The world looked unchanged, yet every shadow seemed to hold its breath—
as if it, too, waited to see who he would become.
“I will show you who you are.”
Amerei—a princess.
Zeporah, a usurper.
And himself, no longer only a soldier but something Storne had named with fire and fate.
Each truth pressed heavier than armor, threatening to bow him in the saddle.
Heat crept unbidden into his palm. Memory rose with it, bright as a blade unsheathed.
He was younger then—hardly more than a boy—walking the ridge above Westport with his twin brother, Adamar, at his side.
The wolf came out of the brush, all fangs and hunger.
Viktor had nothing but a blade too small for its hide.
Fear seized him—
fear of losing Adamar, fear of being helpless—
and then it happened.
Fire leapt from his hand, blinding and wild, a roar that drove the beast into the dark.
When the flames died, silence claimed the ridge.
Adamar’s cough rattled the air. His eyes were wide, wet with terror.
“Where did the wolf go, Viktor?”
Viktor had lied. Swore they’d imagined it.
Buried the truth as deep as he could.
He was only a soldier—nothing more.
No one could ever know.
Yet here he was, morning brightening around him, Storne’s words burning in his chest—fate dragging every secret into the open.
The bay carried him on, unhurried, until the lanterns guttered low and the stables rose before him.
Amerei was just leading Obsidian inside when Viktor slid down from his horse. Morning spilled across the beams, catching on the braid that swept like gold over her shoulder.
Her riding leathers clung close—cut for elegance as much as command—yet there was a quiet grace in the way she moved, softer now, as though his presence allowed it.
Her gaze lingered on the mare at Viktor’s side, lips curving faintly.
“A beautiful blood bay,” she said, voice low with admiration.
“A perfect lady,” Viktor murmured, brushing the mare’s neck with a faint smile.
Amerei’s eyes softened, but her tone held quiet authority as she turned to the stablehand.
