Applause shimmered after him. Gabriel took it with a knife-thin smile.
A pause.
Then the herald frowned at his parchment and called slower:
“Captain Viktor Seraphim… of Aerdania.”
A ripple of confusion. Soft laughter.
Viktor’s feet felt heavier than armor. He drew a breath and stepped into the light—flame and shadow cutting across him with each stride.
“Captain Seraphim…” Zeporah’s tone slid like oil over onyx. “Come. Stand before me.”
He halted at the base of her dais. Her dark eyes narrowed.
“You have traveled the whole of Andórmanor, have you not?”
“I have.”
Her lips curled, wicked.
“Is there no woman good enough for you in all the realm? No she-elf worthy of your name?”
Viktor held her gaze, giving nothing.
Zeporah turned to the court, delight bright as a wound.
“Well then—who among you will impress the unconquerable Captain Seraphim tonight?”
Laughter rippled through the gallery. Voices called his name—daring, mocking.
He slipped back into the press of bodies. Gabriel found his flank, both scanning the hall: daggers at belts, swords at hips, goblets heavy with dark wine. Everything tonight could become a weapon.
“Where is she?” Viktor whispered, hoarse.
The herald answered him.
“Lady Amerei Zrynon—betrothed of Ryvka Zelarhan, armorbearer to the Regent of Dunfel.”
From the stairwell’s shadow, she emerged.
Viktor’s pulse crashed hot.
The gown was red—clinging at the breast, spilling down her hips, moving with her like flame answering its master. Her hair fell in golden waves over bare shoulders, catching at her collarbone, begging his hand to follow. Jewels glimmered at her wrists, her throat, even the hollow of her navel—but none of it mattered.
It was her.
And dask, he wanted her. To touch, to taste, to steal her from every eye in this cursed hall. The sight of her burned through him, a need so sharp it bordered pain.
Mine.
The word struck like lightning. He could no more stop it than he could breathe without her.
Zeporah’s voice sliced through the heat.
“A fine match, yes? Lady Zrynon will be a jewel to Dunfel. Our loss is his gain.”
Laughter rose, cruel and bright.
