Chapter Forty-Seven
Fyreglade
They came seeking refuge. What they found was a castle waiting to change everything.
He set her on Evander’s horse, told her they needed each other more than they knew.
The company rode in silence, every face hollowed by the day.
Evander kept the reins steady. Amerei pressed close behind him, her arms looped around his middle. She had not spoken since Viktor lifted her up—only leaned into another heartbeat, knowing she could not carry her own alone.
Storne led, shoulders rigid, cloak torn, his silence cutting deeper than command. Gabriel trailed behind, bruised and raw-eyed, the quiet between him and Evander heavy as ash.
And Viktor—burned, aching, chest bound and seared—kept his head high. He would not let them see him falter. Amerei’s gaze found him often, her hand brushing his across the narrow space between horses, each fleeting touch a healing balm.
They crested the hill at last.
Hooves struck wet stone. Lightning split the night.
Then the forest opened to reveal it:
Fyreglade.
Not a house. Not a manor.
A castle.
Its towers loomed out of the rain-slick cliffs, walls carved into the rock itself, lit by torches that flickered like stars against its ashen spine.
Amerei’s breath shuddered out, relief breaking through the ache. The gates groaned open, oak and iron yawning wide. For the first time since the forest, hope pressed back into her chest.
Viktor’s eyes found hers as they passed beneath, stormlight flickering through his hair.
“So this is home?”
She smiled—soft and shining.
“It is.”
The gates shut behind them with a thud that seemed to cleave the night in half.
The storm pressed in, but within Fyreglade’s walls the air felt lighter—lamplight glowed along stone paths, rain glittered across trimmed hedges, and warm smoke drifted from unseen chimneys.
The weight of blood and fire began, at last, to loosen.
Viktor caught himself staring. The curve of a balcony. The carved archways. Marble lions crouched at the foot of a fountain, their mouths spilling water bright as glass. He had marched through palaces, slept beneath the rafters of a hundred garrisons, but this—this he could hardly name.
Beside him, Gabriel’s mouth had gone slack. He muttered something in Elvish that made Amerei laugh for the first time since the forest.
“Careful, Captain,” she teased. “You stare any longer, and it’ll expect a proposal.”
“Forge the rings…” Gabriel murmured, half under breath.
Evander only smirked. “I did warn you. Not so bad, is it?”
They left their horses with the stablehands, then the great doors opened.
They stepped inside—and Viktor froze.
A glass dome arched above, vast and gleaming, the storm refracted through its panes into a hundred shards of lightning. Below it, a staircase swept down in two spirals of white marble, rails wrought in bronze and polished wood, like the wings of some great bird unfurling.
Viktor’s voice caught in his throat. Gabriel swore outright. Evander only shook his head, savoring their reactions.
Amerei moved past them, boots clicking across the floor she called home.
“Welcome to Fyreglade,” she said.
And for a heartbeat her eyes were bright again.
Storne’s voice carried from the landing.
“Seraphim—take the glideway. Evander will show you how. The infirmary waits below, healer standing ready.”
“Glideway?” Viktor echoed, blinking.
Amerei’s lips curved, amusement softening her face. “You’ll see.”
Evander was already at the emerald doors, grumbling about the glideway’s temper as he worked the handles.
Amerei caught Viktor’s arm, dragging him back into the shadow of an arch.
“Do you…want me to come with you?” she asked.
Dask, he almost said the truth. Instead, his mouth curved wry.
“If they lay me out on wood again, I’m walking back to Westport.”
She grinned, ready with some quip—but before she could speak, he pulled her in. The kiss was quick, fierce—too much need pressed into too little time. When he drew back, her breath stuttered, pulse wild.
“Go upstairs and rest,” he whispered. “I’ll find you in the morning.”
She nodded, easing back into the light.
Evander swung the glideway doors wide. “Inside, Seraphim.”
Viktor paused only long enough to look back at Amerei. Her fingers hovered at her lips, eyes shining with everything she hadn’t said.
He exhaled—steady, controlled—and stepped into the emerald glow.
The doors swung shut behind him.
Amerei’s hand stayed at her mouth long after the sound echoed away, her lips aching with the ghost of his kiss.
Beside her, Evander shifted, then touched her elbow, guiding her toward the staircase.
“He loves you,” he said softly—more confession than tease.
“And I think you love him, too.”
Her head whipped toward him—
fear flaring sharp and immediate.
“Don’t you dare tell Father.”
“I won’t.”
His mouth quirked.
“But hide that smile, Ami—or I won’t need to.”
She darted ahead, skirts flashing as she climbed.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re glowing like a fool.”
A beat.
He let out a sigh.
“We both know how this ends, Amerei. The pair of you—dragged before the council.”
He hesitated, then added, quieter, careless:
“You’re not the first lady to fall for a stableboy.”
Her steps halted.
She turned slowly.
“Take it back.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
The words hit harder than she expected. Her voice cracked through the stairwell.
“What must he do to be worthy, Evander? He threw himself in front of a dragon. He’s in agony—and I should be with him…”
Evander snatched her arm as she turned.
“If your father wanted you there, he’d have sent you. You don’t know what’s at stake.”
“And you do?”
“Amerei—”
“Don’t.”
Her eyes burned.
He held her gaze a moment longer—long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.
“Whatever you think you know,” she said, heart breaking with every word. “I’ll hear it from Father.”
He gave a stiff nod.
“Then I’ll let him tell you.”