I'll marry you."
His smile was brilliant, transforming his normally controlled expression into something open and young. He kissed her properly, not caring that half the town was watching, his hands holding her like she was the most precious thing in existence.
38
MAREN
That evening, Maren stood in Freya's guest room, staring at her reflection.
The gown had been Moira's suggestion, pulled from some archive of preserved clothing that dated back decades. Midnight silk that caught light like water, silver threading woven through the bodice in patterns that mimicked her shadows. The neckline dipped low enough to show Tristan's mark clearly, the silver scarring standing out against pale skin.
"It's perfect," Freya said from the doorway. "You look like moonlight given form."
