Her sob caught, fierce and desperate.
“Don’t you ever leave me again—”
His answer was a vow in ruin.
“Not even death could keep me from you.”
He leaned toward her with the same hungry fire that once undid her in a darkened tent, lips crashing against hers as though he might devour the veil itself.
Amerei gasped, caught between tears and laughter, the world spinning as she braced for him.
Gabriel swore under his breath, catching him hard against his chest, keeping him from crumpling to the stone.
“By the stars, you reckless bastard,” he hissed, ears burning crimson. “Can’t even stand, but you’ll die trying to kiss her.”
Amerei cupped Viktor’s face in both hands, shaking with relief, with love, with the absurdity of it all. Her laugh broke through the tears.
“You cut your hair.”
For a moment Viktor could only stare.
Of all the ruin—bandaged ribs, splinted arm, fever still burning—she saw that.
Not the wreckage.
Him.
A laugh caught in his throat, half-broken, half-dazed. Dask, she had noticed. And for one fragile instant awe swept through him stronger than pain.
Her emerald eyes locked on his, and across the bond—shattered so long—something flared bright. Whole again.
“I know you,”she whispered across their tether.
His knees nearly buckled from the force of it. Only Gabriel’s grip held him upright.
But his soul—his soul had already fallen into her arms.
Her hands slid from his face, releasing him back to Gabriel. His smile faded to ruin, but the fire in his eyes remained.
The wagon rolled closer, servants spreading furs across the benches. Gabriel shifted to guide him back, but Viktor stirred against his grip. Slowly, with a tremor that shook through his frame, he lifted his right arm high enough for all to see.
A soldier’s salute.
Ragged, but fierce.
The courtyard stilled. Even Xavien did not flinch. His jaw set, his shoulders squared, and with the weight of a king he inclined his head in return—acknowledgment, respect, the answering of one commander to another.
Only then did Viktor allow Gabriel to lower him into the wagon.
Amerei climbed in at once.
She knelt first, smoothing the furs as though the smallest crease might wound him. Gently, she eased him down, her hands lingering at his shoulders, his jaw, unwilling to release him.
“Amerei—”
“Shh.”
She drew a blanket to his chest.
