Chapter Twenty-Six
Bound by Fire, Bound by Fate
A princess in hiding. Three Ruakites at her side.
The realm had no idea what was coming.
Light caught him after only a few hours’ sleep—dust and gold through the shutters, too bright for a man who’d closed his eyes just before dawn.
Gabriel was already up, boots laced, that familiar grin back on his face as if the night had left no mark at all.
“You missed it,” he said, dragging a hand through his sand-brown hair. “One of the best sunrises I’ve ever seen.”
Viktor rubbed at his brow, blinking. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
Gabriel leaned against the bedpost, arms folded.
“About last night.” His tone softened—serious for a breath. “I shouldn’t have pulled rank on you. But I needed you to stop before you broke yourself on it.”
Viktor studied him—the ease back in his voice, the quicksilver calm that always came after Gabriel’s storms. He gave a short nod.
Gabriel tossed something across the room.
“Here,” he said. “Best look sharp tonight.”
A razor flashed in the morning light.
“Zeporah will decide what costumes we wear, but no reason to look like you just fought a sandstorm.”
Viktor caught it, scowling. “Costumes?”
Gabriel’s grin tilted, already fastening his cloak.
“There’s a reason I’ve never brought you home to one of our elven romps.”
Viktor shook his head, already dipping the razor in the basin.
Once Viktor had dressed, they left the room together, Gabriel still humming with amusement while Viktor dragged a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. The skin felt strange without the rough edge of stubble—too clean, too foreign—as if he were preparing for a performance instead of war.
The scent of bread and smoke clung to the stairwell as they descended into the tavern.
Storne was already waiting at the back table, posture rigid, a map half-spread before him. His gaze flicked up as they approached, but before a word could pass his lips, the door swung open.
Amerei stepped in with Evander at her shoulder.
The sight of her in the dim light stopped Viktor mid-step—hair braided back, travel cloak sharp across her shoulders. Evander’s jaw was set, his hand never straying far from the hilt at his hip.
Storne’s brow furrowed, surprise breaking the edge of his composure.
“Amerei?”
She didn’t waste a breath.
“We have a problem.”
Evander laid a folded parchment on the table.
“Zeporah invokes Vykenraven—tonight.”
The air in the tavern thinned.
Storne’s hand hovered over the page, but his eyes stayed fixed on Amerei.
“Who’s invited?”
Evander pushed the list toward him.
Storne scanned it once, then tilted the parchment up at Viktor.
“You don’t know what this is, do you?”
Viktor shook his head.
Storne’s eyes swept the table, settling on each of them in turn.
“Prove your loyalty. All of you. Say not a word while I speak with my daughter.”
Gabriel leaned back with a soldier’s shrug. Evander stiffened but obeyed. Viktor lowered himself more slowly, gaze lingering on her.
Amerei sat across from her father, chin high, golden hair catching the morning light like a crown she had not yet claimed. For a breath Viktor could only watch her—the memory of last night’s sleepless vow pressing hot in his chest.
Even if she does not love me… I was made to fight for her.
He forced his hands flat against his knees, schooling his face into obedience.
He didn’t need Storne’s command.
His heart, his loyalty—already hers.
Storne leaned toward Amerei, elbows braced on the table.
“I know you want to escape this,” he said, his tone low, almost fatherly. “But tonight you’ll learn where you stand with Casqadia’s nobility. That knowledge cannot be bought or stolen.”
Amerei’s pulse raced, though she said nothing.
He pressed on.
“Prince Xavien works every day to secure us forces from Elváliev. If you can wrest even a fraction of Casqadia’s own strength from Zeporah’s grip, you cripple her power. That is the truth you must weigh.”
Her voice, when it came, was quiet.
“Zeporah will know Viktor is a Ruakite.”
Storne’s eyes flicked toward him, then back.
“That is why she invites only humans.”
His gaze sharpened.
“She’s hunting for him.”
His voice fell dangerously low.
“Do you fear he will betray you?”
“No,” Amerei said at once.
She shut her eyes as if it hurt to say.
“I fear what she will do to him.”
Something like a shadow crossed Storne’s face.
His gaze slid to Viktor, memories of his father’s own Endowed powers sharp in his mind.
“He is far more lethal than he knows, Amerei.”
She studied Storne then, as if trying to read the meaning in his stare.
Finally, she asked, “Where will you be if we go, Father?”
“Ready to get you out of Rhidian if it comes to that,” he answered, his voice edged in steel. “But I cannot go with you tonight.” His hand moved, unbidden, to the back of his neck. “She would twist the history between us until every ally I’ve fought for was lost.”
Amerei’s voice cracked.
“And yet I am to resist Vykenraven?”
Storne’s fingers closed over hers.
“You are not like me, my darling.” His expression softened. “Your heart is as pure as the waters of Elysium.”
His words faded, but Amerei did not answer at once. Her gaze shifted across the table until it found Viktor.
He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved—yet the vow was written there, plain as ink. In the hard line of his jaw. In the storm burning behind ice-blue eyes.
His long black hair was tied back with soldier’s precision, the braids at his temples pulled clean and bound at his nape—but nothing could tame the wildness in him.
Her gaze caught on the mouth she had almost kissed—still, unspeaking, yet carrying the promise all the same. Storm help her, he was devastating. Every inch the man born to bear the weight she feared would break him.
She drew a breath, his vow pressed into her bones.
“We must leave Rhidian with as many allies as possible.”
She looked once to each face.
“Tonight we go to the Vykenraven.”
The silence that followed was sacred.
Gabriel moved first, dragging two fingers across his chest in the ancient salute of Vykenra.
Evander’s hand struck the table twice, Bernewood’s pledge echoing like the heartbeat of the forest.
Storne straightened, fist pressed to his chest—the gesture of a man who had once stood beside a queen.
Last was Viktor. He brushed three fingers across his brow—the salute of Aerdania—his eyes finding Amerei’s as he did. Frost and fire sparked in that silence, a promise burning colder and truer than steel wrenched from ice.
Four men. Four lands. One future queen.
Storne let the stillness linger, then spoke with command.
“Find your way to the Ivory Pillars within the hour. I will prepare you to endure this evening.”
Evander frowned. “Won’t Zeporah see us?”
“The same waters that feed her magic can obscure it,” Storne said. “She drinks from the moon’s pull on the sea. But the waterfalls at the Pillars run too strong for her scrying to pierce.”
Evander’s mouth curved, grim. “A blind spot.”
Gabriel flexed his gauntlet. “Scouting armor?”
“Bring anything that can take a beating,” Storne answered without missing a beat.
Gabriel huffed. “Why did I even ask?”
“One hour,” Storne said, pushing back from the table.
He paused, turning his gaze on Evander.
“Oh—and I heard about the cherry tree.”
Evander stiffened, but Storne’s eyes had already shifted to Amerei. His voice softened, low enough for her alone.
“It seems we have two of them with us.”
Gabriel lifted his hand beneath the table’s edge, flame curling once in his palm—a whisper of fire, gone as quickly as it came.
“Three of them.”
Storne’s eyes narrowed, recognition sharp and immediate.
Amerei smiled faintly, her gaze darting between them.
For a one stolen moment, it felt as if every secret in the room burned bare.
Casqadia’s hidden heir—and her three Ruakite guardians.
Bound by fire. Bound by fate.