Viktor set the halter, quick and clean.
Vorathen tossed, then settled when the rope kissed the scar again.
Balian edged out of the shadow.“Do… do we have him?”
“We have him,” Viktor said, mouth tight but fierce, almost a grin.
The Midnight’s presence swept the gulley.“Well done, Tory.”
Viktor clicked his tongue once and sent the stallion into the open, Samson and Balian falling in like they were afraid to blink. At the scrub, Ruby snorted and stamped, ears forward.
“Samson, take Ruby’s rein,” Viktor ordered. “Lash her to Balian’s horse.”
Then he urged Vorathen forward, giving the new stallion the breadth of a ship’s bow ahead of his mare.
“We’ll stable him outside the palisade with the oxen until he learns some manners.”
Samson grinned, feral and proud. “Aye, Commander.”
Viktor laid a hand to Vorathen’s neck, feeling the drum of the heart beneath.
“Vorathen,”The Midnight murmured, giving-rathits earned emphasis.“What does it mean?”
Viktor’s smile was sharp.
“The Unbroken.”
Chapter Ninety-Six
Amethyst
Amethyst awaited her—a jewel, a throne, a cage.
They made the journey under a cloudless sky—no banners, no drums—only the steady beat of hooves and the muted creak of the consort’s carriage.
Xavien rode the right flank, just behind the wheel. Near enough that Amerei felt the weight of his glances. Far enough to cloak it as dignity.
She never looked his way. She could have traced him by the rhythm of the Sagittarii breathing.
By afternoon, Castle Amethyst lifted from the cliffs, violet-veined stone catching the sea’s light like a jewel meant to dazzle—and to conceal. The inner courts dripped with age and wealth: swallows nesting beneath eaves, copper gutters gone green with time, a fountain whispering into a bowl of onyx.
The consort’s wing opened on a gallery above a cherry grove, the Eillish fig its crown jewel.
Jasmine strode beside Amerei, chin high, eyes everywhere.
“Mercy,” she breathed, irreverent, admiring. “So this is where all the elven tariffs go.”
Evander trailed two steps behind.
“Castle Rhidian is bigger,” he muttered, trying not to gape at the gilded molding.
Jasmine scoffed. “You do know this is only the prince’s house?”
And there he stood—rooted in the courtyard as though the castle itself had conjured him. Xavien, arms clasped behind his back, gaze softened as he watched his smallest children chase each other through the garden, a nurse trotting after.
A young woman soon joined him beneath the archway, braid unraveling against her pointed ears. She rose onto her toes, whispered something that set them both grinning, then flicked his beaded braid over his shoulder with careless familiarity.
Jasmine’s brightness dulled.
