Amerei leaned closer, solemn but playful.
“On her first trip to the mainland, his mother fell in love with his Aerdanian father. No title could keep her from him.” She hummed. “They lived quietly until the time came to find wives for their sons. And then, one fine day in Rhidian…” Her gaze found his. “…this lost prince of the Midnight Isle came to me.”
Their eyes caught, heat and humor tangling between them until the tale itself began to sound like truth.
Then she laughed first—light, musical, scattering the spell.
Misses Roland shook her head, half-laughing. “Eillish royals. You almost had me, dear.”
Her husband appeared then, weapons belt in hand, the leather dull in the light.
“Found this in the stables after the ruckus last night,” he said, offering it to Amerei. “Didn’t want you riding off without it.”
“Yours?” she asked softly.
“Yes,” Viktor said, inclining his head. “Thank you.”
The Rolands withdrew, footsteps fading down the hall.
Amerei turned the belt in her hands, the leather worn from duty. When Viktor reached for it, she shook her head. “I’ll do it.”
He hesitated—just long enough to decide—then took her hand and stood.
“You needn’t raise your arms,” she said gently, already stepping into him.
Her fingers brushed his hips as she looped the strap around his waist, slow and careful—Dask—the clasp catching on his breath.
Her hands lingered, her eyes finding his as she rose.
“Don’t let me hurt you.”
“You couldn’t,” he rasped—and pulled her in.
His mouth found hers—hungry, reckless. Pain twisted through him but he didn’t stop. He kissed her like a man fighting through fire, every breath both devotion and defiance. Her fingers tangled in his hair, trembling, until they clenched on his belt and drew him closer still.
A groan broke from him, raw and needful. “Amerei…”
She kissed him harder, fiercer—
until footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Gabriel.
Viktor pressed his brow to hers, breath ragged. “Storm take him.”
He tried to turn, but Amerei held him. Her gaze lifted over his shoulder, meeting Gabriel’s in the doorway. Her pulse thundered, but defiance steadied her hand.
She held Viktor’s face and kissed him again—slow, deliberate, unshaken—as Gabriel watched. A promise sealed in full view of judgment.
Only then did she draw back, breathless, fingers slipping from his jaw.
Gabriel’s voice cut through, flat. “Storne says it’s time to mount up.”
He turned away, leaving silence in his wake.
Viktor’s brow stayed pressed to hers, his pulse hammering against her lips. Amerei’s resolve steadied, an anchor in the storm Gabriel had conjured.
She knew where this fight would happen.
