Before she entered the Senate Hall on the prince’s arm.
But Viktor wasn’t asking to court another woman.
Viktor was asking to go home.
“I trust you,” she said at last, heart shattering beneath her ribs.
“My love. My Tory.”
He smiled—barely. Just enough.
“Your Tory.”
He kissed her, relentless and searing.
And it felt final.
She stilled as she watched him walk away. Past the door to the bath where they’d made love.
He paused at the threshold of their bedroom.
“I love you, Amerei.”
The silence returned, heavy and absolute.
Then he was gone.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Real Love, My Girl
Real love endures the tempest. Tonight, it would ride with her.
The door clicked shut.
She didn’t move. She couldn’t.
The stillness swallowed everything.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that comes after a storm has ripped through and left nothing in its wake.
And all at once, the room felt empty.
Too big.
Too quiet.
On the dresser lay the braided cord of their binding.
On a low table—the water glass he’d brought with him to bed.
His nightclothes, piled in the corner.
His boots, slumped against the floor.
Amerei pressed her palm into the mattress.
