MAILAH looked at the ring.
It was not a large ring. That was the first thing — she had half-expected something architectural, something that announced itself, all authority and deliberate mass. This was not that. It was a single stone, deep blue, set low in a plain band, the kind of ring made for her rather than for the occasion.
She looked at it for a long moment.
Then she looked at him.
He was watching her with the particular quality of attention that meant he had done a thing and was not going to take it back and was waiting to see what happened next with complete composure.
His hand was still at the side of her face.
"Now," she said.
"I said what I said."
"Grayson, it's November. We're in a courtyard."
"Yes," he said.
"Carson is forty meters away arguing with a beekeeper."
"Also yes."
She stared at him. He looked back at her with the expression of someone who found absolutely nothing irregular about the circumstances.
"You said now," she said.
"I meant it."
