“You’re not hiding anything from me, Father. And I wouldn’t have you try.”
She crossed to him, her smile curving with mischief.
“You gave me two choices, remember? Hide it, or handfast.”
Storne blinked, thunderstruck.
Amerei laid her hand over his on the table.
“And here I am giving you the same.”
Her tone softened, affectionate but unbending.
“You love her. Then love her openly. A fortnight, Father—present me with your intent to marry.”
Storne only stared, his soldier’s mask faltering until something raw slipped through—the sudden relief of being seen. Then his hands caught her shoulders, rough but unshaking, and he pulled her into his arms.
“You are so like your mother,” he murmured against her hair.
Amerei’s throat tightened as her arms circled him in return.
“Then let me give you the gift she would have wanted for you.”
They held each other, father and daughter, commander and queen.
When at last she stepped back, she turned squarely to Gabriel. Her green eyes caught his, sharp and certain.
“And you. Six months to present me with your intent to marry Jasmine—or I’ll see to it she chooses better.”
Gabriel’s mouth fell open, the scroll tumbling from his hand.
“Six months—?” He sputtered, ears reddening to the roots.
Amerei’s smile only widened.
“Consider yourself warned, High-Captain.”
A horn sounded in the inner ward—one clear note. Storne reached for his cloak pin; Gabriel snapped his scroll case shut. Amerei turned on her heel, and together they stepped out into the light.
The courtyard rang with the clatter of hooves and the low murmur of servants loading the last trunks. Phoenix banners snapped high on the wind, crimson and silver bright against the morning sky.
Amerei had been the hidden heir. She descended now as queen—the courtyard itself seemed to bend, every face turning not to daughter or comrade, but to sovereign.
Viktor had been a scout. He stood now as commander—and though bandaged and broken, the mantle of Casqadia marked him as the arm of her crown.
Storne waited at her right, scarred and stalwart, the lines of command etched deep in his face.
Gabriel was already mounted, his new insignia catching the morning light.
Jasmine lingered near the horses, eyes bright with something between nerves and pride. Amerei had given her quiet orders: remain at Gabriel’s side, as though their union were already sealed. The way Gabriel reached down to steady her hand as she mounted said the message had landed.
Samson and Balian trailed close behind, armor polished, bearing the weight of their commanders’ shields and blades as though the war were not done.
Evander appeared last, helm tucked beneath his arm, silvered armor gleaming in the morning light. The captain of her guard, ever watchful, already barking instructions to the men-at-arms lining the caravan.
When all were assembled, Amerei lifted her chin. The phoenix banners above caught the wind as though they rose at her command.
“Casqadia rides to Vykenra,” she said.
