“She’s the Princess of Casqadia?”
Viktor inclined his head.
“The elves just crowned her queen.”
Issachar’s stare held him.
“And you? You’re still my son?”
The words cut deep, stirring something long forgotten inside Viktor. He looked out to the tide, clouds sagging low, and knew—if his father lost him now, it would not be for her crown.
“Father…”
His throat tightened.
“Did Momma ever tell you of her gift?”
Issachar stilled, the gray in his gaze lifting.
“You are a seer, too?”
Viktor’s chest tightened.He knew.
“No, Father.”
He fixed on the dark sweep of waves.
“I am not a seer.”
Issachar’s arms dropped, fists tight at his sides. Silence gathered like stormclouds, fear simmering beneath the weight of grief.
Viktor closed his eyes—and the Endowment surged. When he opened them, fire rimmed blue.
“You are a Ruakite,” Issachar said immediately.
He stood unmoving, cedar firm beneath his feet, but his jaw clenched hard.
The fire behind Viktor’s eyes gentled. Issachar’s voice cut in, gruff and edged with challenge.
“You saved the princess, and she loved you for it?”
Viktor gave a single nod.
“And you love her?”
“I’d die for her.”
“Good,” Issachar snapped. “Because you might.”
His eyes lingered on Viktor a moment longer. Then he exhaled hard, rough as surf breaking.
“Eiliyah said it would be one of you. I told myself it was Adamar—that when he died, the realm lost its guardian. But we were safe.”
His gaze cut back to Viktor.
“We’re not safe, are we, Tory?”
Viktor shook his head. The words tasted like ash.
