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My eyes sting.
“Then you came along.”
He laughs softly.
“A stubborn little woman with paint beneath her fingernails and absolutely no respect for divine authority.”
I laugh through the tears.
“Someone had to keep you humble.”
“An impossible task.”
“Clearly.”
He smiles.
“You restored my face. You freed me from stone. You taught me what it means to touch, to laugh, to love.”
He lifts my hand to his lips.
“And you taught me that the greatest privilege in existence is not being worshipped.”
His eyes meet mine.
“It’s finding someone worth worshipping.”
A tear slips down my cheek.
“Morpheus…”
He reaches into his pocket.
And produces a ring.
A beautiful antique gold band set with a pale violet gemstone that glows faintly in the evening light.
I gasp.
“Is that…”
“A stone from my original temple,” he says softly. “The only piece I kept after the war.”
My breath catches.
He smiles.
“I would like to give it to you.”
I stare at him.
The god who once demanded that mortals kneel before him.
The man who surrendered his freedom to save me.
The ridiculous, infuriating, magnificent creature who thinks coffee is divine and traffic lights are beneath his dignity.
And he’s kneeling before me.
