His breath cut short.
Every instinct begged him to stop. To shield her. To let her keep the fragile hope flickering in her eyes. But he was a prince. Princes did not flinch from truth. Even when it gutted them.
“Another claims he is already dead.”
Amerei froze.
Her lips parted, but only a tremor came first—then the word, raw and breaking:
“No.”
Her head shook once, twice, violently.
“No, he—he can’t—”
The garden tilted.
Lantern light blurred.
Her knees buckled.
Xavien caught her before she struck stone. The ruined crown spilled petals across her hair.
“Amerei—”
His voice cracked, her name a prayer and a wound. He pressed her against him, his arms trembling. For the first time in years, victory tasted like ash.
He did not summon guards. Did not yield her to courtiers. He carried her himself, quick strides echoing through marble halls. Her hair spilled against his black tunic, sunlight fallen into shadow.
They passed Evander and Jasmine at the archway.
Jasmine stepped forward.
“Let us—”
“Send for my children’s nurse,” Xavien snapped. “To my chamber. No one else.”
Evander’s eyes narrowed, but Xavien did not slow. The great doors of the western wing opened before him, torchlight spilling down the corridor. He shouldered his doors shut behind him, the echo of wood on stone sealing them alone.
The chamber was vast, darkened but for the fire burning low in the grate. He crossed to the bed and laid her gently upon the sheets, his hand holding against her cheek longer than it should have.
“Forgive me,” he whispered—to her, to himself, he could not tell.
The nurse entered, sharp-eyed and brisk. Linens, tinctures already in hand. She bowed once and moved to Amerei’s side.
“Has she eaten today?”
“…I do not know,” Xavien admitted.
“You do not know?” She snorted. “You let her pace herself into collapse, and you dare think carrying herherewill mend it?”
Anger flashed—reflexive, defensive. “Mind your tongue.”
But her words had already pierced deeper than he wanted to admit. He had told Amerei only last night she must eat, must keep her strength. That if she hoped to bear a child, she could not afford such neglect. He had spoken it with conviction. And yet here she lay, colorless and broken in his bed.
The nurse wrung out a cloth, pressed it to Amerei’s brow, then shot him a withering look.
“See to it she eats. This is the woman you would make your wife.”
