"Will you marry me, Camilla Gray?"
Bran knelt on the soft grass, the ring box open in his palm, a tiny star caught in the velvet night. Behind him, fireworks painted the sky—silent blooms of gold and purple that echoed in his wide, hopeful eyes.
"Bran?" I felt my smile lift my cheeks until they ached. We were alone on the hill, the world holding its breath.
"I want to love you till eternity," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I want you to be mine."
"Bran, yes. I want to be yours. Yes, I'll marry you. I'll marry you." I gave him my hand, my fingers trembling as he slid the cool, slender band onto my finger. It fit as if it had always belonged there.
I kissed him so deeply, pouring all my yes, my forever, my fragile awakening into that one touch.
"We can have a child,"he'd whispered against my lips, and the words felt like a new sun rising in my chest.
Then—the memory burned, bright and wild.
