Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Chapter 228: The ring.

Dean folded his arms. "Just show me the rings."

Benjamin let out a soft, scandalized sound. "No."

Dean blinked. "No?"

"No," Benjamin repeated, with the calm authority of a man who had once likely argued down bishops, counts, and at least one deeply emotional duchess over stone settings. "That is not how this works. I am not a market stall. I am not dumping trays in front of you and letting sentiment make random purchases."

Sylvia nodded solemnly. "He has a point."

Dean looked at her. "You’re enjoying this too much."

"I’m enjoying all of this exactly the right amount."

Benjamin ignored both of them and opened a second inner panel of the case. More trays slid into view, narrower this time, arranged not by metal or stone but by profile, weight, line, and structure.

"Now," he said, all business. "We begin properly. Not with rings. With hands."

Dean stared.

Benjamin stared back.

Boreas yawned.

Sylvia folded her hands in her lap like a woman settling in for theater.

Dean’s voice went dry. "Benjamin."

"What?"

"That sentence was alarming."

"That sentence was craftsmanship." He snapped his fingers once. "Your hand."

Dean, against every instinct toward defiance, held it out.

Benjamin took it with grave concentration and immediate disrespect.

He turned Dean’s hand palm up, then over, studying the lines of his fingers, the shape of the knuckles, and the way the tendons moved beneath the skin. The pale, frosted platinum band on Dean’s hand caught the morning light, and the central violet diamond flashed once, sharp, defiant, and unmistakably chosen to mirror Dean’s gaze.

Benjamin paused. Then he looked up.

"Well," he said. "He did not miss."

Sylvia leaned in at once. "Right?"

Dean tried for indifference. "It is a ring."

Benjamin made a sound of deep professional offense. "No. It is not a ring. It is a declaration in precious metal. Pale frosted platinum, not polished, because he knew anything brighter would look too eager on you. A violet diamond set cleanly enough not to look decorative, because he understands you would rather die than wear something that looks sweet. It is specific, arrogant, and expensive without shouting. In other words, he was paying attention."

Dean said nothing.

Sylvia smiled with entirely too much satisfaction. "He was."

Benjamin turned Dean’s hand slightly, watching the violet fire shift in the stone. "And now you want to answer."

That was, annoyingly, exactly it.

Dean drew his hand back. "I want to give him one for his birthday."

Benjamin sat back. "Good. That means we are not making a matching set."

Dean frowned. "No."

"Excellent. Matching sets are for people with no imagination and coordinated towels."

Sylvia choked on a laugh.

Benjamin ignored her and opened a second tier in the case, revealing heavier bands, darker finishes, and a tray of stones arranged with more restraint and considerably more danger.

"You already have his answer," Benjamin said, nodding toward Dean’s hand. "So the question is not what he would give you. The question is what you want to put on him."

Dean looked down at the trays.

That was the part that had become difficult.

Not choosing something expensive. That was easy. Not choosing something princely. Also easy. Arion could wear half the treasury and somehow still make it look understated.

No, the difficulty was choosing something that belonged to Arion and to Dean’s version of him.

Benjamin saw the hesitation and nodded once. "Good. You’re frightened by the right part."

Dean looked up. "I’m not frightened."

Benjamin lifted a brow. "Then you are emotionally inconvenienced by the right part. Better?"

"Marginally."

Sylvia, traitor that she was, said, "He’s in love. Just write that on a card and skip ahead."

Benjamin waved one hand. "We are jewelers, not barbarians. We still require detail."

Then he tapped the table. "Start with metal."

Dean looked over the samples. Bright platinum was wrong immediately. Too close to his own ring. Too reflective. Too neat. White gold felt too ornamental. Blackened silver felt too temporary. His fingers stopped instead on a dark, brushed band - gunmetal grey, matte, and severe without being cold.

Benjamin nodded before Dean even spoke. "Tantalum."

"Heavy," Dean said.

"Yes."

"And it looks like it would survive being thrown through a wall."

Benjamin’s mouth twitched. "An inspiring standard."

"It’s Arion."

"That," Benjamin said, "is fair."

Dean set the sample aside, tapping his fingers against it while his eyes stayed on the stones. "Benjamin, can you engrave this with old gold? Arion doesn’t seem like a man who would wear a gem with it."

Benjamin went still.

Then slowly, very slowly, he turned his head and looked at Dean as if he had just said something both outrageous and interesting enough to justify the flight.

Sylvia straightened. "Old gold?"

Dean nodded once, still watching the band. "You know, the dull, kinda tarnished one?"

Benjamin’s eyes sharpened with immediate professional interest. "You want contrast without ornament."

"Yes."

"And you want the contrast to live inside the metal rather than sitting on top of it like decoration."

"Yes."

Benjamin leaned forward and took the band back, turning it under the light. "You are describing inlay, not engraving."

Dean looked up. "Can it be done?"

"Of course it can be done," Benjamin said, scandalized. "I’m not a village silversmith with a tragic chisel. The question is whether it should be done."

Sylvia smiled. "That means yes."

"That means I am thinking," Benjamin corrected.

He opened a smaller compartment in the case and drew out three narrow sample strips, each laid with a different gold treatment. One was too bright. One too red. The third was darker, almost antique in tone, soft gold with depth in it, aged without looking fragile.

Benjamin placed them beside the brushed tantalum.

Dean pointed immediately. "That one."

Benjamin did not look surprised. "Naturally."

"What does naturally mean?"

"It means you are being consistent in your taste. Severe metal, hidden warmth. Very romantic. Very annoying."

Dean ignored that. "It would work?"

Benjamin held the dark gold sample over the band, eyes narrowed in concentration. "Not as an external flourish. That would look decorative, and you’re right, he would hate it. But inside the band, or as a restrained inner edge line..." He paused, thinking. "Yes. Done properly, it would feel less like jewelry and more like a secret."

Dean’s fingers stilled on the table.

A secret. Yes.

Benjamin saw the shift in his face and pointed a finger at him. "Do not become emotional before we finalize structure. It clouds judgment."

Sylvia looked delighted. "That means he’s right."

Benjamin pulled a sketch card from the case and began marking quick lines with a pencil, his movements precise now, all theatrics sublimated into craft. "Dark brushed tantalum band. Broad enough to carry weight without looking clumsy. Interior old-gold inlay. Possibly a narrow hidden channel rather than full lining, depending on comfort."

Dean leaned closer. "He won’t want anything that feels delicate."

"Then it won’t be delicate."

Benjamin added another line. "The gold can sit just inside the inner curve. Not enough to be seen, but enough to be felt when he turns it in his hand."

Sylvia’s brows rose. "That’s... intimate."

Benjamin did not look up. "That is the point."