Chapter One Hundred Seven
While I Breathe
She watched the storm devour him…
and all that remained was the vow of another.
The basin flared—storm, fire, a figure consumed by light.
“Viktor—”
Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the cry that ripped her chest.
The water boiled white, then blackened with smoke.
Only the echo remained—his voice breaking through the veil.
“Live… or die… Amerei—”
The chamber reeled.
Amerei lurched forward, clawing at the rim as though she could drag him back through glass and flame, her scream rattling the very stones of Amethyst.
Guards burst inside at the sound. Xavien dropped with her to his knees, shielding her against his chest, her hair wild across his arms. His hand shot up, voice like steel.
“Bolt the gates. No soul enters. Cut down any who tests them—Sevrak is falling.”
Amerei’s fingers fisted in his collar, her cry breaking against his throat.
Before the guards could turn, Evander and Jasmine forced their way in. Evander dropped to the floor at her side, eyes blazing.
“Let go of her.”
“On your feet, Lieutenant.”
Xavien’s tone sliced clean.
“I’m her guard,” Evander seethed.
“Until this war ends, I am her lord protector.”
Xavien hissed the words, tightening his hold.
“On your feet.”
Evander rose, fists coiled.
Jasmine pressed closer, gaze darting to the basin.
“What happened?”
Amerei curled deeper into Xavien’s chest, as if she could hide from what she had seen.
Xavien’s voice fell low.
“The southern line holds, but Oustinon burns. Dragons, fire, Ashakar itself. The ballistae are spent. Storne rallies, but even he cannot turn back the mountain. The Ruakite…”
His words faltered, his head bowed, muffling her cries. His hand swept her arm once, twice, before he lifted her chin.
“Elarien…”
His voice steadied.
“If he yet breathes—come. Let us look.”
“Amerei, no—” Jasmine urged.
Xavien’s head snapped, braids rattling like beads of warning.
“You will be silent as the grave. Or you will leave my chamber.”
Jasmine stilled.
With trembling steps, Amerei let him guide her back to the basin. Smoke writhed across the surface, stormlight gone to a dim, ashen ripple. She reached for it, desperate, but his hand caught hers—anchoring.
“Easy, Elarien.”
Then the water stirred.
Not with stormlight.
With darkness that slithered.
A voice bled through—silken, cruel.
“Oh, little queen,” Zeporah purred. “Clawing at stone as if you could drag him back.”
Amerei flinched, nails digging the onyx rim. Xavien drew her closer, but the voice only sharpened.
“And you, princeling,” Zeporah hissed. “Cradling another man’s whore like she is yours. Does she shiver when you touch her? Does she beg? Or does she think only of the Ruakite while you rut in shadows?”
Xavien’s hand seized the basin’s edge, knuckles white.
“Your own betray you, Xavien. You cannot stop what is coming.”
The sorceress laughed—low, obscene.
“Join me,” she breathed. “And I will make her kneel for you. If you can keep her caged…”
His fury lit, eyes blazing, but before he could speak—
Evander moved.
Flame kindled in his palm, bright, violent, until the air quivered. His voice was guttural.
“Enough.”
“Evander—!” Amerei cried.
She reached too late.
He hurled the fireball.
The basin roared like a furnace.
For one hideous instant, Zeporah’s face swam in the smoke—twisted, scorched, her shriek ripping the chamber. The water boiled, blinding white. Cracks spidered through the onyx, each one screaming.
Xavien dragged Amerei back, shielding her with his body as the bowl exploded. Shards tore the floor, steam scorched the walls, black smoke clawed the ceiling.
When silence fell, the basin was ruin—charred stone and rubble hissing in their own heat.
Amerei’s cry tore raw.
Her knees gave, hands reaching for wreckage as though she could still see.
“No—no, no, no—
Her sobs broke jagged, chest heaving.
“We can’t see him—we can’t—we can’t—”
Xavien caught her, locking his arms as she writhed. Her fists beat against him, golden hair tangling in his grip. He seized her wrists, pressing them flat against his chest.
“Hear me,” he begged, fever-bright.
“If Sevrak falls, if the mountain takes them all—”
His gaze burned into hers.
“I will tear you from this castle myself. I will carry you from Amethyst, from Elváliev, from every throne and banner—”
His forehead pressed hers, desperate.
“—and we will board a ship east. Tonight.”
Her sob caught.
“You can’t—”
“I will.”
His vow struck like iron.
“If I must damn my name, damn my line, I will do it. I will keep you safe.”
“Amerei—” Jasmine tried, but Evander cut her off.
“She is the Queen of Casqadia,” he said, voice raging. “To tempt her with such talk is treason—”
“Remove them.”
Xavien’s command cut cold.
His gaze snapped to the guards.
“By Sevrak’s decree, her protection is mine. And I will see it done.”
Amerei did not look at them.
She folded into Xavien, sobs wrecking her chest.
The guards obeyed.
Silence sealed the chamber.
Xavien shifted, pulling her fully into his arms as if she were breakable, irreplaceable. One hand anchored her waist, the other cupped her jaw, brushing where tears had fallen. He bent until his brow hovered against hers, breath mingling with her broken cries.
Her fists pushed weakly once at his chest. He held her tighter, refusing to let go, as if his body alone could stand against ruin.
His mouth found the edge of hers—too close for innocence, too desperate for shame.
“While I breathe…”
His vow burned against her skin.
“…you will not be alone.”