At dawn, the western desert's horizon burned with a red sun like fire, gilding the sand dunes in warm gold. The Flaming Royal Army adjusted their ranks in the howling wind. Yesterday's altar had been reduced to dust, yet embers still exhaled faint warmth. Standing on a high platform, Aveline overlooked the vast desert. Behind her, wind flags snapped, and her black-gold battle robe billowed, making her resemble a Valkyrie from myth.
Lucian stood at her side, grave-faced: "The heretics of the western desert have been eliminated, their last flames quenched. But according to frontline intelligence, oracle-like visions have appeared on the northern border. Remnants of the Church now agitate the people in the name of the 'Holy Son of the Wind'."
Aveline's gaze was calm, yet her eyes shone with unwavering resolve: "They refuse to relinquish their old dreams. But this time, I will show no mercy."
She turned to face the entire army, her voice resounding: "Yesterday, we destroyed the false god's altar with fire. Today, I swear by royal blood—henceforth, no religious authority shall surpass royal power, and no heresy shall oppress mankind in the name of light! We fight for the Snowflame and stand for the future!"
The soldiers roared in unison: "Fight for the Snowflame! Stand for the future!"
As the army marched north from the western desert, they passed through Red Rock Ridge. Evening winds fluttered the banners. In the royal tent, Aveline and Lucian were alone. She took out encrypted letters and spread them on a low table: "These are supplementary intelligence scrolls sent by Prime Minister Gu this morning, regarding power shifts within the capital."
Lucian leaned over to read them, his voice grave: "General Renault has lingered on the border after quelling bandits, showing signs of disloyalty. And the leader of the Church remnants, the 'White Seal Divine Envoy,' has infiltrated Lahlian."
Aveline traced a finger across the scrolls: "I've authorized Prime Minister Gu to secretly manipulate Renault, letting him believe he'll be granted a royal title. Openly, he'll lower his guard, but in truth, Iraya will control his three battalions to weaken his power."
Lucian looked at her, his eyes a mix of pride and complexity: "You are no longer the princess who entered the palace alone. Now, you're reshaping the kingdom's lifeblood with fire and blood."
Aveline replied softly: "If I don't harden my heart first, someday I and my people will be the ones on the chopping block."
As night deepened, the royal tent in Red Rock Ridge was wrapped in thick blankets, shielding against the desert wind. Aveline removed her battle robe, wearing only a silk nightgown as she sat on a brocade couch, long silver hair cascading—its strands shimmered softly in the lamplight.
Lucian approached, his gaze tender: "Your Highness hasn't rested in ages. Let me handle everything tonight."
Aveline smiled: "Lucian, you always bring peace in my weariest moments."
He stepped closer, whispering in her ear: "I wish to be the down on your shoulder, to lift every burden."
She leaned back into his embrace, fingers undoing his robe. He bent to kiss her collarbone and neck, gentle as rippling water. Aveline moaned in response, legs twining around his waist, her body familiar with his rhythm and warmth.
By candlelight, they tangled on the couch, skin against skin, breaths intermingling. Lucian used deepest tenderness to soothe the day's burdens. With each thrust, she trembled, fingers clutching his palm: "Lucian, no matter how many storms lie ahead, promise never to let go."
"I swear by my soul," he vowed against her ear, "you alone are the one I was born to protect."
The next morning, the Flaming Royal Army set out again. Aveline stood before her horse, not yet in silver armor, her cape dancing in the wind. Raising the Flame Scepter, she proclaimed to the army: "The Snowflame Dynasty will no longer be enslaved by old gods! From this day, royal power is divine will, and the people's hearts are the king's command!"
She spurred her horse, shouting into the wind: "Return to the capital—for the Fire Ceremony and the throne!"
Lucian followed, silver hair and cape parallel, eyes as cold as frosty blades, sworn to carve a bloody path to the future with his sword.