Amerei sat tall, shoulders straight, chin lifted.
He claimed the head seat, his earring catching her eye—a mast crowned with a serpent severed: Bloodforge made jewelry. She thought of her Ruakite grandfather, sea-serpents slain. She thought of Viktor.
“My queen,” Xavien said, breaking the reverie.
A footman presented a velvet case. Xavien’s hand hovered, steadied, then lifted the lid. A circlet of white gold lay within, amethyst and sapphire glimmering.
“When my mother Ulyria was still a princess,” he said, fingers brushing velvet, “Queen Phaedra of Casqadia gifted herthis diadem. It belonged to your line for centuries. I return it now.”
He leaned in—too close. “May I?”
Jasmine’s stare burned. Beneath the table, Amerei brushed her fingers against her thigh—silent steel. She nodded.
Xavien drew a long breath, mouth curving on the exhale.
He set the crown against her hair.
“Elarien.”
(Beautiful.)
Her heart raced beneath the corset.
“I have very little from my ancestors,” she admitted. “My father saved what he could… before Zeporah took my place.”
For a heartbeat, she was thirteen in Rhidian—bare feet on cold stone—watching Zeporah sweep past in Cassandra’s jewels. The necklace sat wrong on another woman’s throat, the bracelets clinked false on unfamiliar wrists, and the court applauded as though the gold itself had chosen a new mistress. She had learned then how to stand straight while something inside her folded.
Jasmine hooked her finger, pulling her back.
“Thank you, Highness,” Amerei said, unguarded.
Laughter pealed across the lawn. Two elven children raced a hoop, a nurse clapping. Xavien’s head turned, shoulders easing.
“They’ll sleep well tonight,” he said warmly.
Amerei allowed a smile.
“You were very young when the eldest was born.”
“So young,” he answered, eyes still on the children, “that I find myself thirty-two and already receiving offers for her hand.”
His jaw tightened, then eased.
“Will your daughter have any say in who she marries?” Amerei asked.
Xavien let out a sigh.
“I should hope so. If fate is kind.”
At last he looked at her.
“Her mother would see her sent to Tyra.”
Her eyes burned as she leaned in, her voice sharp.
“You cannot let that happen.”
His hand curled near the goblet, as though around something he dared not touch.
