Chapter Three
Her Name is Amerei
He learned her name—and in it, his undoing.
Morning broke with pounding hooves and ragged breath as they drove their horses up hills, around bends, through thickets and broken brush.
The farther south they traveled, the more vivid the land became—mountains rising in the east, glowing purple in the early sun, while the pine of the west gave way to oaks, sycamores, and blossoming ash, like a painter shifting strokes mid-canvas.
From behind, Viktor watched her—watched the way her hair streamed across her back, catching light each time they slipped from shadow into sun.
Dask, she’s beautiful.
Her ears were not pointed like her father’s, but her skin—pale and porcelain—reminded him of the northern elves of Elváliev.
He thought of what Gabriel had told him, but it didn’t help. If Amerei was half-elven, then Storne must be as well. The pieces didn’t fit—but somehow, she did.
He let the thought fade as they slowed beside a stream.
While he was still dismounting, Evander called, “Your name—it’s Halyon, isn’t it? Amerei thinks it’s Aerdanian.”
Viktor ran a hand down his horse’s mane, gave a low laugh.
“It’s an old Aerdanian name. Not many Seraphims left.”
“Seraphim,” Amerei said, glancing over her shoulder, “means fiery ones.”
Viktor tilted his head, surprised—and smiled.
“It does.”
Her eyes lingered a moment longer than the words allowed.
Then she turned away—
with the faintest, most dangerous grin.
He stared after her.
Beautiful. Brilliant. Dask, I’m in trouble.
Evander knelt at the stream, rinsing mud from his hands. He started to scrub the emblem on his chest, but stilled—Viktor’s hardened gaze was on him.
With a flick of his fingers, he shook the water away and declared, “Zrynon is a name of power. Many elven kings have carried it.”
Viktor gave a quiet nod as he unfastened a feed bag and set it on the ground.
“And your name?”
“Zrynon,” Evander said proudly.
Viktor looked between him and Amerei.
“You’re siblings?”
Evander smirked but said nothing.
Amerei glanced at Viktor—and gave him a look that was all mischief and moonlight.
Just long enough to make sure he saw it.
He blinked.
Dask…
She tilted her head and began braiding her hair.
“He is Evander of the House of Zrynon—my man-at-arms, and no kin of mine. He shares no blood with the Casqadian queen either, but he is part of her court.”
Evander rummaged through the saddlebags for food.
“The queen found me as a child. Took pity on my poor, innocent soul.”
Amerei’s voice was quiet.
“She married his father to secure the throne—the war chief, Raif Tassen.”
“I know of him,” Viktor said, accepting food. “I didn’t know he’d married the queen.”
“It was…”
Amerei tied off her braid, searching for words.
“…a very brief marriage.”
“She killed him,” Evander said flatly, already dropping to the ground with food in hand. “Killed him without considering she’d be stuck with me.”
Amerei’s voice wavered.
“She didn’t kill him…”
But she didn’t finish the thought.
Silence settled—long and heavy.
Eventually, Amerei stirred.
She beckoned Viktor with a quiet tilt of her head.
They shared what little they had—spiced lentils wrapped in leaves, smoked river fish, dried berries, and elvish grains sweetened with honey resin.
Evander sprawled on the pebbles with a saddlebag under his head, chewing lazily.
Amerei lowered herself beside Viktor, crossing her legs to mirror his—close enough that he could feel her presence stir the air between them.
She didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
She was right there—her shoulder just shy of his.
Viktor drew a slow breath, brow furrowing under the weight of all he still didn’t understand.
“Are you also in the queen’s court?”
Amerei dipped her fingers into the water, swirling it thoughtfully.
“Zrynon comes from my grandfather. My father thinks using it will shield me from his enemies.”
Viktor brushed the top of his ear with his fingers.
“Your mother is human?”
Amerei tucked a loose strand.
“She was a half-elf. She and my father, both halflings—in a time when it wasn’t customary. Neither of them knew where they belonged—until they found each other.”
The thought struck them both at once.
They smiled.
For a breath, Viktor forgot the mud on his shoes, the ache in his spine, the taste of fear still clinging to morning. She understood. Not just duty or loss—but what it meant to be half of something. To be caught between worlds.
It settled over him like warmth—unexpected, quietly disarming. He’d spent days breathing ash and silence. Now even her voice felt like proof that the world could still make something gentle.
Then Amerei glanced at Evander, who lay with his arm over his eyes, pretending to sleep. She shook her head, looked back at Viktor. Her voice was quieter now, thoughtful.
“You must be so tired. My father sent you alone? Are your men still at Sevrak?”
She hesitated.
“Forgive me—but you wear the armor of a…”
“A scout,” Viktor said, a low laugh rumbling in his chest.
He bent one leg, resting an arm across his knee.
“My men are in Aerdania. I run when I’m needed.”
Amerei pulled her knees to her chest.
“Couldn’t one of your men run instead?”
Viktor exhaled.
“At first, I volunteered because I could deliver a message faster than waiting on a scout.”
He slid a hand behind his neck, shrugging faintly.
“But simple messages turned into missions. Missions turned important… and usually dangerous.”
Amerei studied him for a long moment.
Beneath the dirt and exhaustion, beneath the armor and command, she saw something softer. Steady. A gentle soul looked back at her—his black locks falling across one brow, his eyes impossibly blue, reflecting the stream like moving glass. Wild, and yet somehow still held.
She wondered if anyone else had ever really seen him.
The stream murmured between them, light glinting over its rippled surface like spilled silver. Somewhere beyond the trees, a hawk cried, and the sound made the world feel suddenly too quiet.
Then, softly, as if the words had chosen her:
“I think what you do is noble, Captain Seraphim.”
Viktor breathed in slowly, almost like he didn’t trust his voice.
That’s it, he decided. I’m in love.
She started to say more—but thought better of it. Instead, she leaned over and nudged Evander.
He groaned, stretching his arms wide like a man rising from the grave.
“Two nights ago I slept in a castle. Tonight? I’ll be lucky if I get a bed at all.”
“We should reach Hythe’s Gap within the hour,” Viktor offered.
He picked up his horse’s feed bag and began tying it to the saddle. Evander cracked one eye to watch, then sighed and rose to do the same, swinging his own with theatrical misery.
“Fort Sevrak is the worst elven camp. Why”—he gestured helplessly at Amerei—“when your father can go anywhere, does he insist on that place?”
Amerei took the bag from his hands, stepped between him and the horse, and tightened the straps herself. Then—over the saddle—she caught Viktor’s eye. And smiled, as if to say what would I do without him?
There was something unguarded in her smile, a gift she didn’t know she’d given—but he felt it all the same, a spark low in his chest.
Evander’s foot slipped in the stirrup as he tried to mount, but he caught himself with a grunt and scrambled upright. Amerei waited until he steadied, then swung up behind him.
Viktor rode up beside them and pointed down the trail.
“The sun’s behind us now. Once we cross the valley, we’ll lose tree cover—but anything in the sky will cast its shadow in front of us.”
Evander spoke for them both.
“What do we do if…”
But Viktor was already urging his horse forward.
“Let’s just make it to the mountain pass.”
He didn’t look back. Didn’t need to. He could feel Amerei’s eyes on him—the weight of that smile still warm across his shoulders.
He knew that look. Dask, he knew.
And for the first time since Oustinon, he didn’t feel like he was running alone.