What Others Dared Assume
One question shattered the silence—and left no one untouched.
The first hour of morning passed in silence, broken only by the scratch of Storne’s pen. Sleep had eluded him, but his work steadied his mind.
Misses Roland bustled past with a basket of linens, a short, plump she-elf with quick steps and quicker eyes. She called over her shoulder, almost fondly, “She never left his side. Not once, all through the night.”
Storne’s mouth tugged faintly—until the words settled.
She? His side?
The pen slipped from his fingers. He shoved back his chair, striding after her.
By the time he reached the hall, Misses Roland was already at Viktor’s door, nudging it open with her elbow.
“Wait.” Storne stepped in front of her, one hand on the latch.
She gave him a look, brows arched high. “Masten Storne. I’ve raised five children. Spare me the dramatics.”
“I’ll enter first.” His voice was steady, quiet enough to end the matter. “For her sake.”
Misses Roland pursed her lips, muttered something about newlyweds, and let him pass.
Storne opened the door.
Amerei lay curled on the floor beside the bed, her silken robe pulled close like a blanket, her hand still caught in his as if even sleep refused to separate them. Viktor slept soundly above her, his chest rising slow and even.
“Stars above…” Storne murmured, shoulders easing—and then stiffening, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before duty set his jaw again.
He crouched at her side, touching her arm, stirring her awake. His mouth curved, almost wry.
“You’re not Captain Feindoran.”
Amerei sat up quickly.
“I'm sorry, Father.”
She dragged the robe tighter across her chest. Viktor’s hand slipped from hers.
“I couldn’t leave him.”
Storne drew back, holding the door wide, waiting until she rose.
“You’ve got your mother’s spirit,” he said quietly. “Damn near careless in your caring.”
Before Amerei could answer, Misses Roland bustled back with her basket, pinched Amerei’s cheek, and grinned.
“Not a wink of sleep?” she chirped.
Then, lower, almost scandalized:
“Careful, dear—you’ll have him expecting that every night. And raven-haired little ones come quick enough with Eillish blood.”
Amerei flushed scarlet, words caught somewhere between laughter and mortification. Storne cleared his throat, the faintest arch to his brow. Misses Roland only hummed, unbothered, as she swept past with her basket.
* * *
The kitchen smelled of bread and boiled roots when Storne called them to table. Amerei had gone to dress, leaving Viktor to Misses Roland’s bustling care. The she-elf had dressed him in leather trousers and a loose linen shirt, then guided him by the arm as though he were a boy. She plopped him into a chair, set a bowl and razor before Storne, and planted her fists on her hips.
