Page 44 of The Beautiful Blade

That got a rise out of them.

The nobles clutched at their chests, their fingers curling possessively around jeweled brooches and golden chains, as if my words might somehow strip them of their wealth and privilege. There was a collective sigh through the merchant class ranks. The sound carried the weight of fatigue rather than shock. Their hands twitched as though already tallying the cost of this shift in power, calculating what it would mean for their stalls, their trade routes, their profit margins.

The servants, however, were still as stone, their spines stiff with the quiet endurance of those who hadseen rulers come and go while they always remained at the bottom. What difference did it make who sat in the manor if they would still rise before dawn, still serve the same meals, still bow and scrape and fade into the background?

"Some may say Avarix will punish us because I didn’t make the vow he demanded. It was the Mother Sun and the Daughter Moon that blessed King Adom's union with one of our own. It is the suns that shine their light on Evergrove and will return us to prosperity."

The sky above was no longer veiled in shadow. The eclipse was over. Lyra’s light dominated the heavens. Avarix hovered faintly in the distance, a pale remnant of the night, but it felt weak—diminished. Good. Avarix had never been a friend to me. His cold light cast judgment over every misstep I’d ever made. I wouldn’t bow to him, not now, not ever.

Lyra burned bright, defiant against her mother’s dominance. I found a kinship in her light. She refused to be overshadowed, to be silenced, to be ruled by a mother who only cared for her light. I whispered a silent promise to myself:Neither will I.

Jorge had been my Lyra, fierce and unwavering. But he’d also been my Solara, selfless and giving, protecting me even when I didn’t deserve it. He never asked for my compliance, never demanded that I shape myself tofit his desires. He would have died for me—might already have. That thought struck me like a blade. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. I couldn’t let it end like this.

“We have the tools we need to rebuild, to grow stronger. And many of those tools came from someone who wasn’t even one of us. A human. Jorge.

“Jorge didn’t just survive in Evergrove—he thrived. He found ways to coat metals so they wouldn’t harm us. He cared for our animals, ensuring their strength and health. He created nighttime irrigation to help our crops bloom when Avarix’s light failed us.

"Jorge was taken from us three years ago. But he didn't stop fighting. He fought his way out of the Convergence Games. He fought for us in the Troll Wars to become the second commander to King Adom. He has always fought for us. Now I'm going to fight for him, and when I find him, he will be your king."

Another murmur went through the crowd. Some fairies bristled. Some nodded their assent. There was no overwhelming consensus of my declaration for Jorge's role in this society. We wouldn't have a smooth way, but nothing had been easy about our love since its beginning. What were a few more ruffled wings?

"I'll need help finding him and for the fight that will ensue. Who's with me?"

"I'll go with you."

His voice cut through the crowd like a blade, slicing through every worry, every plan, every stubborn wall I had built to hold myself together. My spine locked, my grip tightening around the dagger at my side. The sunlight caught the steel, but I could barely see it. My vision blurred, my ears rang, my pulse roared.

I turned, frantically searching the sea of faces, desperate and terrified all at once. And then—I saw it.

A hand rose above the crowd. Not flesh and bone, but metal and power.

A sob tore from my throat, raw and unbidden, and I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t contain the flood of emotion that crashed over me.

Jorge stood there, grinning, as if the last three years had never happened. As if he hadn’t been ripped from me three days ago, hadn’t been thrown into hell, hadn’t fought and bled and clawed his way back to me.

"Or we can stay, and you can come here into my arms where you belong."

I didn’t think.

I ran.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

JORGE

Charlotte crashed into me. I caught her as if I’d been waiting my whole life to do just that. Because I had.

She felt exactly as she should—like warmth, like home, like a part of me. I buried my face against her neck, breathing her in. The scent of crushed petals and battle-sweat settled into my bones.

She was here. In my arms. And I would never let her go.

Then a whisper. Low at first, but growing. The sound of shifting weight, of murmured dissent. A voice finallyrose above the rest, its tone dripping with disdain.

“She can’t expect us to bow down to a human.”

I’d known it wouldn’t be easy. I’d spent years plotting, scheming, fighting just to be near Charlotte again, let alone stand at her side in the open. And now, as her people—our people—watched with wary eyes, doubt and judgment swirling among them, I realized something.

I was done hiding.

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