Chapter Fifty-One
From Soldier to Consort
He must prove himself worthy of her—and of the realm.
Gabriel crouched outside Viktor’s door, knife tip pressed to the wood, ear straining. The hush inside was unbearable—the muted rustle of sheets, a sigh that made his chest clench.
At last, silence stretched long enough that he dared believe they’d fallen asleep.
“Finally,” he said under his breath.
He slid the blade back into his belt and rose.
He’d taken one step when—
“Stand down, Captain Feindoran.”
The command landed like an axe.
Gabriel froze.
Storne stood at the crosspoint of the hall, half in shadow, arms loose at his sides but gaze sharp enough to cut.
A curse burned the back of Gabriel’s tongue. He forced it down, straightened, and stepped forward with a soldier’s obedience.
Storne crooked two fingers, motioning him into a shallow alcove carved into the stone. Gabriel obeyed, towering beside him, the shame of being caught raw in his chest.
Storne’s tone was quiet—deadly quiet.
“You think I don’t know what happens under my own roof? She left her room an hour ago.”
Gabriel threw out a hand, careless. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
Storne’s eyes narrowed.
Gabriel dropped his arm.
“Because I am not you,” Storne said. “And you are not me.”
He tipped his head to one side.
“Tell me—what truth do you hold that I don’t, Captain? What wisdom makes your hand steadier than mine?”
He let the silence sharpen before jerking his chin toward Viktor’s door.
“If Captain Seraphim is to survive what this realm will demand of him, he must have something to fight for. If that something is my daughter—storm help him—so be it.”
Gabriel’s fists curled tight. He leaned in, voice low and hoarse.
“You know the elves will never allow this. An Aerdanian soldier with a Casqadian princess? Vykenra will call it an insult.” He shook his head hard. “Casqadia can’t stand without Elváliev’s support. If you lose the Senate—”
“You’re right,” Storne cut in, gaze drifting down the corridor as though plotting unseen lines of battle. “Vykenra almost certainly has a suitor in mind for Amerei. Someone rich, powerful enough to sway the Senate. The crown prince may even put aside his wife.”
Gabriel stiffened. “Prince Xavien?”
His voice cracked louder than he meant. He lowered it fast.
“You’re arranging a marriage between Amerei and Prince Xavien?”
Storne gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Xavien has certainly expressed interest.”
Rage flared hot through Gabriel’s veins.
“So it’s true,” he shot back. “You mean to take her from Viktor.”
Storne shrugged, slow, deliberate.
“You said it yourself—an Aerdanian soldier, a Casqadian princess. The elves won’t stand for it.”
He flicked a sidelong look at him, voice cool as drawn steel.
“Are you going to tell him?”
The words hit like a knife to the ribs.
Gabriel blinked. “What?”
“Captain Seraphim,” Storne said evenly. “Are you going to tell him?”
Gabriel’s fury broke loose.
He tore the captain’s pin from his tunic and hurled it to the floor.
“Take my title,” he said, already stepping away. “Send me back to the elf-king. I want no part of this.”
He turned for his chamber door.
“Captain Feindoran.” Storne’s voice cracked like a whip. “You’ve not been dismissed.”
Gabriel stopped.
Slowly, reluctantly, he turned back.
Storne bent, retrieved the pin, then exhaled a rough sigh.
“Your loyalty is your greatest strength, Gabriel.”
He pressed the insignia back into his hand.
“Stop letting anger cheapen it.”
The weight of the pin burned in Gabriel’s palm. Memories clawed up—Vykenran courts, whispered bargains, the endless bending to those born higher. But Viktor was his brother-in-arms. No rank, no title outweighed that bond.
Storne’s voice dropped quieter, almost fatherly.
“I can think of no better match for a Casqadian princess than a Ruakite soldier hopelessly in love with her. She could never be better protected.”
Gabriel’s head snapped up.
He froze, staring. “You… approve?”
Storne let out a breath that might have been a laugh.
“I have no intention of interfering,” he said, stepping out of shadow. “But it is Viktor’s burden to prove himself to her—and, in time, to this realm.”
Gabriel’s brows rose.
“You won’t stop them?”
Storne folded his arms over his chest.
“Amerei is preparing to rule a kingdom,” he said simply. “I must trust her to make her own choices.”
His mouth twitched, half-grim.
“Though I’m not pleased she’s already gone to him…”
Gabriel blurted, “They didn’t.”
Storne turned sharply. “They didn’t?”
“I mean they thought about it, but—”
“But?”
“They decided against it.”
“They decided…”
For a long moment Storne only studied him, unreadable.
Then his brow eased.
He clasped Gabriel’s shoulder, grip firm.
“I find myself warming to your friend more every day.”
Some of the tension bled from Gabriel’s chest.
Storne turned to leave, voice trailing softer.
“You will allow me to tell him—that is an order. Captain Seraphim has much to reckon with if he means to cross the threshold from soldier to consort.” His voice lowered with memory. “Stars above, do I know it.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Gabriel waited until Storne’s door closed before turning for his own. At his chamber he lingered, hand on the knob. The corridor behind him lay steeped in stillness, yet the weight of the night pressed heavy.
He thought of Jasmine—her sharp smile, the scent of starflower in her hair, the fire in her parting kiss. Some wounds didn’t bleed, but they hollowed a man all the same.
His gaze drifted once more toward Viktor’s door.
“Don’t ruin this, Viktor. For both our sakes.”