“No.” Storne’s answer came low. “I swore it would never touch us again. I made certain the day I took you from your grandmother’s house to our home in Fyreglade.”
Her arms slackened, then she drew back with a sigh.
“I have missed home.”
His hands rose to cup hers, weathered palms closing over her slender fingers. He lifted them and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
“Then today we return.”
A smile broke across her face, sudden and radiant, chasing the last of the shadow.
Then Storne turned, voice gathering weight.
“We’ve twenty coming soon to Fyreglade, to take back to the fort all we salvaged from the Bloodforge.”
His eyes drifted to the horizon, a shadow crossing them.
“The sky will be a battlefield. We’ll scorch their wings with light, blind their eyes until flame turns useless. A hundred mirrors at least, gleaming like a second sun.” He nodded once to Viktor, proud. “Seraphim’s idea.”
Amerei glowed as if she could already see it—the glass catching dawn, shattering it into brilliance above a burning field.
Her smile lingered as she turned from her father and crossed back to Viktor. She caught his hand in both of hers, her voice soft, warm.
“You’ll love Fyreglade,” she promised. “It sits high on the cliffs, away from the noise of Fort Sevrak. Nothing but sky and trees and quiet.”
Evander stepped up beside her, his grin boyish despite the tension still hanging in the air.
“And the food,” he chimed. “Real elvish bread, herbs fresh from the hills… Can’t tell you how much we’ve missed it living in Rhidian.”
Viktor’s mouth twitched, the faintest spark of humor beneath the exhaustion. “What are we waiting for?”
Amerei brushed her thumb across his knuckles, eyes bright with mischief. “I’ll braid your hair myself before we ride.”
Before he could answer, she lifted a dark strand between her fingers, twirling it once before letting it fall free.
Storne watched them slip back inside, the corner of his mouth tugging as though to laugh.Bold as flame, those two. And no effort to hide it.He only shook his head and let silence be its own judgment.
Gabriel moved as if to follow, but Storne’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder. The commander’s voice was low, iron edged.
“Not a word, Captain. You’ve already said enough.”
His eyes darkened.
“Question my daughter again,” he warned, “and you’ll answer to me—not as your commander, but as her father. Do you understand?”
Gabriel’s hands flexed, pride warring with restraint.
At last, he gave the barest nod.
“Understood… Commander.”
Storne released him slowly, watching the captain’s shoulders tense as he turned away.
Hot-blooded and blind to consequence. Just like his damn father.
His gaze slid to the doorway where Amerei and Viktor had gone, the air seeming to thrum with what waited there. Bold as flame, the two of them, with no care for crowns or bloodlines. Storne exhaled slowly, the weight of command pressing heavier than armor.
Love was a fire that could forge—or consume.
