Page 13 of Burning Her Beautiful

“It endangers the core of what I want.” The words spill, unchecked. Her pupils widen, but she looks away, collecting composure.

“We test tonight,” she says after heartbeat. “Yet sabotage alone may fail. Allow me to sing a different melody—one that resonates less with your runes.”

Hope flares. “You can alter pitch?”

She nods. “Mother taught variants to confuse birds from seed rows.”

“Inspired.” I grin, tension loosening fraction. She mirrors smile—small but luminous.

We spend hours refining new tune, mapping which harmonics bounce harmlessly. Each time her voice glides across notes my heart stutters. I force focus on glyphs.

Sundown paints corridors gold. Chancellor Velyth escorts small delegation—Sarivya, two engineers, three neutral matrons. They gather in test conservatory where last night’s vines sleep dormant. Crystal lamps cast soft light.

I present sealed cuffs bound with iron runes, slip them over my wrists. Magic dampens, pressure like cold water dousing flame. I nod to Iliana.

She steps center stage, shoulders squared. Despite absence of jewellery, she gleams regal. She inhales, glances at me once. Our eyes lock. I incline head.

She begins to hum.

Low, lilting, unlike yesterday’s bold notes. Sound swirls through air, touches vines, then drifts away like breath on glass. For endless heartbeats we wait. Leaves rustle—but only from breeze of ceiling vents. Nothing stirs.

Relief surges. Iliana sustains hum, weaving playful variations. Still vines sleep. Murmurs bloom among watchers: admiration, disappointment. Sarivya’s face pinches.

Iliana’s voice fades. She bows. Delegates scribble. Chancellor Velyth smiles faint, turns to Sarivya. “No uncontrolled power observed.”

Sarivya forces elegance. “Impressive discipline.” But venom still lines her smile.

I unclasp cuffs, feel magic rush back like blood through numb limb. Pride fills chest—pride in her composure, pride in gamble won.

As nobles file out, Sarivya steps near Iliana, seeming to admire her braid. Lips part in whispered compliment but I catch sleight of hand: a pinched bud of nightshade between long nails poised above gown’s shoulder.

I move without thought, seizing Sarivya’s wrist. Chaos crackles under skin, lighting veins red. Gasps echo.

“Sarivya.” My voice drops to predator hush. “You drop something.”

Her eyes widen. I pry fingers open. The bud lies on her palm, innocent yet deadly. Engineers gape. Matrons whisper. Sarivya yanks arm back, fury trembling behind veneer. “You dare accuse?—”

“I dare protect.” I step closer, let glow of runes reflect in her eyes until color drains from her face. “Let us not force Inscriptorum to test you for poison handling.”

She retreats, mask fracturing. Velyth approaches, lifts brow at the bud. “Curious piece of flora.”

Sarivya’s voice trembles, then steadies. “Garden residue on gowns. Nothing sinister.”

“We shall verify.” Velyth signals guards to collect specimen. Sarivya whirls, storms from hall, dignity unraveling.

Delegates disperse, buzz rising like hornets disturbed. Velyth passes me, nods once—approval, caution hard to tell.

Iliana and I remain alone among silent vines. I exhale, tension leaving in shudder. She steps to me, slips fingers under cuff of my sleeve. “You saw her,” she whispers.

“I watch everything near you.” I lift her hand, splay her palm across my chest. Heart hammers under her touch. She closes eyes at rush of pulse.

“You gambled again,” she breathes.

“Winning is habit.” I tip her chin. “As is wanting you safe.”

Her lashes lift. Emerald eyes glow in lamplight. For an instant the chamber, the vines, even the war of politics fade. Only her breath on my lips remains.

But Garrik bursts through doors, armor rattling. “Dominus,” he pants, “Asmodeus summons you to throne room. Urgent.”

I step back, release Iliana. “I will join.” Brisk, but hand lingers half second on hers before dropping.

She nods. Strength radiates, yet worry shades expression. I turn, cloak swirling, stride past Garrik. He falls in behind.

In corridor he mutters, “Nerves fray like silk threads.”

I clench fists. “We weave stronger cloth.” Yet dread coils—king summons rarely bodes reward.

Throne room yawns vast, empty save torch rows and Asmodeus seated on obsidian seat, silver eyes glinting. He waves hand; torches flare higher, painting runes on my skin scarlet. Thunder rumbles outside, reverberating in vaulted roof.

I kneel at foot of dais. “My king.”

“Rise, Varok.” His voice slides cold iron under velvet. I obey. He studies me long moments. “Council speak highly of your temperance. Yet rumors spread faster than vines.”

“I correct them at root.”

He smiles without mirth. “Roots run deep. Your attachment to the mortal grows… noteworthy.”

My pulse spikes. “She serves our purpose, Majesty. Keeps enemies guessing.”

“Does she keep you guessing?” He leans forward. “When blade hovered over her chest, you hesitated because you saw fit to test courage. Or so you claimed. I question whether courage was only lure.”

I do not flinch. “I saw potential to shift perceptions. And I was right—nobles reevaluate humans now.”

“Some reevaluate your judgment.” He drums claw. “Your lineage stands loyal for centuries. I would hate to lose such prodigy to sentiment.”

My throat tightens. “You will not.”

“Prove it.” He gestures; a guard drags forward a hunched figure—one pearl-collared human from Sarivya’s party. Chains rattle. “I command demonstration. Show council you remain my instrument. Sacrifice this one tonight, before dawn.”

Cold seeps under skin. Iliana’s plea from another night echoes: Could you kill me with precision? Yes. But today my heart slams against sternum, rebelling at useless slaughter.

Asmodeus watches. “You refuse?”

I control breath. “Majesty, Sarivya orchestrated nightshade plot. Grant me time to expose her fully. A sacrifice now feeds her narrative that I silence dissent with blood. Better to unravel her schemes through cunning.”

“Flattery of strategy,” he muses. “Very well. Postpone sacrifice.” Relief flashes—but then he smirks. “But kill soon. Perhaps your mortal hums sweetest when blood baptism looms.”

I bow, hiding fury. Guard drags trembling human away.

“Dismissed,” Asmodeus says.

I leave, storm raging under ribs. The king tightens leash. Iliana’s life remains a bargaining chip. My obsession is now a blatant weakness.

Tower corridor stands deserted when I return. Candles sputter low. I find Iliana in library, curled asleep on couch, charcoal smudged on fingers from notes. She looks small beneath glow of one dying lamp, braid fallen across cheek. Exhaustion tugs at her features, yet peace softens mouth.

I sink to floor beside couch, knees bent, elbows on cushions. I watch slow rise of her chest, feel tension leak from shoulders. She spared nights for my kingdom, risked mind for my gambit. In return I bring threat of sacrifice closer.

Her eyes flutter open, find me. Sleep-heavy voice. “The king?”

“Unconvinced.”

She sits, reaches, brushes fingertips along my jaw. The tenderness guts me. I capture her hand, press kiss to palm. Resolve ignites. I will not let Asmodeus use her.

I whisper vow against her skin. “I will end Sarivya, bind the council, shield you from every blade—even if kingdom burns.” Words taste like fate written.

Iliana’s eyes shine, but she shakes head. “We save kingdom while saving ourselves. Burning solves nothing.”

“Then we rewrite laws.” I rise, lift her with me. She stands on toes, rests forehead against my chest. Thunder thrums outside; inside my heart drums answer.

Obsession, ambition, loyalty—currents collide. Yet her presence turns chaos into clear path: protect, transform, survive together. The risk no longer deters; it defines the only future I can stomach.

I hold her until candle dies. In darkness, decisions sharpen like knives.

Tomorrow I start by ripping Sarivya’s support from under her, root by poisoned root. After that, perhaps rewrite collar laws, one decree at a time. I will trade fear for awe, blood for blossoms, if only to keep this woman humming storms beside me.

Because the truth I dared not speak to Asmodeus roars inside my skull now: I do not merely want her heart beating. I need its rhythm to guide my own.