He tilted his head, eyes darkening.
“They bind me with ceremony. With counsel. With their trembling, ancient fear.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Let them.”
The black eyes of the serpent at his wrist caught the light.
“When my father’s final breath leaves his body—so help me, Amerei—I will make them crawl. I will tear down their Senate stone by stone until they remember whose blood built this realm.”
Her breath tore free, chest rising and falling with the strain of desperate, violent truth.
“Without them, I am in exile, Xavien.”
Her voice broke, tears stinging her eyes.
“Until you are king, not even your crown can save me. And without the Ruakite, our realm is lost.”
Her fingers curled against silver clasps.
“He needs archers, my lord. He needs…ourhelp.”
Xavien stilled.
For a heartbeat, she could not read him—could not pierce the armor of his stare.
His hand rose, hesitant, as if to touch her cheek.
But he froze.
Fingers coiled into a fist, he let it fall slowly to his side.
“You will have the Sagittarii,” he said, his tone both promise and threat.
“What power shall the Senate hold with you upon my arm… and my warriors behind your name?”
“You risk too much, my lord.”
His hand caught her wrist—not cruel, but unbending. Controlled.
He leaned close.
“You ask for my strength,” he said, voice low. “Now take it.”
His breath brushed her ear.
“My queen.”
Viktor had kissed her with reverence.
Xavien did not need to kiss her at all.
And still—she couldn’t breathe.
It was not longing.
It was the awful, beautiful terror of being seen—
