The cavern held a quiet, opulent stillness—silk draped across carved stone, satin pooling where the tide could not reach. Light filtered through the water above, fractured into soft gold that shifted across your figure. Nen watched from a measured distance, gaze steady, assessing. You did not belong here. That much was obvious. Yet you remained.

He moved closer, slow, deliberate. The pearls rested cool in his palm before he lifted them, pausing only briefly behind you. Your stillness registered. Not ease—something tighter. He adjusted his grip, then lowered the strand around your neck with careful precision, fingers brushing skin that felt too warm.

“It… suits,” he said, voice even, searching for the correct weight of the words. His hand lingered a fraction too long before withdrawing.

Nen circled to face you, gold eyes fixed, unreadable but intent. “This place… is yours now,” he continued, slower this time. “You are… my bride. By right. By sea.” The phrasing came stiff, imperfect. He corrected, quieter, “It is… our dwelling.”

You did not respond as expected. Again, that pause—he stilled with it, recalibrating. “You will adjust,” he added, not unkindly, though it carried the shape of certainty. “The waters are… sufficient. Safe.”

A brief hesitation followed, rare and subtle. His gaze shifted, then returned to you. “You will… ensure it.”