“Dress her in black and red—Aerdania’s colors.”
Then, meeting Viktor’s gaze—brighter now:
“She’s yours.”
She watched him a moment too long, as if she knew what the gesture cost him—how rarely he’d ever been given anything at all.
He bowed his head.
“I would refuse her… but it seems I’ll need her. Your father plans on keeping me here.”
“He’s certainly pleased with you,” she answered gently, as though weighing each word. “Curious of you.”
The corner of her smile warmed, and Viktor felt the truth beneath it—that she was, too.
The stablehand moved off, leaving them in the hush of straw and morning light.
Viktor lingered—too close now—his voice a breath between them.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you are?”
At first she said nothing, only lifted her hand and set it into his, her palm cupping his as though she’d chosen him in that instant.
Their hearts beat quick, the silence trembling with it.
“Come with me,” she whispered.
Hand in hand, they slipped from the stables, past the palisade, into the quiet shimmer of the riverbank—
Their hands fell apart as they reached the water’s edge.
Amerei paced the bank, sunlight scattering her reflection in the current.
Viktor leaned against a broad rock, unable to look anywhere but at her—
the way the morning lit her eyes to emerald,
the way command seemed to fall from her shoulders here,
leaving something softer.
Truer.
His fingers found a torn fishing net left upon the stone. Without thought, he drew his knife and set to it, mending knots with the ease of an old rhythm.
Amerei’s voice carried low over the water.
“Captain Seraphim.”
Her gaze lingered on the river.
“I’ve made my peace with it. If the world were different, I would never challenge Zeporah. The people already believe she is theirs.”
Viktor’s knife stilled.
“Maybe they never had a choice,” he said at last.
Then, rougher:
