Page 47 of Burning Her Beautiful
Tears prick my eyes, sudden and fierce. “And when you leapt between us, I saw the depth of your care clearer than any vow.”
He openshiseyes, vulnerability shimmering silver. “I would tear down kingdoms for you. But tearing is easy; protecting is harder. I need to be more thanablade.”
“You are,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. “You are heart and hearth to me. This morning when I woke, I felt it, but now I know—without question.”
The confession lands like sunrise after endless night. He exhales, arms sliding around my waist, pulling me so close I feel the shake still ebbing through his frame. Our lips meet—no heat of lust, but a slow, anchoring kiss that steadies frayed nerves. I taste salt, perhaps from my tears or his. The world narrows to shared breath, shared promise.
Footsteps crunch along the gravel.AGarrik appears, stopping at a polite distance. “Dominus, patrols secure theperimeter. Assassin confirmed Velinth retainer. Council drafts arrest orders for remaining conspirators.”
Varok doesn’t release me but nods. “Double Iliana’s guard. Trusted men only.”
Garrik’s eyes lighten with understanding. “Already done.”
He leaves, and we linger beneath the cypress whisper. Finally Varok guides me along a winding path toward the healer’s annex, insisting on inspection. The healer finds bruises, a shallow cut—nothing dire. Varok stays through bandaging, one massive hand wrapped around mine.
When the healer dismisses us, Varok speaks quietly. “You should rest until sunset. My chambers hold fewer eyes.”
The thought of his sanctuary soothes nerves, yet duties tug. “I need to meet Sael—confirm final stake placement.”
“I will escort you,” he states, brooking no argument.
I laugh softly. “Then our enemies will shake at the sight of us.”
“Good.” A shadow of a smile curves his mouth.
Back in the laundry annex,workers hush at our entrance, awe mingled with relief when they see me alive. Lys darts forward, eyes red. “We heard?—”
“I’m fine.” I hug her, letting emotions tangle for a breath. “Proceed with the third-bell diversion. Varok has arranged extra patrol cover.”
Lys blinks at him, gratitude and caution mingling. He inclines his head—a rare gesture leveled toward a servant. Respect not performative—genuine. I feel hearts shift around us, walls between caste lines thinning.
We tour vent tunnels, verifying stake placement. Varok crouches in grime without complaint, holding ladders while Jonn drills bolts. His presence emboldens workers, who trade shy jokes with their former executioner turned guardian. I watch tension ease from shoulders that spent years hunched. Change blossoms in these passages—fragile but real.
When tasks end, Sael hums the success phrase; Varok hums the bass answer. The resonance through pipes vibrates my chest—a duet of rebellion and authority harmonized.
Sunset bleedscrimson across spire windows when we return to his chamber. He closes the door, then leans back against it, exhaustion carving lines into his face. The last rays splash across his horns, painting them molten. He meets my gaze, and the room hushes, the day’s chaos settling like snow.
“Thank you,” I say simply.
“For what?”
“For leaping. For lightning. For showing the city what devotion looks like.”
He pushes off the door, steps close. “They saw power—perhaps fear. Devotion? They will see that tonight.”
He reaches into his coat, retrieves a small box of polished ebony. “I meant to wait until after the eclipse, but near-death clarifies timelines.”
Curiosity jolts through me. He opens the box. Inside rests a pendant of intertwined silver vines encircling a shard of crystal pulsing faint green—the exact frequency of my hum.
“It isaresonance stone forged from yesterday’s collar fragments,” he explains. “A symbol that shackles become strength when wielded with love.”
Tears flood my eyes. I lift the pendant; it thrums like a second heartbeat. “It’s beautiful.”
“Wear it tomorrow when you calm the storm. Let them see transformation.”
I nod, voice lost, and fasten the chain around my neck. The stone warms against skin, and in that warmth I feel his trust—fierce and unwavering.
He exhales, relief softening his posture. “Rest now,” he murmurs, guiding me to bed. “I will sit by the window finalizing bow calibrations.”
