Chapter Twenty-Four
When the Halls Went Silent
In the hush of those halls, tomorrow’s storm was named.
The clash still echoed through the stone as Amerei slipped into the hall, her skirts whispering against Viktor’s boots.
He didn’t look at her—he couldn’t—not with Zeporah’s shriek splitting the stairwell.
“What is going on!”
The queen’s voice cracked through the corridor, echoing from wall to wall.
Below, Gabriel and Evander staggered in their staged fury—too convincing by half. Blood streaked Evander’s nose. Gabriel’s fist still trembled from the blow.
Zeporah descended a step, anger softening the instant her gaze found Gabriel. Her lips curved, voice turning rich with delight.
“Lord Feindoran?”
She tasted the name as though it might dissolve on her tongue, then smiled wider, decadent, savoring.
“Oh yes… Lord Feindoran.”
She stalked closer.
“It has been far too long since these walls tried to contain the virility of a true Draekenran elf.”
Amerei’s shoulders quivered, a laugh caught between disbelief and horror. Viktor fixed his eyes on the stone floor, fists clenched so tight he thought he might break fingers.
Zeporah swept a hand toward Evander without looking at him.
“Living among humans has softened you, child. But this one…”
She turned back to Gabriel, drinking him in with undisguised delight.
“This one is as pure and savage as the gods intended.”
Then she whirled, arms flung wide, silk sleeves snapping like banners.
“Let us have Vykenraven!”
She laughed, breathless with triumph.
“Tomorrow night—the invocation comes to Rhidian!”
The declaration rang down the hall—off marble and steel.
The air itself seemed to flinch.
Even the torches shuddered in their sconces.
Guards shifted uneasily, but none dared speak.
Zeporah pivoted sharply, her gaze snaring Amerei. One hand rose, brushing Amerei’s cheek in a mockery of tenderness, her nails grazing just sharp enough to sting.
“We shall adorn ourselves in the garments I had saved for the blood moon feast.”
Then her eyes slid to Viktor, lingering far too long.
“Come to my party, Captain,” she murmured. “And do bring that delicious elf with you.”
With that, she swept away, the echo of her laughter clinging to the hall like perfume.
Silence closed in—heavy, waiting. Electric.
Evander cursed and fumbled for a cloth, blotting at his bleeding nose.
Amerei stood frozen, chest rising too fast, her eyes wide and glass-bright. She pressed her hand to her mouth, as if holding back words—or tears.
Before Viktor could speak, Gabriel caught her arms, his voice low, measured.
“Breathe.”
“She can’t mean tomorrow,” Amerei whispered—half plea, half disbelief.
“She does.”
Gabriel’s grip tightened, grounding her.
“But we’ll not do anything until we tell your father.”
Viktor glanced between them—the panic in her face, the steady control in his. His question hung sharp in the air.
“What is Vykenraven—”
“Not here,” Amerei cut him off, too quickly, voice breaking.
Before Viktor could press, Gabriel seized his arm and pulled him into the stairwell, falling into step beside him as if nothing had happened.
“Walk,” he ordered.
So they did—Amerei’s arm hooked through Evander’s, his sleeve blotched with blood as he held his nose pitifully. Behind them, Gabriel matched Viktor’s stride, the picture of a scout escorting a fellow captain.
To any eyes in the hall, they were four near-strangers sharing a corridor. But Viktor felt the tension strung between them like wire, every silence sharper than a spoken word.
Gabriel veered them down a darker passage, torchlight thinning to nothing, the air damp and cool.
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.