Chapter Eighteen
Beneath Her Gaze
Beneath Zeporah’s gaze, every word was a test, every silence a risk.
The roar of water rose to meet them before the gates even parted.
Castle Rhidian loomed from the cliffside, its walls carved of marble streaked with gold, gleaming through the mist. Cascades thundered past in twin curtains of white fire, plunging to the sea below—a most spectacular welcome home.
At the stables, Amerei swung down first. She moved quickly, tugging open a weathered chest in the corner—the kind every noble daughter knew to keep ready.
From within she drew a plain skirt, hitching it over her riding clothes, then fastened a chain of bronze at her throat and slipped bracelets over her wrists.
Small disguises, but in Rhidian’s halls, presentation was armor.
She smoothed her braid once with steady fingers before she turned, cloak falling about her like any courtier come to serve.
Only then did the guard step forward, hand braced on his spear, grin spreading wide.
“Well, if it isn’t Lord and Lady Zrynon. You’re home early.”
Evander groaned, rolling his eyes.
“You must stop saying it like that. You’ll stir up chatter.”
The man chuckled. “With the way you two bicker, you already sound wed.”
Amerei straightened her necklace, ignoring them both with practiced grace.
“Has my father gone in to the queen?”
“Aye,” the guard said, still smirking. “Arrived late last night. She’s waiting for you now, my lady.” He jabbed the spear toward Evander. “But not you.”
Evander’s jaw ticked as he shouldered past. Amerei caught his eye—just the briefest tilt of her head to ease the sting.
He led her through the inner court, the roar of the waterfalls fading into the hum of castle life—councilmen debating, steel clashing from the yard, silk hems whispering along marble floors.
At the arching doors of Zeporah’s wing, he paused, fists clenched tight.
“This is as far as they’ll let me.”
Amerei steadied her breath, though her pulse thrummed.
“I’ll be fine.”
He gave her a sharp look.
The guard pushed the door open, bowing stiffly. “Her Majesty awaits.”
Evander’s voice dropped, low and reluctant.
“I’ll be in my chambers. Don’t let her rattle you.”
Amerei drew her cloak tighter, stepping into the heavy fragrance that drifted from within. The doors shut behind her with a groan that echoed up the stairwell.
The chamber was thick with perfume and smoke.
She hadn’t taken two steps before Zeporah swept toward her, a bundle of burning herbs in hand. She circled close, fanning the smoke toward her face.
“Breathe it in,” the queen murmured, close enough that the heat of the ash brushed Amerei’s cheek. Her brow arched, mouth curving. “Deeply, child. It clears the mind.”
Amerei held her breath, but Zeporah leaned nearer, the herbs crackling as she thrust them closer.
“Come now. Don’t be such a delicate flower.”
Amerei turned her head slightly, letting the smoke drift past. Her voice was quiet but sure.
“The air is thick enough already, my lady.”
For a moment Zeporah stilled, the smile still painted on her lips. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she quenched the herbs against a dish and gestured lazily to the corner of the room.
“Sit.”
She guided Amerei toward a low table laden with figs, pomegranates split open, bowls of spiced nuts, honey, cheeses softening at the edges.
Zeporah sank into the cushions beside it, bracelets chiming as she reached across the spread.
With her other hand she tugged Amerei down, pressing until she sat opposite.
“Here.” Zeporah plucked a fig, split it with black-painted nails, and offered half across the table. The fruit bled dark against her fingers. “Figs from the Isle of Eilles.”
Amerei forced a polite smile, setting it on the edge of her plate.
Zeporah’s eyes lingered there, sharp beneath their kohl.
“Tell me again,” she said smoothly, rolling a spiced nut between her teeth. “What did you propose we do about the unrest in the highlands? I requested soldiers from your father, but their presence only seems to inflame the mob.”
Amerei folded her hands, steady despite the weight of the queen’s stare.
“I would end the curfew. It keeps marauders off the streets, yes—but the highlanders thresh wheat at night. And they need the cool of dark to water their crops so the ground can drink before morning. To chain them indoors is to starve them.”
Zeporah clicked her tongue, the sound both indulgent and dismissive.
“You are entirely too confident in the ability of rural humans to be civil.”
“I’ve spent a great deal of time with them,” Amerei replied, voice even.
The queen’s hand drifted upward, brushing the point of her own ear. Her smile was sly, almost pitying. “Such a shame you pass so easily for a human.”
Amerei’s throat tightened, though her expression did not falter.
“The unrest in the highlands,” she said carefully. “Is that all you required of me today?”
The queen reclined again, lifting her goblet.
“How was your stay in Fyreglade?” she asked, unbothered. “I hear your father refuses to return home. A shame, really. An empty house should belong to someone who will make use of it.”
Her smile thinned.
“You could live there—if you were to finally marry.”
Her tone turned honeyed.
“A woman your age, unwed… it begins to look unbecoming.”
Amerei didn’t flinch.
Zeporah leaned forward.
“I have shielded you from whispers in these halls, child, but Elváliev’s court would not be so kind. You must think carefully about your place.”
Her gaze cut sharper, satisfaction curling her lips.
“My son could use your counsel—however rounded your ears may be. And you, you are in desperate need of a husband. As it happens, I know just the match.”
Amerei lifted her cup and drank slowly, letting silence answer for her.
Zeporah’s smile faltered. “Ungrateful?”
Amerei set the cup down, steady.
“No, my lady,” she replied. Then, firmer: “Only certain that I serve you best here, in Casqadia.”
“I will consider it,” Zeporah muttered, her tone already dismissive.
She plucked a grape, rolling it between her fingers before letting it fall back to the platter.
“Tell me,” she said lightly, as though in passing, “my Evander… he has his father’s knack, does he not?”
Amerei’s brows knit. “With the bow?”
A graceful shrug. Zeporah sighed.
“So I’ve heard.” Her eyes flicked, cool and measuring. “Some whisper he rivals even the Ruakites of old. But I imagine gossip grows taller the farther it travels.”
Amerei forced a small smile, refusing the bait.
“I couldn’t say,” she answered. “I assume he’s as skilled with a javelin as he is with a bow. He’s quite the athlete, that much is true.”
Zeporah’s smile lingered—unreadable.
“So I’ve heard,” she echoed, voice soft but edged.
Cold silence settled between them.
Then, with a wave of her hand, Zeporah dismissed it all.
“That will be all, child.”
Amerei rose with quiet grace, hiding her relief until she was past the threshold.
The corridors beyond Zeporah’s chambers breathed stone and sea, mercifully free of incense. Amerei drew a breath—deep, steadying—only then realizing how long she had held it. The air cooled her lungs, bracing her spine as she gathered herself.
Her steps quickened, her resolve returning with each one. Every stride felt like reclaiming ground the queen had tried to strip from her—until the scent of salt and oil lanterns told her she was close.
Evander’s chamber was lit by the waning sun, its glow spilling across him as he stood with two sets of clothes in hand—one a sentry’s garb, the other a sailor’s faded tunic and trousers. His grin tilted, sly.
“Sentry or sailor?” he asked, holding them up for her inspection.
Amerei exhaled the last of her tension, lips curving despite herself.
“Sailor,” she decided, reaching for the plainer disguise.
Evander tossed the sentry’s garb aside with mock offense.
“Knew you’d pick the dull one.”
She shook her head, clutching the worn linen, the fabric rough against her palms—grounding her when her heart was already miles away.
Past the castle walls.
Past the noise and smoke.
Past everything that kept her from him.
Viktor.