Gabriel leaned in, eyes flicking to Viktor, unreadable.
“Ready?”
Viktor lowered the pack to his shoulder, forced his answer.
“Ready.”
For a heartbeat neither he nor Amerei moved. Her lashes lowered, hiding the ache in her eyes, and his hands tightened on the straps, bracing the pounding of his heart. They both pulled in slow breaths, gathering themselves, before she stepped aside.
Gabriel’s mouth twitched, gaze landing on the roughspun tunic draped over her.
“Lady Zrynon, I hardly recognize you.”
Amerei shook her head, summoning a hint of composure with a grin.
Out in the corridor, as their footsteps echoed toward the stairwell, she glanced at Gabriel.
“Be careful of Zeporah’s honeyed words. She can draw out truths never meant to be spoken.”
He gave a wry half-smile.
“I’ve yet to meet a she-elf who wasn’t wicked with her tongue.”
Their laughter broke the tension, a fragile sound in the dim hall. But Viktor followed in silence, every step heavy with what might have been.
The world blurred—the lanterns, the sea-salt air, Gabriel’s easy stride. All Viktor could feel was the warmth that had almost been hers, the breath that had nearly been his.
So close. Too close.
The ghost of her almost-kiss burned on his lips, forbidden yet undeniable. He forced his gaze forward, each step away from her twisting like a blade in his chest.
Rank be damned—he would make her his.
The vow struck through him like lightning.
The wind rose with it.
For the first time, his Endowment surged unbidden—not to duty, but to desire.
Mine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Other Seraphim Twin
She read him like a book—then turned the page to something darker.
The halls of Castle Rhidian hushed with the lateness of the hour, the air damp with salt and stone. Torches guttered low, shadows stretching long across marble walls as Viktor and Gabriel followed the guard toward the queen’s wing. Past the tenth bell—too late for courtesy calls, far too late to be waiting on Zeporah’s threshold.
“Best think of your reason quick,” Viktor urged, voice pitched low. “A message from the elf-king. Something courtly. Something she can’t see through.”
Gabriel huffed a laugh. “You’ve a high opinion of my improvisation.”
“You’re Draekenra,” Viktor muttered back. “That’ll do half the work for you.”
The guard rapped twice against the carved door. Before his knuckles fell a third time, a voice drifted from within—smooth, imperious, certain.
“Let them in.”
