Page 66 of Burning Her Beautiful
Flutes release soft, minor notes; drumbeats echo my heartbeat. The procession begins. Sael and Lys emerge first, bearing a long ribbon dyed in gradient—from night indigo to sunrise pink—the symbol of the bridge. The audience hushes as they stretch the ribbon across the dais, anchoring each end to marble pillars.
And then she appears.
Iliana walks the stone aisle, steps unhurried, posture regal. Her gown flows like liquid garnet infused with ash-gray, the bodice shaped by spiral stitching that mirrors the glyph on her collarbone. The skirt parts at each stride, revealing trousers stitched with lightning thread—a nod to the guard uniform. Around her shoulders drapes a thin cloak woven from sky-silk, translucent and shimmering with faint blues. Hair falls in loose waves, scattered with quartz pins that glint whenever the hidden sun manages to break through the storm roof. She carries no bouquet, only a small bell of river glass; its ring is silent for now.
When her eyes meet mine, the storm above stills as though inhaling. I hear nothing but my own pulse. She smiles, and the hardest walls inside me crumble like brittle stone.
Yalira—robed in lavender and storm-violet—steps forward to officiate. Behind her stands King Asmodeus, his crownmuted, his stance surprisingly open. On the opposite side, Oltyx materializes in toned-down brilliance, wings folded and features softened for mortal sight. Each figure bears witness.
Iliana stops before me. Wind lifts the cloak’s edges, wrapping us in a private tunnel of air. She tilts her chin. “You waited.”
“For you I could wait beyond eternity,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel as I offer my hands.
She places the bell in one. “When I ring this, the past ends.”
I nod. Garrik hands me twin rings of thunder-stone and river glass; their weight grounds me. Yalira raises her palms.
“Galmoleth, behold two souls once divided by blood and chain, now joined by choice,” her voice carries effortlessly. “Let their vow be forged not from dominance, nor from debt, but from founded respect.”
She gestures for me to speak first. I glance at the gathering, then back to Iliana. Words rise like the tide.
“I stood upon this cliff during war games, dreaming only of conquest. Today I kneel before the woman who taught me mercy. You sang the storm still, yet you stirred the tempest in my heart. I vow to honor the melody of your freedom, even when it challenges my thunder. I vow to guard your dreams as fiercely as my own honor. And I vow to lift my voice beside yours until harmony banishes every night that dares return.”
Without cue, the clouds rumble soft approval. Iliana lifts her gaze to the sky and then searches my face.
“My chains once clanged louder than hope,” she begins, voice clear. “You shattered them not with keys, but with faith I never granted myself. I vow to question you when the path fogs, to steady you when rage drums too loudly, and to celebrate each quiet triumph with both song and silence. I vow that no storm will rise without our shared command.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes, glistening on her lashes before the wind dries them.
Yalira presents the rings. I slide the thunder-stone onto Iliana’s finger; the gem pulses in a tiny flash. She slips the twin band onto mine, and electricity hums across my skin. Above us, lightning illuminates the clouds yet holds its strike.
Oltyx steps forward. “Witness divine favor,” the Herald intones. The celestial presses two fingertips to both our rings. Light flows like molten silver along our arms, searing new intertwined sigils at our wrists—half lightning, half note. The burn startles without pain, branding our bond for realms seen and unseen.
Asmodeus lifts a goblet. “By royal assent and celestial sanction, I declare this union sealed.” He raises the goblet skyward. Cheers erupt—voices human and demon blended.
Iliana lifts the bell. It chimes once, delicate yet piercing. Clouds split, revealing a single shaft of sunlight that illuminates only our dais. Rain begins beyond that radius, a curtain shimmering down the ravine, yet the dais remains dry—a circle of covenant.
We turn toward the crowd. I raise Iliana’s hand high. Thunder rolls—not harsh, but triumphant. A roar of applause rises, drowning the river’s voice.
The procession of well-wishers follows. Senators bow. Artisans present tokens—woven bracelets and jars of spiced honey. Children fling garlands of dawn lilies. We accept every gift with thanks.
A feast spreads through the cliff garden where tables curve around ancient oaks. Dishes from every caste appear: spicy tunnel-root stew, mountain-goat roast rubbed with herbal salt, and sea-pearl dumplings. Laughter mingles like a brand-new dialect. I watch Iliana dance with Sael, her skirt swirling while musicians strike a lively reel. Her joy snares me like the first arrow of sun.
As dusk bleeds copper, Garrik nudges me. “Captain—husband—steal her before exhaustion claims.” He winks.
I find her near the fountain, cheeks flushed and curls escaping pins. I bow in exaggeration. “May I abduct my wife?”
She curtsies. “On the condition your abduction leads to starlight.”
“Starlight guaranteed.” I cloak her shoulders and guide her through a lantern-lit grove to the hidden lift carved into the cliff wall. The mechanism hums, lowering us toward our private shore cavern.
We step onto sand soft as flour. Waves lap, reflecting the crescent moon peeking between clouds. Torches line a path to an arch of draping silver vines. Within stands a small pavilion of silk, its bed draped in gauze, petals scattered like ruby constellations. Candles burn with hints of citrus and cedar.
Iliana laughs breathlessly. “Planned a siege, did you?”
“Strategic preparation,” I admit. “Success is uncertain if comfort is lacking.”
She unties her cloak, letting it cascade. Moonlight paints her gown in wine shadows. Removing the quartz pins, she shakes her hair free. Each movement feels ceremonial yet playful.
