Bone jarred.
Blood sprayed hot across the tiles.
Deglan crashed, limbs spasming, crimson pooling beneath him.
Amerei staggered, bodice ripped, silk gaping, Viktor’s knife white-knuckled in her hand.
Evander caught her back, one arm across her chest, the other locking her shoulders.
“What—” Xavien reeled, boots skidding on stone.
“Ami. Look at me. Breathe,” Evander urged, cheek pressed to her hair.
Her eyes found his, wild.
“Give me the knife,” he whispered, coaxing, steady. “Ami, please.”
She clutched tighter.
“I can’t. It’s Viktor’s.”
“It’ll still be Viktor’s in my hand.”
Patient, he peeled her fingers open. The blade slipped free—slick, heavy with blood.
Across the chamber, Xavien dropped to his knees, face blanched. He stared at the ruin, horror hollowing him.
“You—”
Evander thrust up the knife, grip wide.
“He went for you, Highness. She saw it. She stopped him.”
Xavien’s eyes lifted. Met Amerei’s.
Something cracked.
Hecrawled.
Tearing laces at his throat.
Ripping linen over his head.
Ink coiled across his ribs—a serpent spiraled over his heart.
He pressed the linen to her chest, trembling hands shielding the torn bodice. Careful one breath—then shattering the next. He folded into her, breath breaking, forehead near her knee.
“Amerei,” he choked, once—wrecked.
Again, like prayer.
“I thought—”
The word died.
His eyes burned, rising to hers.
“You saved me.”
