Page 63 of Burned to Obey

A shockwave of murmurs surges. Some senators appear outraged, but they cannot deny the arena’s final word. A new chant rises from the stands, praising the Warden who defied Thakur. My chest burns, fatigue threatening to buckle my knees, but I stand tall, refusing to show weakness.

Then I fix my eyes on Naeva’s vantage point, lifting an arm to beckon her forward. The hush intensifies. She steps onto the edge of the stands, uncertain, the guard behind her. My breath shivers. I speak, voice hoarse but resolute, letting the entire arena hear.

“This brand is not just a legal bond—it’s a vow. I claim Naeva not as prisoner, but as lifemate. She fought for me, saved me from poison, and stands at my side by choice. I stand at hers. Anyone who challenges that stands against House Rhek’tal.”

The stands erupt anew, half in cheers, half in shock. Thakur sputters, flanked by senators who shuffle uneasily. Davor, near the front rows, looks stunned, but then nods with approval. A wave of relief floods me, though exhaustion gnaws at my bones.

Naeva presses a trembling hand to her lips, tears glinting. I sense her disbelief. The brand might have started as forced protection, but it’s become something deeper. A vow we forged in secret, now laid bare before the Bastion. My horns tingle with the finality of it. We can’t hide. The entire fortress sees.

The herald tries to maintain order, stammering the official results. “Warden Saru Rhek’tal is victor! Thakur is overruled. The crest stands, the prisoner’s charges nullified!” The crowd roars again, releasing tension built for days. Some fling hats or cups in celebration. Others glower, evidently loyal to Thakur, but unable to contradict minotaur tradition.

I breathe, letting my gaze linger on Naeva. She presses her fist to her chest, returning my vow with silent emotion. My limbs shake, blood trickling from multiple cuts. Adrenaline fades, leaving me unsteady. But triumph warms me. We’ve defiedThakur, saved her from execution, and reaffirmed the Bastion’s code.

Guards rush in to secure the champion’s body, while Davor enters the arena with a proud salute. He helps me remain upright, steadying me. I grunt in thanks, chest burning. He dips his head. “Well fought, Warden. Thakur is forced to slink away in disgrace. Word is the Senate may exile him.”

“Good,” I rasp, horns drooping. “He’ll trouble us no more.”

Davor nods, supporting my weight as we head toward the exit. The crowd parts, some reaching to clap my shoulder or cry out congratulations. They blur from focus as I lock onto Naeva—she darts through the stands, heading for the passageway that drops into the arena’s lower tier. I limp after her, pain forgotten.

At last, we converge in a dim corridor beneath the seats, the dust-laden air swirling with the day’s heat. She pushes past a few onlookers, tears streaking her face. I cast aside Davor’s help, stumbling to her. She catches me around the waist, breath hitching.

“You’re alive,” she whispers, voice trembling with relief.

I nod, pressing my forehead to hers. “I told you. I’d fight for us.”

She breaks into fresh tears, lips trembling. “You were so close to— I thought…”

I hush her, arms wrapping around her slender frame. Blood drips from my side, but I ignore it, letting the closeness steady me. The crowd’s roar muffles in the corridor, leaving only our ragged breathing. She clutches my neck, and I hold her, horns angled protectively. My entire body pulses with exhaustion, yet I stand firm, refusing to collapse. She saved me from poison, I overcame the champion— together, we shattered Thakur’s plan.

Footsteps echo behind us. Davor coughs lightly, half-smiling. “Warden, we should get you to the healers. You’re losing blood, again.”

I let out a pained chuckle, nodding. Naeva presses her lips to my chest, voice muffled. “We can’t make a habit of this,” she says, half-laughing, half-sobbing.

I hush her, ignoring the ache. “No more. We ended it.”

She lifts her tear-streaked face, eyes shining. “You declared me lifemate.”

I swallow, horns tilting. “I meant it. If… if you accept.”

Emotion wars on her face, relief and love warring with disbelief. Then she exhales, nodding slowly, tears slipping anew. “I accept. Always.”

My throat tightens. The brand on her arm glints in the dim corridor, a symbol of forced beginnings turned into chosen vow. Davor intervenes, guiding us toward a quieter passage. Guards form a respectful circle, letting us pass. My breath comes in shallow gasps, each step jarring my cuts. Naeva practically supports me by the waist, though she’s half my size. I sense her ferocity, refusing to let me fall.

We exit into the Bastion’s main corridor, where the hush intensifies. Onlookers part like waves, some cheering, some stunned. Whispers about the brand, the vow, lifemates. I pay them no mind, arms locked around Naeva. The day’s ordeal ends with Thakur’s downfall. We have no illusions that politics vanish, but we stand on firmer ground.

Soon enough, we reach the infirmary, already braced for my arrival. The staff gasps at the torn flesh along my flank and battered armor. Naeva helps lower me onto a cot, then steps aside, letting the healers scurry in. She waits at the edge, a handful of Bastion officers near her. The old minotaur healer from before snarls that I’m a fool for fighting so soon after the last injury, but sets to work. I grin wearily.

Blood loss makes my mind hazy. I let them stitch me again, each tug a reminder of the champion’s near-lethal skill. But Iovercame him for her sake, for ours. Once the worst is bound, I wave off extra fuss. “I’m fine,” I mutter, voice thick with fatigue.

They clear away, revealing Naeva stepping forward, eyes brimming with relief. My chest tightens with longing, ignoring the staff’s presence. She moves to my side, rests a cautious hand on the fresh bandage. “Does it hurt terribly?”

I let out a strained laugh. “Hurts like a thousand stings, but it’s worth it.” I cradle her fingers, pushing past the scratch in my throat. “You’re safe.”

Her lips tremble, a tear escaping. “Yes,” she whispers. She bows her head, pressing it to my shoulder. My horns droop, pressing my brow to hers. We breathe in tandem, letting the battered hush envelop us. The brand on her arm glistens in the lantern glow. A vow reaffirmed not by forced code, but by choice.

The officers stand at a polite distance, some sharing relieved smiles. Davor reenters, clearing his throat. “Warden, the Senate’s official decree has arrived. Thakur is exiled from Bastion affairs, recognized as a traitor to House Rhek’tal. No further charges stand against you or your… lifemate. Congratulations.”

My heart warms at that word: lifemate. I meet Naeva’s gaze, finding a reflection of my own mixture of relief and exhausted joy. She sags in silent gratitude. We’ve fought so hard for this outcome. My horns hum with the sense that we’ve found victory, if not final peace.

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