Gasps tore the air, voices rising in fractured confusion. Benches screeched across the stone floor as men lurched to their feet. Guards shouted over the din, steel rasping free.
But Viktor saw only her.
Amerei’s gaze found his—still locked, still burning with the vow they had whispered in the dark.
She broke through the crush of bodies, skirts catching, shoulders colliding, until she reached him. Her hands seized his collar, clinging tight, as if letting go would tear her in two.
He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her flush against him, shielding her with the breadth of his body. Her face pressed to his throat. His hand cradled the back of her head.
“Was it real?” she whispered, voice shaking.
“This is real,” he rasped.
His fingers tangled in her hair.
“You are real.”
For one breath, the chamber dissolved. There was only her grip, his vow, their hearts hammering together.
“I saw them. The nobles,” she murmured, her voice trembling but sure. “Some of them looked to me—like they still believe.”
Viktor bent close, lips brushing her temple, his hand firm at her waist.
“Then we’ve learned what we needed.”
Her eyes lifted to his, wide and unguarded.
“We shouldn’t stay.”
“No.”
His thumb traced the line of her jaw before he caught himself.
“I’m going to get you out of here.”
For a heartbeat, they stayed like that—her fingers knotted in his collar, his brow lowered until their foreheads nearly touched, breath mingling in the narrow space between them. The promise there was unspoken, undeniable.
Then Viktor forced himself to step back just as Gabriel, Evander, and Jasmine pushed into their circle.
Gabriel’s eyes flicked between them, though his tone stayed sharp.
“Exits?”
“Two near the dais,” Viktor answered, scanning the guards. “And one behind us—barred.”
Evander swore low. “Then we move fast, before—”
The torches guttered.
Smoke swelled like a tide.
Uneasy laughter rippled through the chamber.
Silver trays appeared as if conjured, goblets of wine pressed into elven hands. For a moment it almost looked like a feast again—nobles lifting their cups, eyes darting toward the dais.
Zeporah rose, her smile slow and serpentine.
“Most of you endured the first measure,” she said, voice sweet as rot. “You did not falter. You did not break.”
