Her hand was already on the door.
“No, Evander. Better I risk fire than choke on a cage.”
Her skirts whispered down the marble hall, servants straightening at her passage. The consort’s corridor bent toward the prince’s wing—colder stone, fewer tapestries, more guards. She didn’t falter.
At Xavien’s threshold two Sagittarii crossed their spears.
“The prince sent for me,” she said, voice light, posture innocent.
The slightest shift. They let her through.
Her hand trembled as she lifted it from the brass plate, letting the door fall behind her. Inside, lamplight danced on polished onyx. A farther door stood ajar. Water murmured beyond.
“Your Highness…”
She followed the sound into a chamber of dark stone and open windows. At its heart, a wide basin carved from a single slab, mist rising luminous as fog on summer air.
Amerei stilled.
She had seen its like in Zeporah’s chambers. Pools that bore the weight of war, that whispered fates of men.
Xavien stood half-turned, one hand over the surface, the other braced on the rim. Figures swam and sharpened—sands, banners, swords—the flash of wings.
“My queen,” he said calmly. “You find me at prayer.”
The surface went dark.
Amerei advanced, careful steps.
“Who were you watching, Xavien?”
Her eyes never left the pool.
A servant swept a goblet to his hand.
“Wine?”
“I prefer ale,” she said, finally meeting his gaze.
He smiled into the cup, a sound slipping soft from his throat.
“You so intrigue me.”
His eyes returned to the pool, then slid back to her.
“Have I sparked your interest, my lady? Or has Zeporah trained you in the arts?”
Her chin lifted, defiance flashing in her gaze.
“The usurper only ever taught me to survive people like her.”
Sunlight caught the gleam in Xavien’s dark brown eyes.
He drifted closer, serpent-smooth, each step shrinking the air between them.
“Then we are not so different, you and I,” his voice dropped, warm against her skin. “I too was sent away.”
He moved another pace, shoulders tilting toward her.
