“Not our marriage—but he knows you're mine. He asked me… my terms.”
“Your terms?” Gabriel scoffed. “As in…her?”
His bark of laughter was harsh.
“He thinks anything he wants is his.”
“Yes.” Viktor stopped cold on the stair. “He does.”
He turned to Amerei, chest heaving.
“He swore to leave you be—until you’re crowned.”
“How generous,” Gabriel muttered, bitter.
Silence stretched until Gabriel reached his chamber door.
“And after she is queen?”
Viktor didn't answer. He only seized Amerei’s hand—a grip that claimed, not asked—and led her away as if daring the world to stop him.
“Viktor, you have nothing to fear," she said quietly.
But the door shut hard behind them.
His mantle and scabbard hit the bed in a single violent motion. Her hand touched his arm—sorrow shadowing her gaze.
Before she could speak, he cut her off, gesturing at her dress.
“Need help getting out of that?” he asked, each word dragged through his restraint.
“Viktor, I—” she whispered.Then, after a moment: “Yes.”
He stepped forward, fingers working the laces with a soldier’s precision. She pulled her hair aside to ease him, and he stilled—face lowering to her skin. His breath struck her shoulder.
And he shuddered.
“Viktor,” she whispered.
A voice rang muffled through the door. “Messengers.”
Viktor lifted his head slowly. Unfastened his clasps. Ripped them open as if they choked him.
Cool air licked his burns. His lungs seized around it. He stared ahead as he stripped the uniform from his body, his mind too fierce to name.
“Xavien must have written just after we left,” Amerei said gently. “I don’t know what it means… will you come?”
“I don’t want to read it.”
He gave a humorless huff.
“Just come back and tell me the Senate ordered the Royal Army to descend on Casqadia by dawn. Tell me Xavien’s pride has failed him—that he can't bring himself to court a halfling.”
She smiled faintly and slipped out.
“I’ll be in Father’s chamber.”
The latch clicked.
