“Yes.”
His eyes swept past her hood, measuring the elves drifting by in the corridor.
Her gaze caught on the dagger at his waist, half-buried in black leather, the raven-wing tattoo flexing above. She lingered there, the bare planes of his chest stealing her breath before she rasped, “A knife?”
He followed her eyes down, mouth curving faintly.
“Always.”
She caught his hand, tugging it beneath the darkness of her cloak. He felt the tremor in her grip—the storm she carried.
“I’ve been summoned to the queen’s chamber,” she whispered.
Her eyes lifted, glistening.
“The girls say she means to announce my betrothal. To an elf in Dunfel.”
A muscle pulled in his jaw. Over his shoulder, Gabriel stood with arms crossed, expression carved from stone. But Viktor leaned closer—close enough that the fall of her hood brushed his temple.
“You decide your fate…”
His lips grazed her ear.
“Princess.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek—soft, dangerous, lingering just long enough to steal her breath.
Her gaze clung to his when he drew back, bright with want she couldn’t hide, a silent promise and a plea all at once.
Then the knock came again—lighter, quicker. The door creaked, and the she-elf returned with another at her side, both bearing trays of brushes and pots.
Viktor stepped back, his face shuttered into calm, as if nothing had happened at all.
Evander slipped in from the hall to Amerei’s side, guiding her arm into his. His voice was so low, only Viktor caught it.
“Now you’re the exotic one,” he said, a faint smirk in his tone. “Enjoy it, human.”
He steered Amerei back into the corridor, her hood lowered once more.
She was gone in a whisper of silk and shadow—leaving Viktor with nothing but the taste of her want on his lips.
Chapter Thirty-One
Where Grief Takes Wing
Where grief takes wing, the Vykenraven begins.
The she-elves swept in with trays of paints and brushes, chatter bright as birdsong. One settled beside Viktor on the marble, her manicured fingers drifting too easily through the braids at his temple.
“Your hair is black as midnight, Captain Seraphim. Tell me—who were your ancestors?”
He winced as she tugged too sharply.
“I was born in Westport, Aerdania.”
“And your parents?” she pressed. “Aerdanian? Human?”
“My mother came from the Isle of Eilles.”
