His voice scraped raw.
“I’m asking you to live.”
She turned then, chin lifted even as tears streaked her face.
“I don’t want to live without you.”
“Amerei—”
Her lips crashed into his, breathless, breaking, a vow sealed in desperation. She clutched his tunic, voice trembling against his mouth.
“I won’t even bear your son if you’re gone.”
The confession shattered her. She crumbled against him, sobs tearing loose before she could stop them.
He gathered her close, his jaw pressed to her temple.
“Shh…”
His voice, for once, was soft. Not command. Not vow. Just a man begging the woman he loved to breathe
“Ami, listen to me.”
He brushed a hand through her hair, his lips at her crown.
“You’ll live. Dask, Amerei—you'll live. Dance in Amethyst’s great hall. Ride the coast winds. Leave cups of tea scattered across Xavien’s tables, enough to drive him mad.”
A strained laugh caught in his throat. The next words fell quieter, laced with aching sweetness.
“You’ll have your peace, your crown… and a dozen little heirs with your smile.”
He pulled back just enough to see her face, sorrow gentling the storm in his eyes.
“You’ll be safe, Ami. You’ll be radiant. And I’ll be the ghost clinging to that smile, believing I left you enough to keep it.”
For a long moment she only held to him, sobs quieting, her face buried against his chest. His heartbeat thudded hard beneath her ear, steady despite the storm in him. She stilled, as if afraid to let go of the sound.
Only then did his mouth tilt in a faint, humorless curve.
“Xavien clearly doesn’t take siring-cease. Seven children already…”
She gave a laugh through tears, fragile but real.
Then his smile faltered, the thought hitting heavy in his chest.
His voice dropped, rough and unguarded.
“Ami… neither did I. Last night.”
Her breath hitched. “You—what?”
“We were on the floor of the bath, against the wall—dask, I wasn’t thinking at all.”
A low, helpless laugh escaped him.
“Amerei…”
His thumb brushed along her jaw, tender.
