Chapter Seventy-Nine
Real Love, My Girl
Real love endures the tempest. Tonight, it would ride with her.
The door clicked shut.
She didn’t move. She couldn’t.
The stillness swallowed everything.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that comes after a storm has ripped through and left nothing in its wake.
And all at once, the room felt empty.
Too big.
Too quiet.
On the dresser lay the braided cord of their binding.
On a low table—the water glass he’d brought with him to bed.
His nightclothes, piled in the corner.
His boots, slumped against the floor.
Amerei pressed her palm into the mattress.
Still warm on his side of the bed.
Gabriel walked slowly to her.
“Give him a bit to wear himself out,” he said, “then send me after him. I can’t promise I’ll convince him to turn around. But I’ll try, Amerei. If that’s what you command.”
If that’s what you command…
The only thing more painful than watching Viktor leave would be forcing him to stay. Right now, she didn’t want to have that much power. That belonged to someone else. Someone whose heart wasn’t breaking.
She lifted her eyes to Gabriel.
Before she could think better of it, she reached up and pulled that big elf down.
His arms clumsily wrapped around her. Her head pressed tightly against his shoulder—her arms clinging, his scruffy, wavy hair brushing her cheek.
“Why is he doing this, Gabriel?” she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob.
Gabriel shifted, trying his best to make space between them.
“You’ve got to trust me on this, Amerei…”
His voice faltered, but he held on.
“He’s not running from you. He’s running to his home. The only one he’s ever known.”
She wept.
“We’re supposed to be each other’s home.”
“You are,” he said gently. “You truly are.”
He laughed under his breath.
“Dask, that man loves you. I never dreamt he’d marry anyone. Wasn’t in his way ‘til you.”
He tried to pull back enough to see her face, but she just held him tighter.
“Look,” he urged, voice steady.
“He’s got three living kin in all the world: you, his father, and The Midnight. He doesn’t know if his father’s safe. But he knows you are. Here in Fyreglade. With me and Storne and all the other soldiers.”
He drew in a deep breath.
“His mind’s telling him to fix what’s broken.”
He shook his head against her shoulder.
“Maybe when the road wears him down, he’ll come to his senses and turn back. But just in case he doesn’t—send me after him. I’m a Ruakite too, you know. Just not the ‘chosen’ kind.”
Amerei couldn’t help but smile.
Somehow, through the fog of grief, her mind drifted to the Ivory Pillars.
The day Gabriel and Evander had practiced loosing fiery arrows.
Evander had struggled to keep the flame in line—but Gabriel never faltered.
And as she held him now, her heart lightened.
Just a little. Just enough.
“You’re a Ruakite, too,” she murmured, finally letting him go.
He stared at her, curiosity flickering.
Holding something back.
“Take me with you,” she said suddenly.
His eyes widened.
“Amerei…”
“You’re a Ruakite,” she pressed, raising her chin. “I’ll be safe with you.”
He studied her from under his brow with the kind of look only a brother could give.
“You’re Casqadia’s queen.”
“Then I command it.”
She wiped her tears, already striding toward the door.
But at the edge of the bed, realization struck her. She caught herself, hand seizing the post as if to hold back both her body and the flood within her.
“If his father’s dead, Gabriel… we can’t let him face it alone.”
Gabriel drew in a breath so deep, it made him tremble.
“I know,” he said, brushing past her.
At the door, he turned.
“But you have to tell your father we’re leaving.”
He clenched his jaw.
“Can’t let Storne kill me before Viktor has the chance. After he finds out I trekked you halfway across the realm—”
“Gabriel…” She smiled through the tears. “Thank you.”
He let out a breath and mirrored it—half grin, half grimace.
She shoved him through the doorway.
“Get the horses ready, Captain.”
She followed him into the corridor.
The halls still echoed with the murmurs of servants making sense of what they’d learned.
Amerei whispered a prayer for them.
For Aerdania.
For Viktor.
She entered her chamber, then shut the door. The last time she’d slept in her own room was the night before they’d wed. Viktor’s bed was hers now.
She’d once laid in her own bath, fearful of letting him in. But just hours before this moment, they had sunk beneath the water together. Fully naked. Fully known.
She stood before her copper mirror, wove her hair into a braid. A leather strap hung from her wrist—it had once held Viktor’s hair. Tonight, it would bind hers.
She tore off her silken robe, snatched a pair of leggings from a wooden chest. Her gown went next, falling in a heap. She touched a bruise above her breast—and smiled. Little love mark from the night before.
In the bottom of the chest was a newly bound leather cuirass. She cinched it over a deep plum tunic, leaving the laces loose in the back. She’d find someone to tie those for her.
But not now.
Not while they could still catch Viktor.
She was nearly ready when she started to close the chest—but stopped.
The glint of metal.
A sharp, lithe dagger.
She reached inside and grabbed it.
Her father had given it to her the day he left her in Rhidian. Made her swear to keep it hidden. She’d brought it to Fyreglade years ago and forgotten to take it when she left.
Tonight, it demanded to be at her side.
She slid it into its sheath and hooked it against her belt.
The Queen of Casqadia was ready.
To ride into utter darkness.
But first—
she had to tell her father.
Amerei left her room, marched to Storne’s door.
Inside, he wrote by candlelight. Messages of urgency. Orders of war.
She closed the door.
“Viktor’s gone,” she said at once.
Storne set down his pen, dragged his hand through his hair.
“I know, darling. He’ll be back. He’s my officer of the northern front. He won’t—"
He looked up. Crossed his arms. Frowned.
“What in the storm do you think you’re doing?”
Amerei stepped into the candlelight. Head raised. Voice proud.
“Captain Feindoran is going after him. And I’m going with him.”
Storne growled a laugh.
“You’re not leaving this estate, Amerei.”
He picked up his pen once more.
“Not while you’re still under my protection.”
“The question,” she asserted, “as to whether I am going is not up for debate, Commander.”
Storne’s brows raised. Half stunned. Half impressed.
But his voice hardened, clipped with command.
“As commanding officer of the entire northern theatre of Elváliev, it is my right and my duty to deny you passage when it conflicts with your safety. And as your father, I cannot stand by and let you ride into danger.”
“As of the ninth hour yesterday,” she declared, “you were relieved of that burden.”
He straightened, but she didn’t falter.
“I was your equal until the Senate voted. Now I am your queen.”
Her voice cut low.
“And I am going to find my husband.”
She turned on point at that. Exactly the way he’d trained his soldiers.
Without a word, she walked out the door.
And Storne finally exhaled.
He closed his eyes a moment.
Soft footsteps on the stone.
A pair of arms slid around his shoulders.
Saecily whispered in his ear, “She’s ready.”
He laid his hand atop hers.
“I knew this would be difficult,” he murmured. “But I could never have anticipated all that lays ahead of us.”
She kissed his cheek.
“No prize worth winning comes easy.”
Then she stood. Turned around. Leaned against his desk.
His eyes drifted from the doorway up to her.
“I would be remiss,” she said, “if I did not beg you to dispatch me to Aerdania.”
“Saecily—"
His voice cracked, like she’d looped a rope around his ribs and pulled.
“I cannot have my heart in so many places at one time.”
She drew in a shaky breath.
He set his hand upon her thigh.
“I’ll send word to the eastern villages. To bring their wounded here.”
She stood again. Laid a kiss upon his crown.
“Thank you, Masten,” she said, turning toward the door.
“I’ll be in the infirmary.”
* * *
By the time Amerei reached the stables, Gabriel was already saddling Ruby—Viktor was going to ride the rest of the way to Westport, whether he wanted to or not.
“I’ve got his boots.” Gabriel tossed them into a saddle bag. “And some clothes. His sword. He never runs with one.”
Amerei stood by, fumbling at the laces of her cuirass. Gentle fingers caught them from behind.
“You’re going with Viktor?”
Líri.
Juliet pulled the laces tight. Practiced. The wife and mother of soldiers.
“Líri,” Amerei said quietly, “his father is all he has.”
“Not true, darling.”
Juliet set her palms on Amerei’s shoulders.
“He has you.”
She smiled, nodded to Gabriel.
“And that very large elf.”
Amerei grinned, reaching for Obsidian’s reins.
“We’ll be back soon. I promise.”
She started to mount but hesitated.
Juliet’s expression faded.
“I won’t be here when you return,” she said. “Your father is preparing for war. I must go home.”
“Líri…”
Amerei wrapped her arms around her.
Juliet kissed her hair.
“There is much I wish to tell you. About sovereignty. And love.”
She pulled back, held Amerei’s gaze.
“Xavien won’t give up easily. It’s the way of the elves to persist. But think nothing of it, darling—Viktor won’t give up at all. And real love, my girl, is tempered with tempest. Forged in blood and flame. Never let your heart forget it.”
Amerei promised her, “I won’t.”
Juliet guided her to turn around, holding the reins as she mounted.
“Ride straight into Westport. Stop for nothing.”
Her voice grew grim, but firm.
“Your enemies won’t be as easily known as they were in the Bloodforge.”
Gabriel called from astride his horse, “We will, my lady.”
Juliet nodded once.
Amerei started to urge Obsidian forward, but a voice stopped her cold.
Evander burst from the castle doors, racing down the steps.
She glanced at Gabriel, then said to Evander, “I suppose you want to come, too?”
Evander hesitated. Looked at Juliet. Grinned. And did he… blush?
“I’d better stay here,” he said. “Líri needs my help.”
“Líri?” Amerei smiled at Juliet. “Or Líri’s handmaidens?”
Evander rubbed his hand over his neck and shrugged.
Amerei flicked the reins, gave him one last look.
Then she and Gabriel passed under the stone archway.
Leaving Fyreglade.
Into darkness.
Wind bit against her face, hooves thundered on stone.
I’m coming, Tory.
And the night swallowed them whole.