Chapter Twenty-Two
The Breath Between
One more breath—and nothing would have stopped him.
Viktor eased the door open, mind on the pack waiting on the shelf—the Oustinon stones bound tight within.
Instinct flared before reason.
Steel flashed—then a familiar warmth hit him, the air itself bending before sense could catch up.
Amerei froze in the doorway, wide eyes fixed on the point just below her collarbone.
For a breath, the world went still.
Then Viktor saw her—truly saw her—and the sound left his lungs. Horror and relief collided, leaving his grip unsteady as he tore the blade down, metal scraping his leathers.
“Amerei.” His voice cracked. “Dask—I didn’t know—”
She exhaled a shaky laugh.
“Storms, Captain—remind me never to sneak up on you.”
The tension broke, though his pulse still thundered. He drew her inside, shutting the door quick behind them.
She nodded toward a faded shirt slung over the chair next to him.
“I just came to put Evander’s clothes back on.”
The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
He snagged the shirt and held it out, giving her space. She slipped it over her riding leathers, tugging the collar straight—the faint scent of Evander’s cologne mixing with the dust of the room.
Viktor lingered, watching her in the half-light, every detail sinking into him—the damp strands of her braid, the stubborn set of her shoulders, the fact that she was here. With him.
Her gaze flicked up at last, a hint of mischief in her smile.
“Well? How do I look?”
His chest tightened, traitorously warm.
“Lady Zrynon,” he said, shaking his head. “It’d take the dark of night and entirely too much ale for anyone to mistake you for a dockhand.”
His gaze lingered on the loose cuffs.
“May I?”
She offered her arm, curious.
Viktor took it gently, fingers brushing her skin as he rolled the fabric close.
“A sailor always keeps his clothes tight,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the fold. “One loose sleeve can catch a line and drag a man straight overboard.”
Her smile faltered, curiosity turning inward.
“Do you miss it?”
He glanced up, caught by her gaze.
“Miss what?”
“You weren’t always a soldier,” she said softly.
His thumb traced the grain of the cuff as if it were a rope he once knew how to hold. For a moment he didn’t answer—the weight of memory pressing hard against his ribs.
“It’s been a long time since I wore the boots of a dockhand,” he said at last, voice rough. “I don’t think I know that man anymore.”
Her eyes searched his.
“He’s still there,” she whispered, soft as rain. “Under the scars. Under the fire. Not lost—only waiting.”
The words cut deeper than he expected, loosening something he’d fought to keep bound. His hand lingered against her wrist, and he forced himself to draw a breath.
“Are you afraid?” he asked quietly. “Of what you’re about to become? Your father is right now—”
“I am,” she admitted, voice breaking with the weight of it.
“I had accepted my place. I knew what I was… what I wasn’t. All I know of a crown, I’ve only stolen from stories of my mother.”
“You’ve more than stories,” Viktor said, leaning closer, the distance between them vanishing with each word. “Already five hundred men wait for your command. They look to you as if you’ve been wearing that crown all your life.”
Her lips parted—whether to protest or believe, he couldn’t tell.
Silence swelled between them, charged, fragile, as if they were both waiting to see who would cross it first.
Finally, she whispered, “We can’t stop this, can we?”
His gaze held hers, steady, unbending.
“No more than winter can stop the sea.”
A cool draft slipped over her shoulders, through her hair—a breath of wind that felt almost like snowmelt running down her spine. His Endowed power answered him, and she shivered, eyes widening, caught between fear and wonder.
He leaned in, close enough that his breath tangled with hers.
“Amerei,” he murmured, his voice frayed with restraint. “You know there isn’t a drop of noble blood in my veins.”
She lifted her chin, closing the space between them.
“I don’t care.”
The words leapt fierce and certain, as if they had been waiting in her chest all her life.
He cupped her face, holding her there as his lips brushed over hers—barely, almost not at all—when the door creaked open.
Viktor’s hand shot up over Amerei’s head, fingers closing around the pack on the shelf as though that had been his purpose all along. But his body was still angled toward hers, his breath still mingled with hers, and the silence between them throbbed with everything that hadn’t been spoken.
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.