Chapter 161 Where I Stay

Chapter 161 Where I Stay
Bella

The music threads through the trees, and I follow it. The stones beneath my feet form a narrow path, and the gold of my skirt brushes against my legs as I move. Gilfred offered to walk me down the aisle, and I am incredibly thankful. The clearing opens, and lanterns hang between the trees. Ribbons shift softly in the breeze, and people stand in quiet rows. I'm vaguely aware of everything and nothing at once, because all I see is Damien. He stands where the path ends, a step from the dark metal fire bowl, dressed in dark layers fitted cleanly across his shoulders. He looks incredibly handsome. There’s a stillness in him as I close the distance one step at a time. His eyes move over me slowly, drinking in every inch until they settle on my face and stay there. He offers me his hand, and I place mine in it. His fingers close around mine with a careful tenderness. His thumb brushes my knuckle once, a grounding touch that feels private even with a crowd close enough to hear us breathe.
“We are gathered here today,” Marius says, calm and clear, pausing long enough for the words to settle into the ground. “To witness a vow spoken freely. To witness a bond chosen and kept.”
He turns slightly toward Damien. “Damien, do you take Bella, here, by your own will, with a clear mind and steady hand?”
“I do,” Damien says, without hesitation.
Marius looks at me. “Bella, do you take Damien, here, by your own will, with a clear mind and steady hand?”
“I do.”
The words leave my mouth with utter certainty, and Damien’s grip tightens for a heartbeat, then eases again.
Marius nods once and steps back, leaving the centre to us.
“The vows,” he says quietly.
Damien turns fully toward me, and the clearing blurs at the edges because he’s all I see. I watch his mouth as he speaks. I memorise each word, the way his voice stays steady even when his eyes fill with unshed tears. His vows don’t sound rehearsed. They sound like they have come straight from his heart. When he finishes, his eyes stay on mine, waiting.

It’s my turn. I breathe in once, slow and steady, and when I speak, my voice carries without strain.
“Damien,” I say, “The first time I met you, you looked at me like I was a problem you could solve with rules.”
A quiet ripple moves through the crowd.
“And I looked at you,” I continue, “like you were going to cage me if I blinked.”
He doesn’t look away. He lets me say it.
“You didn’t,” I say. “You tried, at first, and you were terrible at it, but you kept showing up,” I say. “Even when I gave you nothing back but sharp words and stubborn silence. You kept feeding me. You kept putting yourself between me and the parts of this world that hurt. You kept listening when I spoke, even when you didn’t like what I said.” His fingers tighten around mine, steady and sure. “You built a home, and then you made space in it for me. You treated me as a person who takes up room and makes messes and argues about cake like it’s a food group.” A soft laugh slips through the crowd, but it doesn’t break the moment. “You gave me boundaries that kept me safe and didn’t feel like chains,” I continue. “You told the world to stop when I needed it to stop and you stood beside me when the mountain decided to love me loudly. You supported me while not letting it swallow me whole.” His gaze flicks briefly to my mouth, then back to my eyes, like he’s memorising this while it happens. “I have lived a lot of my life braced,” I say. “Always with the exit always in sight.” I shift my grip on his hand. “With you,” I say, “I wanted to stay.” Damien’s breath changes, slow and deep. “So here is what I vow,” I continue. “I vow to stay, even when it’s easier to run. I vow to tell you the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. I vow to meet you at the table, again and again, with the small daily things that make a life.”
His thumb presses once against my knuckle.
“I vow to keep choosing you,” I say. “In crowds and in quiet. In work and in rest. When you are patient and when you are impossible.”
His mouth curves, small and private, then stills.
“I vow to take your name,” I add. “And to speak it with pride. I vow to build with you, to let this kingdom become something that doesn’t need blood to hold it together.”
The lantern light flickers softly as the breeze moves through.
“And I vow to let you love me,” I finish, quieter now, “in the careful ways. The ridiculous ones. The ones that show up as stew and clean blankets and your hand at my back when the world gets too close.”
I meet his eyes.
“I choose you,” I say. “Today, tomorrow and every day after.”

Marius steps forward and gestures toward the low table.
“The rings.”
Damien’s hand leaves mine, and the air shifts with the absence. He reaches into his coat with a motion that’s far too familiar, unwraps the small cloth bundle, and the ring catches lantern light between his fingers. I lift my left hand, and he slides the ring onto my finger, settling it beside the first. It curves around the snowflake with a line of small rubies. Like fire holding ice, I take the second ring and slide it onto his finger slowly.
Marius turns toward the fire bowl. “The fire.”
Damien reaches for a torch, then pauses, looking at me and offering it instead. I take it with him. Our hands overlap on the wood, his fingers beneath mine, and together we lower the flame to the kindling. Fire catches fast, light rising and settling into a steady burn that throws warmth across our faces and makes the gold of my dress glow. The crowd exhales as one. Marius watches the flame, then turns back to us.
“By vow spoken and witnessed,” he says, “by rings exchanged, by fire lit together, I name you bound.”
He looks at Damien, then at me.
“Husband and wife.”
Damien lifts my hand and draws me closer, and when he kisses me, I feel nothing but the entirety of his love poured into it. Lantern's glow, the fire burns, the mountain stands around us, quiet and unshaken, as the crowd breaks into sound and Gilfred chirps sharply from my shoulder. I laugh as I pull back, breath catching, and Damien rests his forehead against mine, close enough that only I can hear him.
“Hello, wife.”
“Hello, husband.”
My hand tightens around his, and the path behind me no longer feels like something I will ever walk alone again.