Chapter Forty
Bold As Flame
Flame does not ask who it scorches—only who is bold enough to touch it.
The door was already wide, Storne striding into the yard with Gabriel at his heels.
Viktor moved to follow—until Amerei caught his arm.
“Where are you going? You shouldn’t be—”
“It’s Gabriel,” he said, voice low and raw. “He’s pushing too far. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”
She shook her head, fingers clutching tighter. “Then let Father handle him.”
Viktor glanced toward the open door, then back at her. For a second, the weight of exhaustion softened his eyes. Then his jaw hardened, and he gave a sharp tilt of his chin.
“Come here.”
She barely had time to breathe before his hand closed around her waist and pulled her in. His mouth claimed hers—hot, fierce, leaving no space for air or argument.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, breath stolen clean away as he devoured her. His palm slid up her back, heat searing through the thin silk of her robe.
When he let her go, she was breathless, a startled laugh slipping out with her exhale. His eyes lingered on her for one heartbeat longer—dark, smoldering—before he turned and strode after the others.
The air was sharp with woodsmoke as Storne pushed the gate wide, Gabriel storming past him into the yard. He guided Viktor to a crate against the fence, steadying him with a hand.
“Sit,” he said low. “Save your strength.”
Viktor obeyed with a groan. Evander slipped to his side, arms folded, watchful.
Gabriel paced the goat pen, jaw set like stone.
“Am I the only one who thinks we’ve failed to guard the virtue of our future queen?”
Storne’s gaze flicked, iron-quiet.
“Tread carefully, Captain,” he warned, tone edged with more than command. “Lest you lay unfounded charges against my daughter.”
Gabriel wheeled on him—
and for a fraction of a breath, his mouth tightened, as if he might stop himself.
He didn’t.
“Perhaps you’ve already decided where to send the bastard children of an Aerdanian.”
Viktor’s head snapped up, fury flashing through exhaustion.
“You do want a fight, don’t you?”
Storne stepped in front of him, hand firm at his back. “Save it.”
His eyes cut to Gabriel.
“Well? Out with it. Since you claim to know what happens behind closed doors.”
“Zeporah told me,” Gabriel spat, “in the Vykenraven.”
Storne barked a laugh, sharp as a whip.
“Told you what? That I can stand both in Fort Sevrak and in her bedchamber? That I betrayed my daughter to her usurper aunt?”
His voice cracked, heat spilling.
“Tell me, Captain—what other wisdom do you have on how I’ve failed her?”
Gabriel’s brows arched—no going back.
“You could’ve found her a husband by now.”
Storne laughed outright at that.
“Forgive me,” he postured, laying a hand on his heart.
“I’d just assumed that as she is equally sovereign and self, I might allow her to marry for love.”
Gabriel scoffed, gaze cutting away.
“And what would you know of that?”
The words hit their mark.
Evander looked up suddenly, eyes flashing toward Storne. The commander stilled, acknowledging him with the barest glance—then fixed his attention back on Gabriel.
Viktor turned his face, unable to even looked at his friend.
Gabriel shifted, caught in Storne’s stare.
Only then did the commander raise his hand, stepping forward. His voice roughened to gravel.
“Do you know what it is to bury your wife? The girl you loved before you’d even grown into a man? To hold your daughter at four years old, with fever stealing her mother before your eyes?”
He stilled—barely held back.
“Have you known exile, Captain Feindoran? To wake one day as consort to a queen, and the next cast out by her sister—every friend turned against you, your halls filled with strangers who don’t even speak your tongue?”
The yard went silent.
Storne’s voice dropped, gutted.
“Loneliness will tear a man to pieces, Captain. Until even the hand of she who held your whole life offers you relief. Maybe you wouldn’t have given in. Maybe you’d have been stronger.” His mouth twisted. “But I wasn’t.”
Gabriel’s glare didn’t soften. “So it’s true, then?”
Storne spread his arms, a bitter surrender.
“Yes, Captain Feindoran. It’s true. I bedded the sorceress herself.
I, who buried Cassandra when I was the same age you are now.
I, who sought in her shadow and in every other shadow the relief no coin, no crown, no army could give me.
So shout it loud, Captain. Tell the world. You finally have your answer.”
The silence cut deep. Even Gabriel’s anger faltered. Storne turned away, hands clawing through his hair—
He froze.
“Amerei…” Evander’s voice, soft from the stables.
She came quietly through the door, boots whispering over the dirt, golden hair braided back against the hood of her riding leathers. She turned, looking once over her shoulder, and knelt at Viktor’s side.
“Matteo is ready for you,” she whispered, her hand light against his knee.
With Evander’s help, she braced him to stand, murmuring something soft against his ear before she turned. Her gaze found her father’s. Unflinching. Unmoved.
“Amerei…” Storne’s voice dimmed.
“You weren’t meant to hear. Not like this.”
Amerei stilled, eyes shimmering with all the years between them.
For a breath, disbelief crossed her face—and beneath it, the ache of everything he had carried alone.
She braced herself—
then she closed the space and threw her arms around him, pressing her cheek hard against his shoulder. The force of it staggered him.
“All that you endured,” she whispered, breaking. “You never told me…”
His breath caught, rough. “Endured? Did you not hear what I confessed?”
“I heard.” She held him tighter, fierce as a vow. “And I know what was grief, and what was weakness.”
Her voice softened, searching his.
“But tell me, Father—have I any cause to fear Zeporah’s shadow over you now?”
“No.” Storne’s answer came low. “I swore it would never touch us again. I made certain the day I took you from your grandmother’s house to our home in Fyreglade.”
Her arms slackened, then she drew back with a sigh.
“I have missed home.”
His hands rose to cup hers, weathered palms closing over her slender fingers. He lifted them and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
“Then today we return.”
A smile broke across her face, sudden and radiant, chasing the last of the shadow.
Then Storne turned, voice gathering weight.
“We’ve twenty coming soon to Fyreglade, to take back to the fort all we salvaged from the Bloodforge.”
His eyes drifted to the horizon, a shadow crossing them.
“The sky will be a battlefield. We’ll scorch their wings with light, blind their eyes until flame turns useless. A hundred mirrors at least, gleaming like a second sun.” He nodded once to Viktor, proud. “Seraphim’s idea.”
Amerei glowed as if she could already see it—the glass catching dawn, shattering it into brilliance above a burning field.
Her smile lingered as she turned from her father and crossed back to Viktor. She caught his hand in both of hers, her voice soft, warm.
“You’ll love Fyreglade,” she promised. “It sits high on the cliffs, away from the noise of Fort Sevrak. Nothing but sky and trees and quiet.”
Evander stepped up beside her, his grin boyish despite the tension still hanging in the air.
“And the food,” he chimed. “Real elvish bread, herbs fresh from the hills… Can’t tell you how much we’ve missed it living in Rhidian.”
Viktor’s mouth twitched, the faintest spark of humor beneath the exhaustion. “What are we waiting for?”
Amerei brushed her thumb across his knuckles, eyes bright with mischief. “I’ll braid your hair myself before we ride.”
Before he could answer, she lifted a dark strand between her fingers, twirling it once before letting it fall free.
Storne watched them slip back inside, the corner of his mouth tugging as though to laugh. Bold as flame, those two. And no effort to hide it. He only shook his head and let silence be its own judgment.
Gabriel moved as if to follow, but Storne’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder. The commander’s voice was low, iron edged.
“Not a word, Captain. You’ve already said enough.”
His eyes darkened.
“Question my daughter again,” he warned, “and you’ll answer to me—not as your commander, but as her father. Do you understand?”
Gabriel’s hands flexed, pride warring with restraint.
At last, he gave the barest nod.
“Understood… Commander.”
Storne released him slowly, watching the captain’s shoulders tense as he turned away.
Hot-blooded and blind to consequence. Just like his damn father.
His gaze slid to the doorway where Amerei and Viktor had gone, the air seeming to thrum with what waited there. Bold as flame, the two of them, with no care for crowns or bloodlines. Storne exhaled slowly, the weight of command pressing heavier than armor.
Love was a fire that could forge—or consume.
And for his daughter, he could not yet decide which he would allow.