Page 55 of Burning Her Beautiful
“Because you will not allow it?” He glances over his shoulder, lips curling. “Or because she will never betray?”
“Both,” I answer.
Another stillness. Then his shoulders lose a fraction of tension. “Very well. Present your pledge at dawn court. I will endorse it if the council majority holds. But know this—any falter, and your blood signs the annulment.”
I bow, shallow but true. “Understood, Majesty.”
He waves dismissal. Yet as I turn, his next words freeze my stride. “Do not mistake approval for affection. You have forced my hand; I dress surrender in gold so the people cheer while I swallow loss.”
I meet his gaze. “Your people’s triumph is no loss.”
He bares his teeth, but something like grudging respect flickers. I exit before the temperature drops again.
Corridors blur as adrenaline drains. On the bridge, the night wind slaps my face. Garrik straightens beneath the arch. “King?”
“He will allow,” I say, breath fogging. “Dawn court.”
Garrik grins broad—something rare. “The city will roar.”
“Prepare the ceremony.” I clap his arm and stride on.
Short hours later,dawn stains the horizon rose. The palace courtyard crowds thick with dignitaries, soldiers, and citizens allowed rare entry. A marble dais gleams with morning dew. At its center stands a curved pedestal shaped like entwined vines—new overnight. Royal artisans never sleep when a king demands.
I wait on the bottom step in full dress armor, cloak pinned by the Sky Guard sigil, helm removed so my horns catch light. My heart beats a steady drum, though my palms sweat.
Trumpets cry. Iliana appears at the far arch flanked by Lys and Sael. Sunlight crowns her hair; her pendant glows. Whenshe reaches me, our hands clasp instinctively. Murmurs ripple—a living sea.
King Asmodeus ascends the dais, a crimson cloak trailing. He raises an obsidian scepter; silence falls like a curtain.
“Galmoleth thrives by courage,” he begins, voice rolling. “Courage to conquer, to innovate, to embrace storms. Yesterday courage spoke in the truth of mixed blood. Today courage speaks again in a bond that crosses boundaries yet unseen.” He beckons us forward.
Iliana and I climb the steps, standing before him. He studies us, eyes unreadable. Then he draws a dagger forged of star-iron. Reflections show both our faces in the blade. He slices the air above our joined hands. A thin spark of white light arcs—painless—yet leaves a shimmer on our skin: symbolic binding.
“By my authority,” he proclaims, “I recognize Captain Varok’s claim and name Iliana Eryndor consort of the Sky Harmony Guard, envoy to the council, guardian of dawn-song.” Crowd gasps, then erupts into applause—thunder rolling.
Trumpets blast an upbeat fanfare. Petal confetti bursts from balcony nets, fluttering like copper snow. I pivot to Iliana. Her eyes brim with awe and fierce pride. I cup her cheek, lean in, and kiss her lips beneath roaring cheers. The kiss is firm yet gentle—vow distilled into breath. She returns it with equal fire. Petals cling to her lashes when we part.
Asmodeus’s voice cuts through the applause. “The council shall vote at midday on the equality charter. Until then, celebrate the sunrise of unity.”
Ceremony ends. Courtiers swarm the dais stairs, offering congratulations tinged with caution, but none dare insult a newly blessed bond. Garrik organizes the escort down a path toward the public promenade where celebrations swell.
We descend, Iliana’s hand tight in mine. She laughs as children fling handfuls of copper petals. We pause to hug Sael, Lys, Yalira—each glowing.
Yet beneath the joy, I note shadows. Senator Tovor stands under an arch, whispering with three others. Their eyes sharpen, jaws tense. Approval by the king does not erase hatred brewed through centuries. I file the image away.
By afternoon,festival music fills the air. Streets burst with the perfume of street-food, drums, and resonance chimes. Iliana moves among stalls, greeting artisans who helped craft the stakes, sharing smiles that forge invisible alliances stronger than ink.
I break away to review guard rotations. My new unit comprises demons, half-bloods, and humans in equal squads. Training cross-species has a rocky start, but crisis binds faster than drills. They receive news of the charter vote with anxious sparks. I remind them our shield forms the first defense if the chamber turns hostile.
Thunder rumbles though the sky is clear—a false echo from distant mines. Omen enough: trouble stirs.
A messenger skids into the courtyard, breathless. “Captain—the king requests your presence in his private chamber now. Urgent.”
I nod, stride through the palace, and arrive at the vaulted council library where Asmodeus stands alone, window shutters half-drawn.
“Majesty,” I greet.
He turns, face stern. “The council wavers. Tovor claims Yalira’s charter undermines demon sovereignty. They demand I withdraw my blessing on your bond as proof of impartiality.”
