And above them, just out of sight, lay what was left of Silver Hills.
He traced three fingers over his brow, the sign of his people.
The elders nodded in acceptance.
He dismounted, still watching, guiding Amerei off the horse. His chest tightened when she took his hand.
“Amerei—”
“Trust me.”
She waved for Gabriel to follow.
The village elders first looked at Gabriel—a strange elf in the Aerdanian capital—then to Amerei and Viktor.
Amerei drew in a slow breath, the weight of the moment pressing sharp beneath her ribs. She hadn’t planned to speak like royalty. But here, before the people Zeporah’s crown had abandoned, she knew—
They needed a queen.
“Peace be with you,” she began, her voice a balm against the ruin. “I have seen your loss, and I will not look away. Casqadia stands with Aerdania. Your hills, your waters, your fire live also in me—and in my vow, I will not forsake you.”
The elders never turned from her. Each one deepened their stare.
The woman among them called, “We needn’t wait for help that’s never coming. Casqadia forgot Aerdania long ago.”
A bearded man spoke next. “Her rural villages send help already—beneath the gaze of the wicked queen.”
Amerei stepped forward, confidence touching the corners of her lips.
“Zeporah’s hand shall be cut off in a fortnight. I am she who will restore your faith in Casqadia.”
The elders didn’t speak. They didn’t even move. Upon their faces, ash and grief. Upon the stillness, fear.
“Who are you?” the woman said lowly.
Amerei held tighter to Viktor’s hand, the strength of his arm her anchor.
“I am heiress to Casqadia’s crown. Once forgotten, now restored.”
She drew in a breath, truth rising from her exhale.
“Queen Amerei Zrynon Storne Seraphim. Friend of Aerdania, eternal.”
Viktor looked at her.
He hadn’t expected the name.
Not spoken aloud. Not there. Not then.
His name.
The name of his father.
The name he thought she’d never say.
But she stood before the ruins of his people—unshaking, unblinking—and claimed it like a sword drawn in the light.
The woman’s lips parted in a broken gasp. She drew three fingers over her brow. “Seraphim…”
