“Viktor, my love,” she teased, lips curving, “just say it.”
He huffed, jaw tight beneath the blindfold.
“Does it fall to me as your husband… to teach you?”
“To teach me?”
“To ri—dask! Not ride. Not that.”
He groaned, tilting his head back against nothing, every muscle tense.
“Storms, Amerei, you’ll ruin me.”
She laughed softly into his throat, adoring the rawness in him.
“Líri spared you long ago.”
His grip on her waist tightened, half-frustrated, half-desperate.
“You might have said so.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I—”
His mouth closed on the rest, lips pressed to silence, hunger burning through every line of him.
Footsteps stirred beyond the door.
“They’ve come to take me away,” he said, the words laced with feral reluctance.
Her fingers curled into his tunic.
“And if I don’t let you go?”
His voice fractured, a promise more dangerous than tender.
“Then—”
He turned his head sharply.
“Leolis approaches Fyreglade!” Evander’s shout split the hall.
Viktor ripped the blindfold from his eyes—
and ran for war.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Crowned in Flame
The Endowment chose him—then crowned him.
The blindfold hit the floor.
Viktor burst through Amerei’s door, boots thudding against stone.
“Commander.”
