Chapter Seventy-Six
To Ruin Him, Reverently
He gave her the truth, the vow, and the breaking.
She gave him only this—her hands on his body, and her answer in the ruin.
Dispatched by the hand of
Prince Xavien Elyander Draekenra
Crown Prince of Elváliev
To Her Majesty, Queen Amerei of Casqadia
My queen,
Your presence lingers in my home like an intoxicating mist, and already I mourn your absence.
Elváliev recognizes you as Queen of Casqadia. As assurance, we send one hundred Sagittarii archers, their ledger enclosed.
Duty has prevailed over love. I could not secure my divorcement—the elders prize Gearíya’s minerals above their sovereign’s happiness.
Do not lose heart. There is no power in all the realm that could keep me from you.
Yours,
Xavien
The sky darkened over Fyreglade—the glowing orbs flickering like distant stars.
Viktor swung down from Ruby, catching Amerei against him in a hold too fierce to be gentle, as though fate itself might tear her away.
“We’re safe now,” he murmured into her hair.
Storne stripped off his gloves, voice hard.
“The estate goes to ground in the castle. We may already wear the brand of traitors.”
His nod was curt.
“Pray Xavien sends word swiftly.”
For a fleeting moment, Viktor pitied the prince—bold choices often drew blood. Yet pity curdled to anger as quickly as it came. His hand closed around Amerei's arm.
“Inside. Now—with me.”
She startled at the edge in his tone, wide eyes lifting to his—yet she did not resist. She went where he pulled, as if some part of her knew his fury was only the shield of his love.
Her silken skirt whispered behind her, but Viktor’s hand twitched near the hilt of his blade, restless as a caged beast. Gabriel matched their steps up the stairs.
“What did Xavien say?” he asked low, eyes to the veranda. “In the garden?”
“He knows.”
Viktor’s grip splintered the railing, knuckles bone-white. He cut his gaze to Amerei, fury burning through his restraint.
“Not our marriage—but he knows you're mine. He asked me… my terms.”
“Your terms?” Gabriel scoffed. “As in… her?”
His bark of laughter was harsh.
“He thinks anything he wants is his.”
“Yes.” Viktor stopped cold on the stair. “He does.”
He turned to Amerei, chest heaving.
“He swore to leave you be—until you’re crowned.”
“How generous,” Gabriel muttered, bitter.
Silence stretched until Gabriel reached his chamber door.
“And after she is queen?”
Viktor didn't answer. He only seized Amerei’s hand—a grip that claimed, not asked—and led her away as if daring the world to stop him.
“Viktor, you have nothing to fear," she said quietly.
But the door shut hard behind them.
His mantle and scabbard hit the bed in a single violent motion. Her hand touched his arm—sorrow shadowing her gaze.
Before she could speak, he cut her off, gesturing at her dress.
“Need help getting out of that?” he asked, each word dragged through his restraint.
“Viktor, I—” she whispered. Then, after a moment: “Yes.”
He stepped forward, fingers working the laces with a soldier’s precision. She pulled her hair aside to ease him, and he stilled—face lowering to her skin. His breath struck her shoulder.
And he shuddered.
“Viktor,” she whispered.
A voice rang muffled through the door. “Messengers.”
Viktor lifted his head slowly. Unfastened his clasps. Ripped them open as if they choked him.
Cool air licked his burns. His lungs seized around it. He stared ahead as he stripped the uniform from his body, his mind too fierce to name.
“Xavien must have written just after we left,” Amerei said gently. “I don’t know what it means… will you come?”
“I don’t want to read it.”
He gave a humorless huff.
“Just come back and tell me the Senate ordered the Royal Army to descend on Casqadia by dawn. Tell me Xavien’s pride has failed him—that he can't bring himself to court a halfling.”
She smiled faintly and slipped out.
“I’ll be in Father’s chamber.”
The latch clicked.
And silence fell.
Viktor’s palm pressed over the ink on his ribs, as if to cage his own heart from tearing free.
He didn't remember crossing to the bath. Didn't recall turning the valve. Only the water—streaming over his head, boots and leathers soaked through. It roared down around him, drowning the world, keeping the break at bay.
His fingers pressed the ring against his chest.
Still there.
Still hers.
Still—somehow—not enough.
His back hit cold marble.
Eyes shut.
Heart pounding like a war drum.
How long until she saw him?
Not the soldier. Not the savior.
Him—the man born to surrender everything he loved to ash.
His chest hollowed.
Amerei was too pure to face his darkness. Her hope, eternal. His shame, abyssal.
Could she look into the void unscathed? Would he dare let her try?
There is no reckoning in grief—only the sainted shadows of what was.
And yet—
She came.
He heard her kneel. Felt her hand on his arm.
“They voted… in favor of my claim.”
Viktor gave a quiet, jagged laugh.
“You are Queen of Casqadia.”
“I am.”
Water soaked her hair. Her gown clung to her body. Still, she came to him—stepped into his turmoil and joined him beneath the downpour.
“How long,” he asked, his voice breaking, “until you regret what we’ve done?”
For a moment she only looked at him—half-clothed beneath the rush of water, head bowed, every line of him straining against collapse.
“Never,” she answered at last, lifting his hand.
“There is but one power Xavien can never overcome.”
She kissed his knuckles.
“He will never be you.”
His eyes burned, shadowed by fury and longing both.
And still, he whispered, raw as an open wound, “I cannot give you what he can, Amerei.”
She drew in a breath like she might protest—
but instead, her hands slid down his arms, trying to soothe the fire raging in him.
She reached for his belt.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, voice rough with disbelief, pulling her hands away.
She straddled him.
Held his face.
Kissed him like he was life and she was drowning.
“Let me,” she gasped into his mouth, “love you.”
He caught her wrists—gently, but his grip was iron, steadying the blaze in him. His jaw clenched, eyes fierce with something close to indignation.
“I won’t let you do this, Amerei. We forbade it.”
“Yet you deny me now?”
He was stunned.
By her voice. Her boldness. The look in her eyes that needed him—fire and all.
“You… want this?”
“I want you.”
Her voice cracked. Her kiss deepened.
“All I thought of, the whole ride here, was stripping off your armor and dragging you to our bed.”
His eyes dropped—her soaked linen clung to her breasts, her thighs flush to his. The sight made his control fray like torn cloth. His fury gave way to hunger, anger folding into want until his restraint nearly snapped.
“You’re not sore?” he asked, voice ragged.
She smiled.
“Líri gave me silverleaf. I’m well. I promise—”
He kissed her.
Like drowning, and she was the breath.
Like shadow, and she was the light breaking through.
Like water, washing every sorrow from him.
“I am not whole,” he whispered against her lips. “But I am yours.”
Her voice broke in a whimper.
“Then take me.”
The stone, the water, the pain—it could not hold him.
He swept her off the floor.
She gasped, laughing into his neck, one leg hooked around his waist. Water dripped onto the bedroom floor, splashing against the wall. He pressed her hard to the door, their mouths tangled in heat and need. She bit his shoulder—claiming him, daring him—and he nearly lost control.
“Careful, love,” he rasped against her neck, every word a warning. “You’re about to unleash something I won’t cage again.”
“I want it,” she whispered, teeth grazing his jaw. “All.”
His restraint shattered.
He carried her to the edge of the bed, laying her back with a reverence at odds with the fever in his hands. Her hair clung wild, like silk and stormlight, her body arched to meet his.
He unfastened his belt, his eyes locked on hers, daring her to look away.
But she crawled backward—smiling.
A challenge.
His blood surged.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
His voice dipped low, dangerous with want.
She giggled—an actual giggle—as she scooted higher on the bed.
He caught her ankle. Yanked.
She shrieked with laughter as he dragged her down, soaked skirts riding high. His mouth found the hollow of her throat, then lower, his teeth grazing as his hands splayed her open.
“Viktor—”
Her cry was half-plea, half-command.
“Say it,” he demanded, lips marking a trail over her chest. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m—”
Her voice fractured on the word.
“Yours.”
She arched against him, desperate, undone.
Then she shoved him, sudden and fierce—and he let her, offered himself, every muscle alive beneath her touch. He’d never wanted surrender like this. Never wanted to fall to his knees for anyone.
“Lie back,” she ordered, already tugging at his laces. “Let me love you.”
Dask, look at her.
Hair wild, cheeks flushed, fingers fumbling with urgency. A queen undone.
She’s going to ruin me. I'll never claw my way back if she takes me like this.
“I heard from the girls at court,” she said, straddling him now, breath hitching quick and bright. “Riding a man is the best way to break him.”
Her words sliced through him—blade to the heart. His hands gripped her thighs, shuddering with need.
“Dask, Ami,” he rasped, voice torn raw. “Break me.”
Her eyes widened when she saw him—all of him—laid bare beneath her. Her pulse raced, her touch grew frantic. His vision blurred with hunger as she shifted over him, bold and unsteady, guiding him into place.
“Slow down, love,” he murmured, his hands bracketing her waist. “Put me exactly where you want me.”
She found him again, this time for herself. Their bodies joined—slow at first, aching and hot—then a sudden, deeper slide.
Her breath caught, her hands splayed across his chest.
“Oh—oh.”
Viktor arched, his head tipping back, hands knotting in the sheets.
Dask, she feels so… good.
She clawed at wet silk until her breasts spilled free.