The air slipped beneath her blanket, pressed the mattress the way his weight would. Her body folded into it, hand reaching in the dark.
“Live… or die… Amerei—”
the vow pressed raw across distance, storm, fate—
“for you.”
Chapter One Hundred Two
Only Me
One vowed to hold her in this life. One vowed to tear apart death itself.
Her eyes opened.
“Ami. I’m here.”
But it wasn’t Viktor.
The hand at her shoulder was smooth. Steady. Present.
Xavien.
“Don’t startle, Elarien,” he whispered at last. “It’s only me.”
She stared at the ceiling, the ache behind her eyes bright and salt. She could feel his steadiness near her—the measured rise and fall of his breath, the way a hearth holds heat after flame.
Two beds.
Two promises.
One that reached for her like breath before drowning.
One that waited, unmoving, like an anchor in a storm.
Her palm slid to the sheet where the press had been hours before—weight from nowhere, vow from far away. Then to the blanket Xavien had drawn over her—present, warm.
“You came,” she breathed.
“I promised.”
Her eyes dampened, her voice small.
“Has it begun?”
“Not yet.” He smoothed a wrinkle in the sheet, then brushed a loose strand behind her ear. We have a little while.”
Her hand rose, resting lightly against his forearm.
“Xavien… don’t leave me.”
She trembled, pulse fluttering beneath fragile skin.
For a long moment, he only looked at her—at the rawness in her eyes, the fear she could not hide. He pressed her hand into the blanket, holding her as if the world might slip away.
“No summons. No council. No crown.”
He leaned closer, breath against her skin.
