Her name left him in a whisper, as if she were standing there before him.
“You don’t see it yet—” his voice caught, a reverent ache— “I’m the one undone.”
His hand steadied, ink sweeping across the parchment.
“You are the vow I’ve been waiting all my life to make.”
Chapter Sixty
The Weight of Her Name
A daughter, a bride, a queen-to-be—
the weight of her name pressed heavier than any crown.
Her braids had long since unraveled in the hours spent bent over the parchment, hair falling in loose waves across her shoulders. Ink smudged her fingers, shadows rimmed her eyes.
Evander sat perched like a crow on the corner of her desk, reading with maddening leisure.
“Do you think it will hold in the elven Senate?” Amerei asked, the question sharper than she meant it.
“It’s…”
Evander narrowed his eyes, mouth quirking as he skimmed her script.
“…thorough.”
She snatched the pages from his hand.
“I ought to have Gabriel read it. He’ll know if it’s ready for Vykenra.” Her gaze darted to the door—empty, waiting. “Where is he?”
Evander stretched, stealing the untouched glass of wine from her table.
“Haven’t seen him since morning.”
“Is Viktor still at the apothecary?” she asked.
Evander smirked over the rim of the glass.
“Lost your husband already?”
He choked on his sip when she shoved him off the desk. She caught the glass before it spilled, glaring.
“Not a drop!” he croaked.
“You can go.” She rose, dragging her hair over one shoulder, needing space, needing air. “I need a moment.”
He twisted his mouth, tempted to argue—but instead slunk to the door.
“I’ll find food. You need to eat before your ribs start fencing each other.”
She rolled her eyes.
The door shut behind him—and silence fell like a shroud.
Amerei crossed to the basin, washing ink from her hands.
When her reflection lifted from the water’s glassy surface, her throat tightened. Her collarbones jutted sharper than she remembered. The robe hung loose at her chest, as if it belonged to someone else—someone hollowed.
