Page 33 of Burning Her Beautiful

I bow. “Thank you, Majesty.”

Iliana mirrors the movement. When we rise, Asmodeus surprises me with a faint smile. “Lead well, Captain. Your story rewrites books I thought finished.” He returns to the throne.

The crowd breaks into murmured celebration, some into stunned reflection. Garrik bursts through the doorway, a grin splitting his face as he surveys our safety. Behind him Sael and Lys push forward, eyes shining.

Iliana and I descend the dais steps. Supporters surge, but the guard buffer maintains space. She grips my hand, expression dazed yet radiant.

We exit onto a balcony overlooking the inner courtyard. The sun climbs higher, gilding flagstones. Below, citizens gather, drawn by rumors of divine light. They peer up, hope bright in every face.

Iliana steps to the balustrade. Her voice rings clear, carrying farther than mortal lungs should reach. “People of Galmoleth, chains fall today not by decree alone but by hearts that refuse silence. Walk beside your neighbor—horned or round-eared—and build the dawn together.”

The crowd erupts in cheers; a wave of sound rolls up the walls, washing over us. I look at her silhouette against the sun, hair haloed, and pride nearly breaks my chest. I once believed desire made me weak. Now I see desire tempered by respect forges indomitable will.

She turns, cheeks wet with tears she does not hide. I wipe one away with my thumb. “Divine favor suits you,” I tease softly.

“It feels heavy,” she admits.

“Then I will shoulder the half that drags.” I kiss her forehead, lingering.

Behind, bells burst into joyous peal—first from the palace tower, then the cathedral, then the harbor. Their echo chases clouds beyond the horizon.

Across the courtyard, Tovor slips through an arch, cloak drawn tight. He will plot, as will others, but open war becomes perilous under the Accord. Our fight shifts from survival to stewardship.

Iliana leans into my arms. “We did not win everything today, but we won the chance to try.”

“Chance is more than rebels usually receive,” I reply.

We stay there until the bells quiet, letting the sun bake fear from our bones. Each breath tastes of iron and jasmine and distant bakery sugar—an odd mixture marking the birth of a new era.

Later, we return to the council chamber to sign the amended charter. Yalira guides the quill in Iliana’s hand while glyphs still flare with light. As the final stroke dries, the parchment shivers then calms, as if settling under the weight of destiny.

At dusk, a feast erupts in the royal garden.

Musicians from both upper terraces and river quarters blend instruments—lute with drum, horn with reed.

I dance only once, pulling Iliana into a slow spin among the roses while torches scatter sparks above.

She laughs, that sound chiming like crystal.

For a heartbeat the world narrows to that laugh and the fragrance of bloom.

Night deepens; stars reflect in the palace pond. I stand with Garrik near the perimeter, scanning shadows by habit. He nudges me. “Stormborn, you realize you outranked half these lords before midday—now half bow to you.”

“I prefer them standing,” I answer. “Harder to stab when kneeling? Perhaps. But easier to hold accountable.”

He chuckles. “Duty never leaves.”

“No,” I agree. “But neither does hope.”

Iliana appears, entwining her fingers with mine. “Come. They want a toast.” She drags me toward the dais where Asmodeus lifts a jeweled goblet. He speaks of unity—of faith in change. When he finishes and the crowd drinks, he passes the goblet to me.

I raise it. “Courage is not absence of fear but the decision that love outranks it.” I turn, offering the goblet to Iliana. She touches the rim to her lips, then raises it to the assembly. Applause rings.

The feast roars on, but we eventually slip away—up a spiral staircase to the tower where a night breeze cools heated skin. We lean against a parapet, city lights sprawled below like a river of embers.

Iliana inhales. “Do you think Oltyx will return?”

“Only if we falter.” I brush her hair aside, revealing faint glyphs. “And we will not.”

We stand in silence, hearts beating a calm cadence. Clouds drift, revealing a full moon. I remember that childhood sunrise I told her last night: colors bathing the peaks. This moonrise mirrors that wonder, silver washing a city grown strange and new.

I pull her close, hand on the small of her back. “The Accord named you guardian of dawn.”

“And you sentinel of the bridge,” she reminds me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Bridges stand when stones interlock,” I say. “My stone against yours.”

Below, bells toll the final hour. Gates close, yet possibilities open wide. In the quiet I feel a swirl of gratitude—toward Garrik, toward Yalira, even toward Asmodeus, who surrendered pride for the realm’s good, and most toward the unfathomable Herald who saw worth in an unlikely pair.

Iliana turns in my embrace, lips brushing mine. The kiss is soft, free of urgency, flavored with the promise of mornings to come. She whispers against my mouth, “Tomorrow we start repair.”

“And tonight we hold each other,” I finish.

Inside, the fire waits in the hearth. Its glow flickers on parchment still wet with the charter seal, on armor stacked neatly by the wall, and on two cups of honey-wine left by thoughtful attendants. I pour and pass a cup. She raises hers.

“To bridges,” she says.

“To dawn,” I answer.

We drink, savor sweetness, then place cups aside. No further words are needed. Outside, the city hums restful under the new law. Inside, we begin the future with steady hearts and open hands, ready to guide the flame into an era no lineage scroll ever dared imagine.

I look once more through the window. Clouds part, revealing a star that streaks across the void—its trail bright and brief. I follow its arc until it fades beyond the horizon. Hope is a streak that blazes, then leaves the darkness brighter because it passed.

I turn back to Iliana, the glow of the fire dancing in her eyes. She reaches; I step into her embrace. Together we face the warmth of the hearth and the new chapter waiting beyond dawn.