Only when the guards’ voices were distant did Amerei stop. Viktor halted with her, close enough to feel the quick rise of her breath. She pressed her back to the wall, eyes glinting in the shadow, chest rising fast.
“I need to speak to my father. At once,” she whispered, urgency breaking through the tremor in her voice.
Viktor’s answer came without hesitation—he didn’t need her to say the word.
“Meet us at the tavern by first light.”
She nodded, relief flickering through the panic.
Evander groaned softly about his nose. Gabriel muttered for him to hush. The moment loosened—just a little—as the tension bled off.
Viktor leaned just a fraction closer, his breath warm at Amerei’s, his words meant for her alone.
“Best take care of your elf,” he teased.
She smiled through tears—quick, defiant.
“And you, Captain… best take care of yours.”
He turned before she could see it, but the promise thundered in his chest—come what may tomorrow, he was her defender.
Sworn in silence. Bound without end.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Night Before
The night before the madness. The night before the ache.
The night before everything would never be the same.
The tavern’s din was muffled by stone and timber by the time Viktor shoved the narrow door shut behind them. A single lantern smoked on the sill, shadows crawling long across the low rafters.
He shrugged out of his cloak, hung it on a peg, and unbuckled his sword belt, the weight of steel clattering onto the table. His boots followed with two heavy thuds, leaving him in shirt and leathers. He stood there a moment, rolling his shoulders, bones aching from every league they’d run.
Gabriel had already claimed a bed, sprawled on his back with one arm flung over his eyes.
“Ship’s gone. Storne’s plan worked.”
His tone was flat, as if the stolen munitions weren’t the tinder for a war.
Viktor dropped onto the other mattress, scrubbing both hands over his face.
“You going to tell me about Vykenraven now?”
Gabriel stirred, lowering his arm. He sat up slowly, elbows on his knees, gaze sharp. “No.”
Viktor straightened, wary.
“Not until you tell me this,” Gabriel pressed.
“You need to choose.”
His voice dropped low.
“Amerei… or Zeporah.”
He jerked his chin.
