Fireworks

Night had fallen, and the festival had become something magical no longer just a village celebration, but an entire world lit by lanterns, laughter, and the promise of something unspoken trembling between us.

The square was a swirl of color and sound: stalls glowing gold, children running with ribbons streaming behind them, musicians coaxing melody from strings and pipes beneath a sky deepening to indigo.

Stars began to prick through the twilight, cold and bright above the flickering lights.

I tried to focus on the celebration—the taste of honeyed wine on my tongue, the warmth of Lyra's bracelet against my wrist—but my thoughts kept returning to the restaurant, to that mortifying moment and everything I couldn't say.

Lyra had barely spoken since. Neither had I. Every time I looked at her, my mind conjured images I shouldn't allow: her hands on my skin, her mouth on mine, the glittering box of forbidden possibilities lurking in her bag.

My chest ached with the weight of wanting and not wanting, of everything we'd left unsaid.

We wandered the edge of the festivities, neither willing to go back to the castle, both too stubborn to break the silence.

Lanterns swung gently in the breeze, casting golden halos across Lyra's face. She looked… softer in this light, almost shy.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "I, uh, heard there'll be fireworks soon. The villagers say the best view is up there." She nodded to a low hill rising behind the village—a shoulder of rock crowned with a few wind-bent trees. "But it's a long climb. Not many go."

A woman selling candied fruit called out, "Oh yes! If you want to see the whole sky, you must climb the old star hill! The air is clear, the lights below—very romantic!" She winked, and I bristled, shooting her my iciest glare, but it bounced right off her like sunlight on water.

I hesitated, torn between pride and curiosity, between the urge to say no and the foolish, hungry hope that said yes.

My voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "All right. Let's go. But if I trip, you're to blame."

Lyra's grin flickered, quick and secret. "I'll make sure you survive, Princess. No more public disasters."

The climb was steeper than it looked, the path winding up through thickets of wild rosemary and blue-petaled flowers.

The festival faded below, the music growing faint, the noise dissolving into the hush of night and the pulse of my own racing heart.

It was farther than I'd expected—my dress caught on thorns, my shoes slipping on mossy stone. Lyra watched my struggles with open amusement until, finally, she said, "This is ridiculous. Hold on."

Before I could protest, she swept me into her arms with absurd ease—one arm beneath my knees, the other at my back, her body warm and steady against mine. I gasped, more out of surprise than outrage.

"Lyra—"

"I'll go slow," she promised, a blush painting her cheeks even in the moonlight. "Don't bite."

I did not dignify that with a response. Instead, I clung to her shoulder, letting her carry me up the last steep slope.

She muttered something under her breath, magic sparking at her fingertips, and the world blurred—wind rushing past, the earth falling away until we landed softly at the very top of the hill, breathless and giddy.

We stood there, just the two of us, surrounded by wind and wildflowers and a sky vast as forever.

The entire festival sparkled below, lanterns floating like captured stars, the distant music drifting up as if carried on a dream. The sea stretched away to the horizon, black and silver and endless.

I let myself breathe for the first time all day.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I could feel Lyra's eyes on me, hesitant, searching for something in my face I wasn't sure I knew how to give.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, more to myself than her.

"It is," she agreed, her voice rough. "But you're—" She broke off, biting her lip. "Never mind."

My heart fluttered, traitorous and wild. I turned to her, the wind catching my hair, tangling it around my face. "What?"

Lyra shoved her hands in her pockets, suddenly all awkward angles.

"I just… I wanted to say sorry. For earlier. With the… the box. And the things I said. I was just—" She shook her head, searching for words.

"You make me nervous, Isolde. In ways no one ever has. I don't want to mess this up. I don't want to hurt you. I—" She stopped, cheeks burning.

I stared at her, stunned by the vulnerability in her voice, the truth trembling just beneath her skin.

In that moment, with the whole world falling away beneath the stars, I wanted nothing more than to close the distance between us, to erase every doubt, every fear, every lonely second.

But pride is a stubborn beast, and my own nerves snapped sharp.

"You're an idiot," I whispered, stepping closer, "if you think you could hurt me. You're the only reason I'm not bored to death or running away. You're the only one who's ever—" I faltered, pulse hammering.

"Who's ever made me want to stay."

For a moment, we just stood there, inches apart, the world holding its breath. Below us, the festival's music faded, the first rocket hissed upward.

And then—fireworks.

A burst of gold exploded overhead, painting Lyra's face in molten light.

Another—red, then blue, then a shimmering shower of silver—each one brighter, louder, more beautiful than the last.

The crowd below cheered, but up here, the only sound was the hush of breath and the pounding of my heart.

Lyra reached for me, slow and careful, her hand trembling as it cupped my cheek. I let her. I leaned into her palm, felt her thumb brush the line of my jaw, the curve of my lips.

I don't know who moved first. Maybe it was both of us. All I know is that suddenly, inevitably, her mouth was on mine—soft, searching, the taste of wind and starlight and everything I'd been afraid to want.

The world went very still, then exploded all at once—fireworks above, fireworks inside. Her arms pulled me close, and I let myself fall, certain at last that she would always, always catch me.