The chamber fell silent, even the fire seeming to bow to the moment. Amerei clutched Viktor’s hand as though it were the only anchor in a world breaking open.
“You mean it,” she whispered, eyes darting between them. “You would let us… truly?”
Storne’s mask shifted. The iron lines of his face eased—barely. A long breath left him, not quite surrender, not quite defeat.
“Dask, Amerei,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you think I’ve not seen it? From the moment that boy brought you back to me in Sevrak, I knew.” His gaze cut to Viktor—sharp, measuring, unwilling to look away. “I’ve been weighing him ever since.”
Amerei’s hand flew to her mouth, overcome. Her father—who had thundered, threatened, pressed—had known.
Storne’s mouth curved, not in warmth but in something close to respect.
“If you’ll risk ruin for him, and he’ll damn himself for you… then I’ll not stand in the way.”
He steepled his fingers over the desk. The firelight shimmered in his eyes like tempered steel.
“Handfast, then.” His voice fell like a gauntlet. “Let us see if your courage outlasts dawn.”
Amerei’s pulse raced, her breath trembling between disbelief and awe.
“When…?”
Viktor raised his voice.
“Tonight.”
The word landed like a strike—unshakable
Her knees threatened to give, her breath half-laughter, half-prayer.
Viktor didn’t let her recover. His arm cinched her waist, his other hand cradled her face as though daring anyone to take her from him. His mouth brushed hers—reverent and reckless all at once.
“Marry me tonight,” he said, the vow scorching between them.
Her whole body yielded, heart burning with the dangerous, impossible truth: she wanted nothing more.
His hand slipped from her waist, reaching to his belt. Steel hissed as he drew his knife. Amerei startled, not in fear but shock.
Without a word, he caught a strand of his own raven-dark hair, tugged it loose from its tie. The blade kissed, then cut, the lock falling into his palm. His eyes never left hers.
“Our betrothal is bound in braid,” he said, the lock clenched in his fist.
His breath brushed her lips, low and rough.
“And when I come for yours, Amerei…”
His voice deepened, daring her heartbeat to keep pace.
“…there will be no unbraiding us.”
The vow burned between them, raw and irrevocable.
Storne pushed back from his desk, circling with the deliberate tread of a commander. He stopped before Viktor, hand extended as if to shake it—but when Viktor’s grip met his, Storne pressed something cold into his palm: the silver insignia of rank.
“Then prove it.”
His eyes met Viktor’s.
“High-Captain Seraphim.”
