“The proclamation—my father is dead, the throne passes to me. Too cold. Too blunt. The guards unpaid. The Senate—”
“Not what must be done first,” she cut in, sharper still, her voice steady against the chaos. “What must be done at all. How much of this can fall to your scribes?”
He hesitated, shoulders heaving with the weight of it. “Most.”
“Then leave it,” she pressed.
Her grip softened but did not release him.
“We cannot bend fate to our will today. We must accept whatever comes.”
A breath.
“There is a chance I will not be leaving Amethyst.”
Her throat tightened, but she lifted her chin.
“So we will live as such until my father comes.”
Something flared in Xavien’s eyes—pain, hunger, a sliver of reckless humor. His mouth curved, fragile and sharp.
“As if you are already Draekenra?”
Heat swept her, but she did not look away.
“As if I am already Draekenra.”
The words sparked between them, fragile, dangerous.
Xavien’s eyes darkened, then shuttered. He spun from her, reaching for his discarded quill, muttering low over his shoulder—
“Dask, Elarien. Say it again and I’ll have you in this bed before the ink dries.”
Her breath caught, heat rushing through her despite the cool stone beneath her feet.
But he did not look back.
His restless hands were already gathering parchment, sealing ink, the mask of the new king sliding into place.
Moments later he strode to the hidden panel to the consort’s suite, pressing it open. He glanced back at her, voice steadier now, gentled but edged with command. “Get dressed, my queen. We have much work to do.”
And so they spent the day together at his table, drafting decrees. Some for Casqadia’s return. Some for Elváliev’s defense. Some for futures that would never come to pass.
For a day, they livedas if.
Chapter One Hundred Sixteen
Bound for Amethyst
The fever broke. The vow did not.
Viktor woke to silence.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath, as though the stones of Fyreglade had stilled to see if he would stir. The infirmary was dim, sunlight streaking from the window above, the smell of lavender and char mixing in the cold air.
Something tugged at his arm—an ache, a weight—but he would not look. He dared not.
All he wanted, through fever and the breaking of his body, was Amerei. Her name trembled on his lips before his eyes had even opened fully.
