Amerei felt the heat of it across the bond—a blade held in ice.
“If a man can keep her in his own pasture…”
Her thought lanced across the tether, sweet as poison.
“My queen, behave,”he teased back.
She lowered her eyes, but the warmth beneath them—dask, he felt it.
Storne came forward, taking both of Amerei’s hands. He raised them to his chin, pressing a kiss to her knuckles—an older soldier’s blessing.
“Darling,” he murmured, so only she could hear. “With you goes the future of Casqadia. Go with honor. Pray for peace.”
Her throat tightened.
“I will.”
She shuddered, slipping one arm around his neck.
“Come home to Fyreglade, Father.”
He kissed her cheek.
“I’ll be waiting there.”
Then slowly, he turned her hand into Viktor’s and closed both with his own. His gaze lifted, steady, unflinching.
“Commander, send her off.”
Storne let go.
They walked the last steps together, the world narrowed to leather, dust, and the weight of their hands.
At the carriage step she turned, their breaths mingling.
“Breathe. Look at me,”his thought brushed through her.
She steadied on the blue of his eyes.
Her lips parted, a plea she didn’t dare speak.
His palm lingered at her waist, pressed lower, over her belly.
His thought thundered, the vow he’d sworn that first night in Fyreglade:
“I will break the gates of Elysium to be with you.”
A heartbeat too long.
Then he stepped back.
“I love you,”they sent together, as the curtain fell.
To the world, she was sovereign.
To him, only Amerei.
“Mine.”
