The letter lay on the bench next to Amerei, wax seal shattered, parchment curling at the edges. Cherry blossoms drifted down from the tree above, a few clinging to the page like petals on a grave.
Viktor paced the stone path of Castle Fyreglade’s eastern garden, the roar of the aqueduct the only sound. He glimpsed the name once more:Prince Xavien Elyander Draekenra.So much entitlement wrapped in pretty ink and practiced restraint.
“We should’ve known there’d be a catch,” he growled. “The elves do nothing in charity.”
Amerei didn’t answer at first. Then she asked, her voice sincere, “What am I to do, Viktor?”
“You can’t refuse him,” he said, tossing a hand toward the letter. “He’s given you what you asked for. And he knows what the Senate’s time is worth.”
“Today…” she whispered, her eyes falling shut.
A moment passed, and then she said, “I don’t have to go to Castle Amethyst. Father can speak with him—”
“You’re supposed to ask him for the Sagittarii of Vykenra,” he reminded her, his throat tightening. “The Senate won’t give you that.”
Her brow knit. The pain was written in every line of her face.
“You have to go.” He crossed his arms, bracing against the ache in his chest. “Any minute now, I’ll be called to arms. Andwithout those archers… Dask, love, I’m no god. I can only hold so much of the northern front.”
Her voice became small, like the last stream of sunlight before dark.
“Do you trust me?”
He finally looked at her—fear had stolen away her breath.
“You stood beneath the stars last night and married me, Amerei.”
“And Xavien will tempt my power to undo it.”
Her voice wavered, but her conviction held.
“Do you trust me?”
He drew in a breath, the silence taut.
“That’s why I’m afraid.”
She said nothing. She didn’t have to.
He exhaled, his hands dragging to the back of his neck, the weight of it all pressing down hard. He had just married her, and now he would have to let her court a prince. He would be at her side, not as her husband, but as the High-Captain of her guard—dask,hisguard.
The thought seared through him like a brand. To stand by while another man laid claim to her smile, her hand—storm take it, even her gaze—his chest knotted, breath darkening into a growl. For one savage heartbeat, he wanted to end it all, to cut Xavien down before the game even began.
But Amerei’s silence steadied him. She didn’t have to speak. They both knew what must be done.
Viktor was a soldier of Elváliev now. His duty was to Xavien as much as it was to her. One offense could threaten his rank. One wrong move could fracture everything Storne had been building.
And what would Xavien do if he knew Viktor had already committed the greatest offense of all?
A rumble rolled through the garden.
Then came the sound, barely audible at first.
The tremble of his breath.
The rustle of his hands tightening into fists.
The echo of something ancient in his whisper.
