At the top steps, a steward in slate-gray bowed—not quite enough.
“Your Highness,” he said crisply. “Her Majesty is… indisposed.”
Xavien didn’t blink. “My mother will receive me.”
The steward’s gaze flicked—Evander, Jasmine… Amerei. His brows arched at the sight of her—consort to a prince still wed.
“If Your Highness will be so gracious as to wait—”
“We will wait,” Xavien cut, “in the library.”
It was not a request.
The steward bowed, gesturing them into a darkened corridor.
Xavien offered his arm. Amerei took it, the warmth of his cloak a haven from the cold pulse of the castle. She hated the comfort, hated that her body sought it when her heart burned only for Viktor.
Sleeping orbs glowed as they entered. The library stretched high, shelves like walls, spines aligned like soldiers. Dust and parchment thickened the air. A long table waited, a single scroll pinned beneath polished stones.
The door clicked shut.
Evander sneered, “Strange what you must do to speak to your own mother.”
Xavien did not turn. “She is the queen before she is my mother.”
The words fell like ash. Amerei felt them twist in her chest. She had lived that life—commander’s daughter before she was simply a girl.
Her fingers curled tighter around Xavien’s arm.
The door opened again. The steward smoothed a hand over his tunic.
“Her Majesty will receive you now. Alone.”
Xavien’s eyes sharpened. “She stays.”
A quick breath. The steward relented with a bow.
Evander bristled. “You cannot mean to send us away again—”
“Go,” Xavien snapped, voice clipped as steel.
Amerei felt Jasmine’s stare burn against her, but kept her gaze ahead. They withdrew reluctantly, the door closing with a muted hush.
Moments later it opened again. Queen Ulyria entered robed in garnet, her hair bound in a crown of onyx. A steward’s chair had been raised on a dais at the far end of the library, her presence transfiguring it into a throne.
“Majesty, I bring Queen Amerei of Casqadia,” Xavien said, bowing with precise deference. Amerei followed, dipping low, her pulse hammering in her ears.
“Rise.” Ulyria’s voice commanded even silence.
Her gaze lingered on Xavien before fixing on Amerei.
“Our council has affirmed your claim. Why are you here, and not in Casqadia?”
“She is my guest.” Xavien’s tone held firm. “Her father makes war against the usurper. He needs more soldiers.”
The queen’s lips curved faintly—sharp, knowing.
“Yes,” she said, still watching Amerei. “But that is not what brings you here so suddenly.”
