They expected an escort. They got him.
Before dawn touched the ramparts, it spilled into their tent, finding her asleep against him like a secret the night had kept.
The brazier glowed to a red hush, canvas breathing with the slow pull of the wind.
Viktor lay still and watched her—one hand at his chest, her golden hair strewn across his shoulder, the faintest smile curving her mouth. He let himself drink it in. Every breath, every sigh. The way she clung to him, still holding their braided cord.
“Let them call me commander, king, cursed—” he whispered against her crown, “—I’ll only ever bow here.”
He eased free without waking her, drawing the blanket to her shoulder, tucking it beneath her arm.
His eyes caught the mirror, brazier’s light painting copper across the new mantle.
For a moment he was both—Tory, the man stripped bare, long black locks unbound—and the commander set to wear the uniform of princes, guardian of Sevrak, Casqadia, and the realm.
He dressed in silence.
Tunic, leathers, boots, belt.
His hair bound back, braids drawn tight at the sides.
He faltered at the mantle, the insignia heavy in his hands. More than wool. The weight of oaths and eyes. A mantle woven with the names of those he would avenge.
I came to Sevrak a scout. Today I command its host.
With a breath, he set it across his shoulder, then turned back to Amerei once more. She stirred, edging into the warmth of his side of the bed.
“Tory? Did you sleep at all?”
“I tried,” he said. “Then some fool made me Commander and ruined it.”
His voice was gravel, dry with humor, but he bent to kiss her hair anyway.
She smiled—small, proud, a little sad.
“It suits you.”
“It’s heavy.”
His mouth quirked as if he wanted to scowl but couldn’t while looking at her.
“Let’s hope the men think it suits me better than I do.”
“They will.”
She closed her eyes again, settling into his pillow. He smoothed her hair and kissed beneath her ear.
“Go back to sleep,” he whispered, gruff. “One of us should get some rest.”
She was already drifting into perfect peace, holding his pillow like he’d never left.
He brushed his lips over her cheek. “Sleep easy, Ami.”
He rose, every step a drumbeat of command before the day had even begun, the mantle catching torchlight like a banner claimed in war.
Outside, a guard at the flap straightened. Another pretended not to stare at the new insignia.
“Commander.” Gabriel fell in beside him, buckling a bracer as he walked. “Procurement’s alive. Barely. Arrows and oil by second hour—if no one sets my lists on fire.”
