Amerei’s laugh chimed through the hush, and Viktor glared at Gabriel, though the sound lingered warm in his chest.
“You look like a Ruby,” Amerei said, her gaze soft on the bay. “That should be her name.”
Viktor’s throat caught, but he only gave a nod. Behind him, Gabriel and Evander snickered under their breath. He ignored them, eyes fixed ahead—deciding the name had always been hers to give.
Gabriel nudged his mare closer, grin sharp as ever.
“You don’t ride much anymore, do you, Viktor?”
“Not in a long while,” he admitted, adjusting his reins. “Scouting’s simpler when I’ve only myself to worry about.”
Evander jeered, “You’ll never marry running about like that. Women prefer men who offer castles—not dust trails.”
Gabriel leaned forward in mock solemnity.
“I’d rather the dust trails. Forgive me, Lady Zrynon, but if it were me, I’d keep a woman in every far-flung corner of the realm—spaced just far enough apart they’d never meet.”
Amerei’s laugh rang soft, disbelieving.
“I don’t think you’re half the scoundrel you pretend to be, Captain Feindoran.”
Gabriel pressed a hand to his chest.
“That’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Viktor bit down on a smile, shaking his head. Amerei’s eyes lingered on him a heartbeat too long before she glanced back to the road. Her voice softened, practical now.
“My father has arranged for you to stay at the Flag and Flask by the wharf. The townsfolk have spelled the walls to cloud a scrying eye—it’s one of the few places in Rhidian the queen cannot pierce. Ask for a room on the fourth floor.”
She hesitated, cloak shifting at her shoulders.
“Evander and I will leave the castle each evening and come to you there. Never come to us. It isn’t safe.”
Viktor kept his eyes on the road, but her words struck like a chain drawn taut.
“Never come to us.”
He swallowed hard, steadying the reins. He would obey—he always obeyed—but the thought of her locked behind Rhidian’s walls left a fire simmering in his chest. If danger touched her, no order in the realm would keep him from her side.
The redwoods closed in, trunks rising like pillars against the pale afternoon light. Hooves clopped steady on packed earth, the road hushed but for leather’s creak and the whisper of branches overhead.
Then—a sound split the stillness.
High.
Sharp.
A whistle knifing through the trees.
Evander’s head snapped up. “What was that?”
Gabriel smirked, though an edge threaded his tone. “I told you this road isn’t haunted.”
But Viktor was already straightening in the saddle, the hair along his arms prickling. Something in the sound felt wrong—not beast, not bird. His bay tossed her head, ears flicking.
The brush broke apart, and a dog burst through—sleek, dark-coated, paws quick and sure. Its eyes were bright, every step driven with purpose.
“Easy,” Viktor murmured, hand firm on the reins.
