Page 24 of Burning Her Beautiful

VAROK

M idnight walks the corridors as a restless companion, filling alcoves with moving dark.

I drift through those shadows like a ghost who has lost the map back to his bones.

Every torch, every window arch, carries memories I cannot escape: a collar bursting like fireworks, chains sinking into flesh beneath the king’s throne, Iliana’s vow that her song will calm the coming eclipse.

These moments should steady me; instead they circle inside my chest, grinding against one another until sparks ignite a fear I barely understand.

I should pore over contingency charts or refine the signal shafts that must fire tomorrow.

Instead I find myself outside the door to Iliana’s chamber, breath caught halfway between courage and shame.

The impulse that leads me here blindsides me.

It is not hunger for dominance, not a desire to mark her skin with proof that she is mine.

I seek warmth—reassurance—the quiet that gathers only when her heartbeat steadies beside my own.

Yet the door remains shut, and etiquette dictates that I turn away and let her rest before the challenge we face.

I lift my hand anyway, knuckles hovering near the wood.

The breath I draw tastes of cedar smoke and regret.

I lower my hand, retreat two steps, then stop because leaving feels like snapping something delicate.

The latch clicks. The door opens a finger-width. A sliver of lamplight spills across the hall, warm and drowsy. Her voice follows, low and rough with interrupted dreams. “Varok? Are you hurt?”

I close my eyes, guilt flaring. “I woke you. Forgive me.”

She opens the door fully. Sleep braids her hair in soft tangles, and a midnight-blue robe clings to her frame. “Come in,” she urges—gentle yet firm. “Tell me what gnaws at you.”

Inside, the room smells of lavender and parchment, calm compared with my chamber of battle maps.

A single candle burns beside the bed, painting her cheekbones in honeyed light.

She guides me to a cushioned bench. I sit, unbuckling the heavy coat while she pours water into two clay cups.

My hands shake as I set the gauntlets aside; she notices. Of course she does.

“I thought you found peace after we spoke,” she says, passing me the cup.

“So did I,” I answer, taking a sip. The cool liquid anchors me, yet the quake remains. “The closer we tread to the eclipse, the more I feel fault lines under my feet.”

She kneels before me, hands resting on my thighs. “Tell me which fault scares you most.”

“Failure.” My voice cracks. “If the nets misfire tomorrow and lightning rips through the crowd.” I swallow hard. “If Asmodeus orders your death to punish me.”

Her fingers slide up, clasping mine. “We prepared. We trust our allies.”

“I trust you,” I whisper. “I do not trust myself. Every decision I make seems laced with desperation now.”

She rises onto the bench, sitting beside me yet angled so our knees touch. “Desperation rooted in love can still grow brave choices.”

Love. The word lands like thunder without a storm. I hear it from her lips and remember my own admission to the king. I turn to face her fully.

“My need for you terrifies me. It eclipses sense.” I breathe in her scent. “I came here not for seduction, but because emptiness clawed at me.”

She slides her palm along my jaw. “Then let me fill that emptiness.”

Her words unravel restraint. I draw her onto my lap, gentleness guiding every motion.

She straddles me, robe parting to reveal a night-shift of thin linen.

Moonlight from the window spills across her throat.

I press my lips to that pulse point—slow, reverent.

She sighs, fingers threading into my hair, nails scratching lightly at my scalp.

The touch loosens knotted tension inside me, strand by strand.

I nudge the robe from her shoulders, trailing soft kisses there. She shivers, but not from cold. “Are you sure?” I ask against her skin.

“I am.” She cups my face, eyes clear. “Tonight we share breath. Tomorrow we share sky. Both only matter if hearts stay open.”

Open. The word feels frightening after years of armor. I unlace the front of her shift, each tie undone with care. The linen falls away, baring curves warmed by candle glow. My breath hitches, yet the hunger that rises is tempered by awe.

I lean back so she can see me, shrugging off coat and undershirt.

Chain scars mar my chest in pale arcs, yet her gaze holds no pity—only tenderness.

She traces one scar with a fingertip, following its bend until she reaches the glowing brand above my heart.

She presses her palm over it; the brand flares—not in pain, but in the heat of answer.

Gathering courage, I speak the thought. “When you touch me there, I feel more alive than any victory ever granted.”

She smiles softly, eyes glimmering. “Then we honor that life.”

She kisses me—open warmth rather than bruising force.

Our tongues meet in slow tasting. My hands find her waist, thumbs stroking hipbones, but I do not grip tight.

I hold her as though she might vanish if squeezed.

She pushes the linen from her arms, letting it flutter to the floor.

Her nakedness is no battlefield spoil; it is sunrise after endless night.

She reaches for my trousers, unlacing them with deft hands. My cock rises, thick and eager, but a tremor of uncertainty crosses her face—this vulnerability is new for both of us. I cover her hands with mine, guiding.

“No rush,” I murmur. “I want every breath.”

She nods, then slides from my lap, stands, and pulls me to my feet. Her robe puddles around her ankles. She backs toward the bed, taking my hand. I follow, heart pounding in a less familiar rhythm—anticipation laced with fragile wonder.

At the mattress edge she stops, palms on my chest. She kisses each chain scar, descending slowly.

When her lips meet the brand again, I gasp, light bursting behind my eyelids.

She sinks to her knees, nuzzling the line of hair below my navel, then wraps slender fingers around my length, stroking with a feather brush that sends fire along my spine.

I groan, muscles trembling, but place my hand on her shoulder.

“I need to be inside you,” I rasp. “Not to claim, but to feel—” Words fail; emotion crowds my throat.

She rises, eyes dark with matching need. She climbs onto the bed, lying back amid sheets. I slip my trousers down, kick them aside, and kneel between her thighs. I guide them apart, marveling at slick heat glistening. I lower to taste her, but she catches my chin.

“Later,” she whispers, voice ragged. “Tonight I want you close. No distance.”

I crawl up, bracing on my forearms so my weight does not crush her.

Our noses brush. I align our hips, sliding the head of my cock along her folds.

She arches, breath catching. I push in slowly, inch by inch, eyes locked on hers.

When fully sheathed I still—overwhelmed by tight warmth surrounding me, the throb of her heartbeat echoing mine.

A tear escapes her eye—not of pain, but of intensity.

I kiss it away. My hips move in a shallow glide, pressure building gradually.

She meets each stroke, heels pressing into my lower back.

We find an unhurried rhythm—gentle waves rather than crashing surf.

Sweat beads on my temples. She cups my face, her words a hush.

“Feel me. Every moment.”

“I do,” I answer, voice shaking. “You are everywhere inside me.”

Her inner muscles flutter, drawing a groan from my chest. Pleasure twines with emotion until boundaries blur.

I bend to kiss her mouth, then her jaw, then the hollow of her throat.

She sighs my name, nails tracing runes along my back without scratching.

I thrust deeper—slow but firm—hitting a spot that makes her gasp and surge upward. Her walls clench, fluttering.

I ease the pace, letting tension spool. Each inhale pulls in her scent; each exhale releases fear. The room fades—no king, no eclipse—only two hearts. She lifts her legs higher, ankles crossing at my waist, taking me deeper still. I nearly lose control but hold, pressing my forehead to hers.

“Let go,” she whispers.

I thrust twice, steady; she cries out softly, climax rippling through her.

The pulsing grip pushes me over the edge.

I bury myself, release flowing in hot waves.

The ecstasy cracks something wide inside, and tears slip free—mine this time.

They drop onto her cheek before I can hide them.

She smiles through aftershocks, brushing them away.

When tremors fade, I stay sheathed but roll to the side, bringing her with me so we lie face-to-face, legs tangled. My cock softens within her, yet connection remains. She strokes my hair, expression soft, and I cannot stop the words that spill.

“I once believed obsession fueled my power. Tonight I learn tenderness is stronger.”

Her smile deepens. “Tenderness is weakness only to those who fear intimacy.”

I swallow. “I feared it until you.”

We shift so I slip free, then rearrange blankets over our bodies. She drags a fingertip along my brow. “You are allowed to rest in gentle spaces.”

“I am learning.” Fatigue settles, but my heart lightens. “If we survive tomorrow, I vow to build more gentle spaces for us.”

“We will survive.” She presses her lips to my collarbone. “And build.”

I draw her closer, head resting atop hers. The candle sputters out, leaving us in darkness scented with spent desire and calm. Sleep finds me wrapped in warmth rather than armor.

Dawn creeps across the room, brushing gold onto sheets.

I wake first, still holding her. She breathes softly, lashes fanning cheeks.

Sunlight halos her hair, and my chest tightens with awe.

I slip from the bed carefully, tuck the blanket around her, and dress silently.

Before leaving I write four words on a scrap: Meet me at sunset.

I place it on her pillow and kiss her forehead.

The corridor greets me with calm clarity. Something fundamental shifted inside me—like a fault line easing pressure rather than cracking. I stride toward the strategy wing lighter than I have felt in months. Garrik meets me at the junction, raising an eyebrow at my rare smile.

“Plans hold,” he reports.

“They do,” I answer, gripping his shoulder. “And so do we.”

As I pass windows overlooking the city, I see citizens already gathering for the eclipse festivities. Fear still shadows their faces, but anticipation burns brighter. I press my palm to the glass, the brand warm beneath my tunic. Tenderness, not chains, will steady the coming storm.

I head to the armory to finalize the signal shafts, confidence anchored by the memory of her warmth and the vow we forged in the dark. Tomorrow the world may watch the skies break, but love now tempers my power—and with tempered blades we carve destiny.