Page 85 of The Kingdom of Flames

“Not yet,” Celestine said. She looked at Tristien, defeated on the ground.

He looks himself.

“Celestine…” Tristien turned to her.

You once had me. You once had me, Tristien, but you denied your true self. That thing you tried to drown in the shadows, it called to you. It fermented. When you donned the circlet again, black venom dripped into your mind.

“I will not choose you, Tristien.”

His face fell. For once, there was no control, no composure.

Celestine stepped forward, very aware of every ear straining on either side.

“You shaped me. You showed me so much. But you hid yourself from me, and that part of you, it betrayed you.”

Encarmine spoke, “Look at what has become of you. You are worse than Vermilion.”

Tristien shook his head. “I didn’t mean to put it on. I didn’t Encarmine.”

Celestine pulled on his ruined armor. “I can’t ask you to deny yourself thus, Tristien. I can’t. But you care for me, don’t you? Would you let permanent harm come to me?”

“Never,” Tristien swore.

There are portions of him I will miss.

Celestine slowly brought her hand to the tie of her dress. She could see Tristien mean to step forward to stop her, but she froze him in place with a look.

“Behold your best intentions, Tristien.”

The gown fell, and what Tristien had never wanted, what men had lost sight for gazing upon was for the entire battlefield to see.

All present bore sight of Celestine exposed. Her body was ravaged by abuse. Starvation.

Tristien’s face paled in shame.

She had been a breath from death. Entombed and isolated, as many women know in their own way. For whether it is with words or with bricks in a wall, men who dominate women cut them off from the light of the world; from the voices of friends.

Bruises, cuts, and deep welts lined her entire body save for her face. Murmurs flew among the yellow banners in shame, for all could see this was cruelty gone too far. There was no love in these marks, only deeper and darker possession.

Encarmine growled, and his sword flew from his scabbard with a strong hiss. No words came from him. He moved so quickly. Both hands plunging the tip of the blade that had slain thousands into Tristien’s chest.

Tristien made no move to stop him. He stared at Celestine, an apology written on his face, the last words he wouldn’t speak.

Someone faster, somehow, slid the blade aside with a beautiful sword.

Lord Azure stood in front of Encarmine.

“Step aside,” Encarmine growled through gritted teeth, his circlet now glowing, circling, his form darkening into red and black.

Lord Azure did not move. Celestine recognized him now from Calendar. Dark-brown skinned, taller than Encarmine. Where Encarmine’s armor was metal made for efficiency, antique and baroque, Azure’s was the proud semblance of a knight, with the pelts and trappings of a nomad adorning his shoulders.

“You’re entitled to your anger, Encarmine. Your wrath. But would you kill me as well, just to slay him?”

What a voice.

“Yes,” Encarmine said without hesitation.

“I know you,” Azure stated. “The butchery of the unarmed would weigh on your soul.”

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