The air cracked.
The ground itself seemed to brace, as if the courtyard knew the storm had finally broken.
Xavien’s jaw ticked. The beads upon his back rattled, his head snapping to the window for a breath.
He straightened, posturing.
“If you will not go quietly, Ruakite… then we must come to some sort of an agreement.”
Viktor’s mouth lifted at the corners, humorless.
“You’re quite confident the Senate will give you a divorcement.”
“My father cannot live forever, Viktor. His breath barely fills his lungs now.”
Xavien stepped into his gaze, golden strands falling over his eyes.
“And when I am king, I will do as I please and take what I please and bedwhomeverI please.”
Viktor finally looked at him. Cold.
His fingers flexed inside his gloves.
“Then today you will submit to my terms.”
His words struck sharp as ice.
“For you are not king yet.”
Xavien’s stare hardened, unreadable iron.
Viktor pressed forward, each syllable honed.
“You will cease all courting until Amerei wins Senate support—and commands the Royal Army. War is coming for us all, Xavien. Your delusions of grandeur will cripple your reign before it even begins.”
“You want me to wait until she has secured the throne of Casqadia?” Xavien laughed softly. “Why would I do that?”
Viktor hooked his fingers into the collar of his uniform and jerked it open, baring the scars of fire across his chest.
“Because if you take her now, you’ll fight this war alone.”
Xavien’s gaze flicked to the ruin of skin. The faintest frown shadowed his lips.
Viktor stepped toward him, Endowment rising hot in his chest.
“And when the gods are conjured against you—tell me, who will you crawl to then?”
His vision sparked. He felt his eyes alight.
“What a way to begin your reign. King of a realm on fire.”
Xavien stilled. Something throbbed beneath that ebony tunic—something more than fear. His hand betrayed him, flicking rapid at his side.
Viktor did not move.
He only watched as the prince lifted his chin toward the archway.
“The Senate is waiting.”
