Elara
Alaric stood in the garden with the late afternoon sun framing his figure, the small box in his hand held out between us. I blinked, unsure if I was imagining it. But when he extended it toward me without a word, and my heart stuttered in response, I knew it was real.
Slowly, I reached for it, my fingers brushing against his as he handed it over. Upon closer inspection, I couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped me.
The ring was perhaps the loveliest thing I’d ever seen. The grain was polished to a shine, and it was adorned with faint etchings—a flower, I realized as I looked more closely, surrounded by tiny carved leaves that wound all the way around the ring. The craftsmanship was astonishing.
“I hope you like it,” Alaric said quietly. “I made it for you.”
My he
