He grinned at Amerei with the warmth he gave his children. Playful. Unguarded. Her stomach knotted, unsettled by how easily he wore that charm, how quickly menace could soften into something that almost disarmed her.
Evander broke the spell.
“Let me guess. You are her only son.”
Xavien tilted his head.
“I’m surprised a man of your esteem is unaware.”
His eyes gleamed with pride as he spoke, savoring the boast.
“My father has seven sons and three daughters. I intend to double his progeny.”
Evander’s laugh sputtered.
“You’ll have to convince your wife to come home first.”
Xavien riposted, smooth. “Must I though?”
He held his stare a beat too long, unblinking. Evander straightened.
Jasmine worked quickly to bind the torn bodice, linen pulling snug.
Xavien squared himself at the door, nodding to Evander first.
“When we enter Castle Draekenra,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. “You are no man-at-arms. Walk as if you are the captain of her guard.”
“Iam.”
“And Jasmine,” he continued. “You are a lady-in-waiting toshe who is still a maiden.”
Jasmine glared as she tied the knot.
“Surely the Queen Mother will ignore a torn dress when she sees this ‘maiden’s’ wedding band…”
Amerei’s fingers fumbled to her necklace. The band caught against her skin, a weight she had worn as vow and shield. Her chest tightened—surrendering it felt like tearing a piece of herself away.
“Here,” she whispered. “Keep it for me. Please, Jasmine.”
It pooled into her palm, heavy with memory, before disappearing inside her hand.
“Evander,” Xavien called, sliding open the door locks. “Take Lady Inara with you to speak to my own captain. Have him ready the carriage.”
Jasmine dropped her hand to Amerei’s knee.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Amerei’s pulse kept in time with the room’s small sounds. Lamp, hush, bolt. She should have been rehearsing words for the elven queen. Instead she was hurled back to the sound Xavien made when he crawled—crawled—through smoke and ruin to reach her scream. The memory seared: gold hair spilling wild across his brow, dark eyes burning with something raw, almost intimate. Heat rose in her, unwanted, as though he had branded her with that look.
“Go with Evander.”
The words tore from her.
She dropped her arm, and the shirt with it—her bodice bound in a crude knot.
Jasmine straightened, breath sharp. She rose without a word.
Xavien turned as they left, hand finding the top bolt. The door closed on Jasmine’s last look—warning, love, refusal—then the locks spoke: top, bar, lower latch. A thumb-press. A knuckle tap. Once. Twice. Thrice. Back again.
