https://open.spotify.com/track/5xDVdpeq49KuOwd2PYA24y?si=72280904281c4b28

The royal palace of Costa Del Rugido lay cloaked in the last shadows of night. A gentle coastal breeze drifted through Steward Dawnbringer’s spacious chamber, carrying with it the mingling scents of the sea and dry desert air. Beau’s room, open and grand, was bathed in a serene quiet as he rose from his bed, greeting the day before the first light kissed the horizon.

As he dressed, slipping on a freshly laundered toga steeped in lavender and sage, his claws absently traced the ring he wore. The familiar gesture brought a pang to his chest, a weight he carried silently each morning. He glanced at his reflection in a polished mirror, adjusting his mane with a practiced touch. His expression was composed, but there was a subtle weariness in his eyes, one he never let show beyond this private moment.

His gaze shifted to a small, framed painting near the open archway leading to the gardens. A single candle, burned down to a blackened wick, stood before it. The sight tugged at a raw part of him, a reminder of a day he’d rather not acknowledge. With a quiet sigh, he made a mental note to collect fresh candles from the chapel later.

He stepped into the palace corridors, his movements unhurried but purposeful. Today, like every day, he would tend to King Anwar as he had for years. Yet a heaviness lingered in his steps, a quiet echo of memories that refused to fade.

Reaching the king’s private chamber, Beau hesitated briefly before pushing the door open. He bowed low as he entered, his eyes meeting the king’s gentle, wise expression. Despite the years and the toll of illness, Anwar’s spirit still shone brightly, a warmth that never failed to ease Beau’s heart.

“Embrace the Sun, my king.”

King Anwar looked up from his bed, a fond smile softening his features. “Praise Solaris, Beau,” he replied warmly. “Always before dawn. You’re as steadfast as the morning light.”

Beau offered a small smile, stepping closer. He gathered a basin of warm water, cloths, and a selection of soothing ointments before carefully taking the king’s left arm. Purple scars spiraled over the white tiger’s fur, twisted and jagged like skeletal claws—a legacy of the dark poison that had plagued the king for decades. Beau’s own claws moved in small, rhythmic circles, applying the ointment with a practiced gentleness that spoke of years of care.

“This is… one of the better mornings,” King Anwar murmured. “Perhaps it was the dream I had.”

“Is that so, my king?” Beau’s voice was soft, his focus on kneading the tension from the king’s arm. “A pleasant one, I hope?”

Anwar chuckled, a light sound that seemed to fill the room. “Yes. I dreamed of dancing with Agimi. I was unsteady, as always, but she was as graceful as ever.” He paused, his eyes finding Beau’s with a fond smile. “And here I wake to my friend Beau—still as handsome as ever, and just as punctual.”

The words landed heavily on Beau today, though he kept his expression steady. He continued his careful work, pressing into each muscle with slow, deliberate motions. He could feel the king’s gaze on him, sensing the quiet understanding behind those wise eyes.

“Beauford,” the king’s voice was gentle, a soft reminder of the warmth that had made him beloved by so many. “I see a weariness in you this morning.”

Beau’s claws stilled for a moment, his heart tightening. He reached for a small branch of Smodingium, its scent sharp and earthy. Applying it was a painful necessity—awakening the numbed nerves beneath the scars, a task both of them dreaded.

“Ready, my king?”

Anwar nodded, bracing himself. The king’s breath hitched, but he held steady. Beau worked swiftly yet gently, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken compassion.

When the worst of the pain subsided, Beau wrapped the king’s arm in fresh linen. He was about to step back when he felt the king’s paw rest lightly on his own, the touch warm and reassuring.

“Today is a difficult one for you, isn’t it?” The king’s voice was soft, filled with understanding.

Beau’s gaze dropped, his claws grazing the ring. “It will not interfere with my duty, my king,” he said quietly, though the sorrow in his voice was hard to hide.

King Anwar’s eyes softened, and he patted the empty space beside him on the bed. “Come, sit with me a moment.”

Beau hesitated, then nodded, letting himself break from formality for just this once. He sat beside the king, feeling the comforting weight of Anwar’s paw on his shoulder.

“Tell me of him,” the king prompted gently. “Your brightest memory.”

Beau’s claws fiddled with his ring, a small smile pulling at his lips despite the ache in his chest. “Our first dance,” he began softly. “He claimed we’d be the finest pair in the Shamsha. I was stumbling through every step, but he laughed each time, made me feel… like I was the light of the room.”

The king’s smile mirrored Beau’s, his eyes alight with shared warmth. “He sounds like he brought you great joy.”

“He did,” Beau whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, they sat in silence, the king’s presence a balm for Beau’s aching heart. Then, Anwar spoke again, his tone gentle yet firm. “Beauford, take today for yourself. Let another tend to me.”

Beau’s head snapped up, surprise written across his face. “My king, I swore an oath—”

“You did,” Anwar interrupted, his smile kind but insistent. “And part of that oath was to honor your own heart. Take today. Remember him.”

Beau’s eyes widened. He struggled to find words, his heart clashing with his sense of duty. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” the king said firmly, squeezing Beau’s shoulder. “You deserve it. You’ve given so much—to me, to this kingdom. Let yourself grieve, even if just for a day.”

The sincerity in Anwar’s gaze left Beau breathless. He nodded slowly, the weight of years of service feeling lighter for the first time in ages. “Thank you, my king.”

As Beau rose to leave, the king’s voice stopped him once more, a softer request lingering in the air. “And as the day passes, Beau,” Anwar said gently, “please join us at the Shamsha tonight. It’s been some time since you graced the place with your presence. We could all use a little light, and you, my friend, bring that with you.”

Beau’s heart clenched, his eyes glistening with something unshed. He nodded, managing a small, grateful smile. “I will be there, my king.”

Anwar’s smile was bright, a reflection of the sun rising outside. “Light a candle for him today. And perhaps, one for me as well.” Beau bowed deeply, his chest tight with gratitude. “I will.”

As he left the king’s chamber, a bittersweet warmth spread through him. He felt lighter, the king’s kindness a soothing balm to his heartache. The sun was just beginning to rise over Costa Del Rugido, casting a golden light across the palace grounds.

Maybe he could go fishing. He had always liked that. And tonight, at the Shamsha, he would honor the invitation, not as the steward, but just as Beau, carrying a piece of his heart and a memory of a dance that never truly ended.