Viktor’s breath locked in his chest.
He met Storne’s gaze—war hero of the north—
and knew from this heartbeat forward, they were equals.
His spine straightened.
“Understood.”
Storne turned back to his map, knife in hand once more, as if he’d only ordered a change in rations.
“Second hour, you brief Vykenra. Orders flow through you or me. No one else.”
The knife-point hovered over Sevrak.
Without looking up:
“And Seraphim—bring my daughter’s world back in one piece.”
Viktor bowed once, the word already sealing itself into the bones of the tent.
Commander.
It landed like a hammer in his chest.
For a heartbeat he just stood there, pulse crashing, the weight of it heavier than any sword he’d carried. His men. His queen. The whole cursed war on his shoulders now.
Storne cut it clean. “That’s all. Out of my tent.”
Chairs scraped. Orders murmured.
Gabriel’s grin followed them out like a shadow.
Amerei’s hand was in Viktor’s before they cleared the flap. Her pulse raced against his palm, faster than the war-drums outside, faster than she could contain. The night air was cold, the campfires fierce, but she barely felt them.
Her husband—her husband—was Commander.
And she wasn’t about to waste a single breath of the night before the world tried to take him from her again.
She tugged him hard toward the shadows.
“Now,” she whispered. “Before anyone finds us.”
Chapter Ninety-One
I Loved You Then
She loved him. Before the fire. Before the crown. Before she knew he’d make her his.
They stepped out of the command ring and the night swallowed them whole—smoke, oil, leather, a thousand hushed movements stitched into one dark, breathing thing.
Amerei didn’t let go of his hand. He didn’t ask her to.
“Follow me,” she whispered, pulse quickening like the beat of a war drum.
Past mess lines, past stacked shields and sleeping horses, a ribbon of stone gleamed where torchlight failed. Behind Storne’s pavilion, granite walls cradled a shallow bath, water spilling in a steady trickle. The sound was soft, secret, small enough to be theirs alone.
She yanked him through the curtain and into the lamplight’s edge, the canvas walls breathing with the night. A sliver of moon caught the cut of his cheek, the new severity to him—the word that still rang in her bones.
