The wax hardened. She pressed the seal.
“As for military aid—he’s secured us the Sagittarii of Vykenra. I’ll ask for more soldiers… when the moment is right.”
She handed the letter to Gabriel.
“Aerdania needs Xavien’s help now.”
Issachar lifted two mugs from a hook.
“And he’ll give it?”
“He’s obsessed,” Gabriel muttered.
Issachar’s gaze flicked between Viktor and Amerei.
“He knows about you two?”
“Not that we’ve married.” Viktor leaned back against the ladder, arms folded, eyes like storm. “But he knows. He knows damn well she’s mine.”
Amerei’s pulse leapt—heat and pride tangling in her chest. She didn’t look away from him, didn’t soften the claim. She let it stand, fierce and unshaken, because it was true.
Issachar opened the door for Gabriel, a wry smile tugging slow at his lips.
“Then let him ache for what he can’t have. Nothing drives a man harder than envy—and nothing cuts deeper than knowing she’ll never be his.”
Gabriel huffed a laugh. “That’s what we’re hoping for.
Letter in tow, he was off.
Viktor turned toward the ladder, nodding at Amerei.
“Come, Ami.”
She set the quill aside, smiling gently at Issachar before crossing to Viktor.
“Gabriel’s never been up here,” he said as he climbed. He shoved open the trapdoor tucked into the ceiling, the wood smooth from years of use. “Not sure he’d even fit.”
A faint, crooked smile tugged at his mouth as he reached back for her. She took his hand. His grip was warm, steady—pulling her into his world.
His bedroom.
Small. Low-slung rafters, a bed just wide enough for two, shutters half-open to the western sea. The salt wind drifted through, carrying the hush of waves against the rocks.
Amerei stepped inside quietly, eyes roaming. Her fingers grazed the shelf above his desk: a leather-bound sketchbook, a bird carved no bigger than her palm, a folded shirt that still smelled of him.
Viktor dropped the hatch closed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with a stillness that didn’t quite mask the heat in his gaze.
“You really lived here?” she asked softly.
“I still do,” he said. His tone came rougher than he meant, like a shield he couldn’t lower. “When I’m not at Windmere.”
She turned slowly, the light catching her green eyes as she gestured to the window sill. “His things?”
He nodded.
“There used to be two beds in here. One stacked on the other.”
Her smile tilted.
