CHAPTER 533: WILL YOU MARRY ME?

The first light of dawn brushed the horizon in gold, spilling over the spires and stone walls of Hevenfort. The dew still clung to the grass like a thousand tiny gems, glistening beneath the pale sun.

In the distance, the manor bells had not yet stirred the sleeping children of Helian Manor, but the training ground was already alive with the clash of steel and the grunts of exertion.

Cornelius swung his wooden blade with all his might. Logan caught the strike mid-arc, his arm steady as oak, the sound of the impact echoing across the courtyard. The force of the parry sent the younger man stumbling backward, boots scraping against the damp soil.

"Better," Logan said, his tone gruff but approving. "You’ve learned to use your weight. Three days ago, you would’ve ended flat on your back."

Cornelius straightened, chest heaving. "I’ve been practicing every evening, Sir. I don’t want to disappoint you."

Logan’s mouth curved into a rare smile. "Disappoint me? Boy, you’ve done more in three days than some manage in three months. You’ve got grit."

He clapped Cornelius on the shoulder, the blow almost knocking the young recruit off balance. "Go on, get yourself some breakfast before you collapse. Tell the cooks I said you deserve an extra ration of eggs."

Cornelius grinned, but before he turned away, Logan spoke again.

"And, Cornelius—how are your brother and sister faring? You’ve still food at home?"

"Yes, Sir. I got our ration yesterday."

Logan nodded thoughtfully. "Good. But you should bring them to Eos Haven during the day while you train. There’s a teacher there—a kind one. She teaches letters, numbers, the old histories of the kingdoms. Your siblings could learn. And if they help with chores, they’ll be fed."

Cornelius froze, surprise written plain on his face. "Truly, Sir? They could study there?"

"Aye," Logan said softly. "They deserve a chance at more than the plough and the spade."

Hope lit the boy’s face like sunrise. "Thank you, Sir! I’ll bring them tomorrow!"

Logan gave a nod of dismissal, watching as the young lad bounded off toward the mess hall, almost tripping in his excitement.

When the yard finally grew still, Logan turned toward the grove beyond the kitchens. There, the air was quiet—cool and perfumed with pine and the faint scent of morning earth. He moved through the trees, boots brushing fallen leaves, until he reached the small clearing that had become his refuge.

It had been a week since his return from Estalis. A week since he’d last stood before the gates of Eos Haven, heart hammering, half-alive with anticipation. He had gone there the moment he came back—because he missed her.

Thalia.

He touched the wooden box in his pocket—a small, worn thing smoothed by his fingers. Inside lay a string of pearls, the color of moonlight. A gift from the fishermen he’d rescued from the pirates in Azul. Their gratitude had been humbling; their wives had strung the pearls themselves. He’d meant to refuse, but when he saw the way they caught the light, he thought of her—of Thalia’s soft laughter, her dark hair, the gentleness she carried even in sorrow.

But when he reached Eos Haven, it had not been Thalia who greeted him.

"I’m sorry, Logan," Zeeta had said quietly. "She’s gone. Her family came for her three weeks past."

Gone?

The word had shattered something in him. He’d walked away without remembering how. That night, and every night since, he’d driven himself to exhaustion—training until his arms trembled, until his mind was empty enough not to feel.

Now he stood in the grove again, and his gaze fell upon the wooden swing beneath the old tree. The rope creaked gently in the breeze. It was there—on that very swing—that he’d found her, where sunlight tangled in her black hair, humming softly to herself.

He sat down, gripping the worn ropes. His eyes closed, and for a fleeting heartbeat, he could almost see her again.

Then—the swing shifted. Logan’s eyes flew open. Someone had pushed it. He turned—and froze.

"Thalia?"

She stood before him, framed by shafts of morning light. Her hair, black as ink, spilled over her shoulders; her eyes shimmered with a quiet ache. For a long moment, neither spoke.

"It’s really you," Logan said, voice rough. "I thought—Zeeta said—"

"That I went home," she finished softly. "Yes. I did." She gave a small, brittle laugh. "But not for long."

He rose slowly, searching her face. "Why? What happened?"

Her gaze faltered. "When they learned what was done to me... when they learned I was raped, they said I had shamed them. That I was no daughter of their blood. They sent me away, Logan."

His breath caught. "Heavens..." He took a step closer. "Thalia, I—"

She cut him off, her voice trembling. "I tried to hate them. I tried to tell myself I didn’t care. But I did. I cared so much that it hollowed me out. I thought I’d die from the shame of it. And then... I thought of this place. Of you."

Logan reached out, gently cupping her face. "You have nothing to be ashamed of." His voice was steady, but his hands shook. "You were the kindest soul I ever met, Thalia. The world wronged you—not the other way around."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she smiled through them. "You always knew what to say. Even when I didn’t believe it."

He exhaled shakily. "I wanted to give you something," he murmured, pulling the wooden box from his pocket. "I kept it with me since Azul. I meant to give it to you the day I returned."

He opened it, and the pearls gleamed softly in the filtered light.

Her lips parted. "They’re beautiful..."

"They’re yours," he said simply.

Thalia’s hands trembled as she touched the necklace. "Logan... why would you give me something so precious?"

"Because," he said, his voice low, "you’re precious to me."

For a long moment, silence lay between them—thick with all the words neither had dared to speak.

Then she whispered, " I’m broken, Logan. There’s nothing left of me that I can offer you."

He stepped closer until there was no space left between them. "Then I’ll love what remains," he said. "Every piece. Every scar. I’ll love you as you are."

Thalia’s breath hitched. "You don’t mean that."

"I do," he said. "More than anything. If they cast you aside, then let the gods bear witness—I choose you."

Her tears fell freely now. "You would still want me... as your wife?"

He took her hand, pressed it to his heart. "I don’t just want you, Thalia. I can’t imagine my life without you."

She let out a broken laugh, half-sob, half-relief. "I never thought someone like me could be loved by someone like you."

He smiled faintly. "Then let me prove you wrong."

And as the morning sun broke through the trees, casting dappled light over them both, Logan lifted the box between them.

"Thalia," he said softly, "will you marry me?"

Her answer came on a whisper, carried on the wind.

"Yes."