Chapter Forty-Nine
The Vow of Elysium
Not rank. Not kings. Not death itself.
Her hair fell soft against the curve of her neck, her lavender robe clinging to her shoulders, breath trembling as though she’d run through more than corridors to reach him.
Amerei stood on the threshold, stormlight haloing her, and for a heartbeat the world seemed to wait with her.
Then Viktor reached out, drew her inside—close—and pressed the door shut.
“What are you doing here, love?” he asked, the last word roughened to tenderness.
She didn’t answer—only lifted her hand to his chest, fingers slipping beneath linen until her palm settled over his skin.
“It’s true,” she whispered, tracing the places his burns had been. “You healed yourself.”
He huffed out something like disbelief.
“Somehow,” he said, shaking his head. “Dask, I don’t even know how.”
She only looked at him, fingers light against his skin, her palm warm against his chest. His pulse betrayed him first, thundering against her touch.
Something unspoken gathered in her eyes—dark, intent—and the air between them shifted.
His breath stuttered.
Her lashes lowered, voice quiet.
“You’re healed.”
“I—”
He meant to nod, to thank her, to say something soldierly, but the words failed when her gaze met his. There was nothing steady in it. Nothing careful.
Before he could think, before he could breathe, she caught his hands and pressed them to the knot at her waist.
Her gaze burned into his.
“I want this,” she whispered.
His pulse hammered.
He stared, undone by her boldness, by the storm raging in her eyes.
Dask, she was here. Asking him. Damn near telling him to make the move.
His fingers fumbled—
then pulled.
The sash fell loose.
Her robe slipped from her shoulders, pooling on the floor to reveal the thin shift beneath, sheer enough to steal his breath. The swell of her breasts pressed against the linen, every curve etched by candlelight. The spark of her navel ring. The lines of her hips.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. She let him see her.
Stars help him—he could hardly breathe.
Her fingers clawed at his shirt, pulling it up until he wrenched it over his head and tossed it aside.
They crashed together, mouths colliding, all restraint burned away. His hands framed her face as hers fisted in his braids, kissing like they’d been starved for this very moment.
The bed caught them in their frenzy, tumbling down in a tangle of limbs—reckless, gasping—as if the world itself had narrowed to this one violent need.
His mouth was everywhere—her jaw, her throat—her nails biting his shoulders as she arched beneath him.
Her thighs parted at the brush of his knee. The shift rode high, baring more of her than he’d ever dared imagine.
His breath broke against her lips as he traced the length of her leg, reverent and desperate all at once. She was choosing him—him, scarred and unworthy. By the stars, he’d never wanted so fiercely to be worthy.
“Dask—Amerei—”
His voice cracked as he searched her eyes, raw need colliding with something deeper.
“Are you sure?”
“Viktor—” The words tumbled out. “I want you.”
He kissed her again, nearly undone by the sound of it.
His body strained toward hers, every nerve screaming to take her.
And then—he froze.
It wasn’t her touch that stopped him.
It wasn’t even her plea, reckless and certain.
It was her eyes.
Wide, unguarded, shimmering with want—
and with fear.
His breath caught sharp in his ribs.
Candlelight flickered across her throat, the pulse there fluttering quick as a trapped bird.
“Amerei,” he rasped, braced above her, chest heaving.
His hand shook where it held her thigh.
“Are you… afraid of me?”
The words cut through him.
Her eyes glistened, startled.
“No—” She shook her head, golden hair spilling wild against the pillow. Tears threatened, her voice breaking. “I could never be afraid of you, Viktor.”
Relief gutted him.
But the truth in her eyes struck deeper still.
Not fear of him…
but of the unknown.
His voice roughened as he searched her face.
“Dask, love… you’ve never done this before.”
Her lips parted on a shiver of breath, eyes burning into his.
“No,” she confessed, tears breaking on her lashes. “But I’ve imagined it. With you.” Her voice fell, aching. “Only you.”
That undid him. All the hunger in him bent toward reverence, every pulse of desire tempered by awe. She wasn’t offering him only her body—she was offering him her first, her only, her trust.
And he loved her too much to take her like this.
His mouth grazed her temple, then her cheek, careful when every part of him burned to be reckless.
“Not like this,” he whispered. “Not tonight.”
Her hands clung to his shoulders, dragging him closer.
“Why not? Viktor—please—”
His chest heaved, torn in half.
“Because I love you.”
The words tore out of him, unguarded and raw.
Her breath caught, lips trembling against his. “You—”
“I’ve loved you since the first moment, Amerei. Since before I even understood what it meant.”
His hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing her skin as if she were both sacred and human and his all at once.
“I would burn. I would bleed. I would face death itself—because I love you.”
The truth broke out of him, the vow deep in his bones laid bare.
At first, she could only stare, his storm-lit eyes unwavering.
Then her whole body broke against him.
She clung, fists in his hair, tears slipping hot and helpless.
“They won’t let me keep you. Viktor—they’ll tear you from me.”
“Who?”
His hand cupped her face, rough but steady, forcing her to meet him.
“Who won’t let you?”
“My father. The court. The Senate of Elváliev…”
Her tears spilled over his fingers.
“Evander says Father’s been writing Prince Xavien. And what else could that mean?”
Viktor drew back just enough to breathe, anger sparking through the hurt.
“Xavien?” The name left his mouth like a curse. “Amerei—I may be from the backcountry, but I know the elf-prince still has a wife.” He shook his head hard. “What game would your father be playing?”
“A dangerous one,” she breathed.
“And if the Senate frees Xavien, if Elváliev demands it as the price for Casqadia’s crown…” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how I could fight them all.”
Her fingers curled against his chest, rising and falling with the rough thunder of his breath. The words broke from her, raw as the tears in her lashes.
“I love you.”
He drew her closer, gathering her as if he could shield her from the world itself. She shuddered against him, tears sliding down his neck.
“Viktor—I’m terrified.”
For a breath, he only held her—this woman who made him fear nothing and everything at once. Then he bent, mouth brushing her brow.
“Then be terrified,” he said, stormfire in his voice. “Because I swear, Amerei—nothing will keep me from you. Not rank. Not kings. Not death itself.”
His breath seared hot over her ear.
“I will break the gates of Elysium to be with you.”
Her tears wet his skin, unrelenting. She clung to him as though her grip alone might shield them against the storm of crowns and courts and kings.
“Don’t send me away,” she whispered. “Viktor—please. Let me stay.”
Every part of him rebelled—this was Storne’s house, his commander’s roof—but when she looked at him with eyes still shining from his confession, he knew there was only one answer.
“Then stay,” he murmured, sealing it with a kiss to her temple.
And in the silence that followed, nothing existed but the two of them, holding each other against the darkness.