“…and exhilarating.”
Their eyes met, something fierce and bright sparking between them.
I fecking love her.
Bootsteps crunched over gravel.
Evander and Gabriel strode back into the clearing, slings dangling from their hands, still arguing about fiery arrows and impossible shots. Gabriel mimed a wild miss; Evander shoved him, both laughing as they dumped their weapons onto the cart.
The cart rocked—and a sudden hiss of smoke curled up from the back corner.
“Evander—” Viktor growled, already moving. He swept his hand out; wind and flame collided, snuffing the spark before it could spread.
Evander winced. Gabriel doubled over laughing.
From across the clearing, Storne’s voice cut through the noise.
“I saw that.”
Gabriel straightened, grin still tugging at his mouth.
“Was his father this much trouble?”
Storne’s brow arched.
“No. But yours was.”
Gabriel blinked. “Mine?”
A flicker of amusement crossed Storne’s face.
“Can you imagine Evander coming into his power at fifteen? That’s what my father had to wrestle with in the Bloodforge.”
Gabriel gave a low whistle.
“Bring the food and meet me at the falls,” Storne ordered, turning away.
For a moment, Viktor let the quiet settle—the rare, fragile ease of it. Storne beside his daughter again after years in shadow. Gabriel laughing though he had left his home in Vykenra behind. Evander steady at their side, all rough edges and loyalty. And himself—far from Westport, bound to a queen still learning the weight of her crown.
It was fractured, fragile, stitched together by secrecy and vow. But for one fleeting heartbeat, it almost felt whole.
It almost felt like a family.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What You Hold Back
Hold it back, and it will break you. Speak it, and it may yet save you.
The waterfalls thundered against the cliffs, spray hanging in the air like breath. Sunlight struck the marble sheer, turning it bright as steel.
They gathered in its shadow—Storne and Amerei close on a ledge of stone, Evander perched apart on a boulder, Gabriel higher up on the rocks, boots dangling, watchful.
Viktor sat lower, his injured leg stretched before him, back against the cartwheel. From where he rested, he could see them all: the commander with his daughter, the elven outcast, the noble who had walked away from privilege.
Amerei drew a loaf from the basket, passing it to Evander. He tore off a piece, chewing in silence. Gabriel carved a wedge ofcheese with his knife, flicked half to Viktor, and kept the rest for himself.
The simple ritual eased nothing. The roar of the falls pressed in, mist dampening their faces, each man waiting for the commander to speak.
