Viktor shifted forward before Gabriel’s hand caught his arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed.
Viktor shook him off, eyes fixed on Amerei.
At Zeporah’s signal, a servant knelt with two golden goblets. Ryvka Zelarhan seized one, guzzling deep. Amerei’s hand hovered—until the servant pressed the stem into her palm.
“Drink,” Zeporah urged, smile sharp as glass.
Ryvka swallowed, foam slicking his chin. He raised the goblet to the crowd, basking. Amerei only tilted hers, gaze steady on him.
“Tell us, Lord Zelarhan,” Zeporah coaxed, “are you pleased with the bride I’ve chosen?”
He bowed low, lips wet with wine. “Gracious queen, you honor me. Her beauty more than makes up for her humanity.”
Gasps struck the air like arrows.
Amerei’s chin lifted, voice pure steel.
“Careful, sir,” she warned. “You insult the very people who welcome you to this land.”
Zeporah leaned forward, eyes glittering—feeding on the spark.
Ryvka’s smirk widened.
“Casqadia thrives beneath a most illustrious elven queen.”
He flicked a wrist to Zeporah.
“I insult no one.”
He turned to the crowd, raising his cup, head tilting toward Amerei.
“So brave, this one,” he taunted.
“She’ll gag on her pride come our wedding night.”
Viktor’s vision flashed white, fury flooding his veins. His fingers found the knife’s hilt—one breath more and the hall would burn.
Yet Amerei’s gaze seared hotter than his anger. She exhaled once—sharp, deliberate—then flung her goblet to the floor. Crimson wine exploded across the marble like spilled blood.
The hall erupted.
Viktor shoved forward as bodies parted.
Ryvka laughed, then lunged, fisting Amerei’s hair, crushing his mouth to hers.
Her muffled scream tore through the din.
Viktor’s muscles locked. The world narrowed.
Amerei wrenched free, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her gaze found Viktor’s—commanding, pleading.Don’t. Stay. Wait.
Ryvka turned to Zeporah, smug.
“My queen, I do not shrink from the humanity in her.”
A beat.
