Lysara angled Daevyn's chair slightly towards her before turning her own to face him.
When he returned to the table, she smiled brightly.
"That was very well done," she said.
As he sat, their knees brushed. From this angle he would have to turn his head to watch the stage.
"Lord Eastern is fortunate to have a friend willing to rescue him from unexpected speeches." She studied him critically. "Lean back a little. Rest your elbow on the table..."
"We haven't always been friends," Daevyn admitted.
He settled easily into the pose, one elbow resting against the arm of the chair, a champagne flute balanced loosely in one hand as she began sketching with quick, confident strokes.
"I couldn't stand him when he first returned to Court," he said with quiet amusement. "He has a remarkable talent for making powerful people feel uncomfortable. They tend to react rather badly to that."
"But you're friends now."
She leaned forward, brushing a loose strand of pale gold hair back from his face before shifting her chair a fraction closer. When she sat again, her knee rested lightly against his inner thigh.
His free hand settled naturally upon his own knee before, almost absent-mindedly, his fingers curved around hers, his thumb stroking slow circles across her skin.
It felt anything but absent-minded.
"That is extraordinary," he murmured, watching the drawing emerge. "I've never seen anyone work so quickly."
"I should hope so," Lysara replied without looking up. "Otherwise, I've wasted rather a great many years and an alarming quantity of tuition fees."
His smile deepened.
"It even looks like me."
"I was aiming for that."
She added a few swift lines of shading before tilting the sketchbook slightly to judge the proportions.
"I'm wearing rather a lot of clothes," he observed, one eyebrow lifting.
She laughed softly. "For the moment."
"Oh?" His warmed with sensual promise.
"I imagine we'd become the most discussed people at the picnic if I asked you to pose without them."
"We're already the most discussed people at the picnic."
She glanced over her shoulder.
He was right.
More than one conversation had drifted in their direction, and several amused smiles disappeared rather too quickly when they realised she'd noticed.
Colour warmed her cheeks as she turned back to her sketch.
"They're taking wagers," Daevyn continued comfortably.
"About what?"
"How soon there'll be another wedding."
Relief escaped as a laugh. "Well... I suppose that's considerably more respectable than I'd imagined."
His laughter rang out across the gardens, warm and completely unrestrained, attracting even more attention.
It was the sort of laugh she had only heard a handful of times, and it made her smile without thinking.
She looked up from the sketchbook just as he leaned towards her.
One finger slipped beneath her chin, gently lifting her face.
His cheek brushed hers.
"What sort of scandalous gossip were you expecting?" he murmured against her ear.
His lips found hers before she could answer.
The kiss was slow, entirely unhurried, lingering just long enough to leave her forgetting there was anyone else in the gardens at all. His hand traced lightly along her jaw before disappearing into the softness of her hair.
Only after several lingering heartbeats did he draw back.
His eyes flicked briefly beyond her shoulder towards the watching guests before returning to hers.
"I imagine," he said with quiet satisfaction, "that should settle the matter."
She could barely remember how to breathe.
"Yes," she whispered, smiling helplessly at him. "I think the gossip has just become considerably more interesting."
Daevyn's laughter escaped him in a warm, unguarded burst. "I have something in mind that should distract you far more effectively than dancing."
Lysara regarded him over the rim of her champagne glass, suspicion immediately brightening her eyes. "Clothing isn't optional here," she reminded him. "And I should probably mention that public indecency is where I draw the line.” She waved a hand lightly around the immaculate picnic.
For a heartbeat he simply stared at her.
Then he laughed again, harder this time, one hand coming up to wipe beneath his eyes as he struggled to recover. "I wasn't thinking along those lines."
"No?"
"Well..." His smile became slow and altogether more dangerous. "I wasn't until you mentioned them."
Colour warmed her cheeks. "I walked into that one."
"You did." He studied her for another moment, amusement slowly giving way to something quieter. Something steadier.
When he spoke again, his voice had softened.
"I had something rather different planned."
His hand slipped inside his jacket and withdrew a small black jewellery box.
Everything else seemed to fall away.
The conversations drifting across the gardens, the music from the marquee, the clink of crystal against crystal...
All of it became strangely distant.
Daevyn leaned forward and rested the box upon the table between them.
"Lysara," he said quietly. There was no trace of teasing left in his voice now.
He opened the lid.
Nestled within dark velvet lay an emerald surrounded by diamonds, the deep green stone catching the afternoon sunlight until it seemed almost to glow.
"Marry me."
Her breath caught. "Oh..." It was scarcely more than a whisper. "Oh, gods."
"You look considerably more surprised than I'd anticipated," he observed, though the attempt at humour failed to disguise the tension beneath it. His jaw had tightened almost imperceptibly, and for the first time since she had met him she saw uncertainty in his eyes.
Without waiting for permission, he lifted the ring carefully from its setting. "It's traditional," he said as he reached for her hand, "for the gentleman to place the ring upon the lady's finger."
He guided the emerald over her knuckle until it settled into place as though it had always belonged there.
Only then did he lift his eyes to hers.
"And," he added quietly, "it's traditional for the lady to say yes."
Lysara looked down.
The emerald blazed against her skin, rich and impossibly green. How fitting, she thought through the dazed rush of emotion, that the man with eyes the colour of ancient forests should choose an emerald. It was as though some small piece of him rested now upon her hand, captured forever in gold and stone.
She could see the faintest reflection of her own astonished face in one polished facet.
"Lysara."
His voice was little more than a breath.
She looked up. "Yes." The word escaped before she realised she had spoken. She swallowed hard, laughter and tears threatening at the same time.
"Yes," she repeated, stronger now. "Of course I'll marry you."
Relief transformed him.
His smile broke slowly across his face before becoming something altogether brighter, warmer, more joyous than she had yet seen from him.
He cupped her face between his hands and kissed her.
Around them, applause erupted.
She started in surprise as the surrounding tables rose almost as one, glasses lifted in salute while congratulations echoed across the lawns. Lords and Ladies she had never met appeared from every direction, smiling broadly as they embraced Daevyn, then turned to welcome her into House Vale with a bewildering flood of names, titles and warm wishes that vanished from her memory almost as quickly as they were spoken.
Somewhere beyond the gathering, Aurora's voice faltered.