Ashes and Applause
The flames roared behind the palace courtyard, casting a fiery glow across the jubilant crowd. Smoke curled into the night sky, thick with the scent of burning herbs, incense — and something else far more human.
Lilian stood beneath the crimson banners fluttering above, dressed in a golden gown that shimmered like sunlight off molten metal. Her face held a soft smile, carefully practiced. Her hands, folded neatly before her, trembled just enough to feel real — but not enough to raise suspicion.
"They say the last of the Dark Queen's witches screamed until her voice melted," one noblewoman whispered near her, laughter tangled with wine and delight. "Imagine the nerve of those creatures — cursing our land, poisoning our crops. The flames were mercy."
Lilian nodded. "Justice was long overdue," she said, her voice smooth, calm — the way a queen-in-waiting was expected to sound. She tilted her head in mock admiration as a group of dancers spun past, their cloaks patterned with symbols of light and flame. Hypocrisy twirled in rhythm with their movements.
The King sat at the high table, his goblet full, his eyes heavier than usual. Her husband — Prince Henry— was beside him, his arm slung lazily around a soldier's shoulder, laughing at some jest about how witches shrieked louder than banshees.
Lilian's gaze flickered to the edge of the courtyard, where a pile of charred bones smoldered under blackened wood. Someone had tied a silver ribbon around one of the stakes. A child's offering, perhaps.
She took a deep breath and raised her goblet. "To victory," she said, loud enough for those around her to hear.
They raised theirs in response. To light. To righteousness. To the burning of anyone who dared defy the crown.
And yet, her stomach coiled.
Her mother had once told her: Fire is not loyal. It burns what it's fed, whether sinner or saint.
The orchestra picked up tempo. A servant offered her more wine, but she declined. Instead, she walked among the guests, complimenting dresses, smiling at old generals, curtsying just low enough to show humility but not submission.
The queen mother nodded at her with tight approval. "You're finally settling in," she said.
Lilian smiled. "I only wish I could have seen the cleansing myself."
Lies came easier now. They slid off her tongue like honey, but tasted like ash.
She glanced once more toward the smoldering remains in the distance. The Dark Queen may have fallen, but something in Lilian whispered: the story wasn't over. Fire only ends one chapter. It begins another.