Storne now claimed him.
He was caught between them—pawn to their unseen war.
His throat tightened as he forced out the question that pained him most.
“Who does Zeporah usurp?”
Storne huffed a quiet laugh.
“You’re the last to know, aren’t you?”
He swept a hand toward the valley below, where men and elves bent their bows in silent pledge.
“Every soldier here has sworn fealty to Casqadia’s rightful queen. Even wearing the cloak of a handmaiden, she is still ours. To keep her from Zeporah’s knives, I let her serve in theusurper’s own hall—pouring her wine, carrying her messages, bowing when it should have been she who was bowed to. Hidden in plain sight, until the time came.”
Viktor’s chest went cold, dread and awe tangling together.
The world tilted—memory, duty, desire all colliding at once.
He already knew the answer, but still he asked:
“Your daughter…”
Storne’s gaze did not flinch.
“Her mother was Cassandra, Queen of Casqadia. My half-elf wife. She ruled five years before her death. And when she fell, her half-sister Zeporah seized the crown—a she-elf with no blood claim, ruling where Amerei should be.”
Viktor could scarcely breathe.
Amerei had already been forbidden—the commander’s daughter, far above a nameless soldier. And now fate set a crown upon her head, sealing the distance with blood and fire.
“Commander—I have no crown to give you. No name worth pledging. I was never meant for more than a soldier’s grave.”
“Fate will not wait for you to decide,” Storne said, catching his hand again.
Flame sparked at Viktor’s fingertips, undeniable.
“Just as it did not ask before it endowed you with this.”
The fire guttered out, leaving Viktor shaken.
“Come back to the ridge in the morning,” Storne ordered, turning to the archers. “Bring Captain Feindoran with you.”
As Viktor stepped back toward his mare, Storne’s command followed him—low, inevitable, heavy with promise.
“Rest today. You’ll need your strength come morning.”
Storne’s final words struck like prophecy.
“I will show you who you are.”
Chapter Seven
Then I Will
Her vow became his own, burning as fiercely as the fire in his hands.
The bay moved gentle beneath him, her hooves whispering over stone as morning broke across the ridges. Sunlight pooled gold along the camp’s walls, brushing the mare’s mane to fire and turning smoke from cookfires into rising veils. Birds stirred in the pines.
