That was enough.
It was done.
Turning from the pyre, she walked away. The crowd stirred, and faces turned towards her. Then, like a tide pulling back from the shore, they parted, clearing a path for her. One by one, men and women pressed a hand to their hearts as she passed them. Aisha’s throat tightened at the gesture.
As she neared the archway, the final spectators at the back moved aside, revealing a lone figure at the end of the path. It was Queen Farrah, all cleaned up with her hair pinned back and a gown as regal as always—though her wrists still bore the bruises of their binding.
Aisha came to a halt when their eyes met across the distance. For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Queen Farrah came forwards. She stopped in front of Aisha and, before everyone present, took her hand. Bowing, she kissed the back of it before pressing her forehead to it. She remained in that position for several seconds before finally letting go.
‘Your Majesty,’ Farrah said, stepping aside and looking around at the crowd. ‘Gruisea, bow to your queen.’ Her voice cut through the courtyard, rising above the fire, strong and clear.
Aisha could barely breathe through the sight that followed. Turning in a slow circle, she watched as hundreds of people bowed before her. It was overwhelming, terrifying, and achingly beautiful all at once. She found Safiya among them, her eyes shiny with tears and mouth set in a proud smile. Without looking away, her sister placed a hand over her heart and bowed.
Soldiers and citizens, nobles and servants, all in the same pledge of fealty. Aisha remained at the centre of it all, the fire’s glow behind her and the people of Gruisea before her.
A hand slid into hers, warm and steady. She turned her head, eyes meeting Tariq’s. His grip tightened, firm and grounding. Then they both took another look around, side by side, king and queen.
From the eastern wall, Tariq and Aisha could see most of the city sprawled out below. The rooftops were painted in the familiar golden light that came only when the sun set. In the distance, the sea burned orange.
Tariq rested his palms against the cool stone and looked at Aisha. Her bloodshot eyes were the only visible sign of the trauma she had endured.
He had thought himself immovable once. Iron-willed, made only of Gruisea. But she had shown him he was made of other things, like devotion. He had nearly lost her once, and he had sworn never to let it happen again. The sight of her on that marble floor, blood dripping from her eyes, nose, and ears, Zahvik’s dagger raised over her, would haunt him until his death.
‘I’ll send word to the Emperor,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘I’m sure he’ll want his warriors back. Let’s see what we can negotiate in return.’
Aisha looked at him. ‘A guarantee of peace would be nice.’
‘It would—if we could trust his word.’
She chewed her lip, looking like she wanted to say something.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She released her lip. ‘Do you think we could request Maryam as part of the deal?’
He searched her face. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ she replied confidently.
He tucked some loose hair behind her ear, and she turned into his touch. ‘My brave queen,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve changed the course of history, and I’m forever in your debt.’
Her eyes searched his. ‘I guess we weren’t beyond repair after all.’
He dropped his forehead to hers, eyes closing. ‘We’re unbreakable. Whatever comes.’
She tilted her face up and kissed him. He savoured every sensation, every breath. This kiss was binding, sealing something no crown or empire could touch.
Breaking the kiss, Tariq reached inside his tunic, pulling out the token he had removed from her neck the day she left. It was threaded on a new chain. He reached around to fasten the clasp.
Her hand lifted instinctively to the token, and he laid his palm over his own beneath his tunic.
Below, lanterns flickered to life in the narrow streets. Gruisea breathed with hope again.
Tariq pulled Aisha to his chest, certain for the first time in his life that the future was bright.
Epilogue
Dusk gathered at the same shore the Slevaborg ships had invaded. The water glistened copper as people filtered down the dunes, carrying their lanterns. Soldiers, miners, women wrapped in shawls, children holding parents’ hands. The elderly with their careful steps.
