Chapter One Hundred Eighteen
I Know You
Even in ruin, he stood. Even in ruin, she knew him.
The heavy doors of Castle Amethyst groaned open, spilling evening light in long ribbons across the marble floor.
Amerei stepped into it on Xavien’s arm, her hand resting in the crook of his elbow. For a fleeting instant she felt the weight of every gaze upon them—the courtiers, the guards, Evander with his fists tight at his sides, uncertain what it meant to see Xavien walk beside her as king.
The air outside pressed heavy with expectation. On the steps, she lifted her chin, masking the tremor in her chest.
Below, the caravan drew to a halt.
One rider dismounted and strode forward alone, cloak shifting in the dusk breeze.
Her father.
Commander Storne mounted the first step, his eyes locked to hers. He looked older than she remembered, shoulders bowed beneath the weight of war, of truths still unspoken.
Her fingers tightened on Xavien’s sleeve. She braced herself for it—the words that would shatter her, the vow she would make never to leave Amethyst again.
But then the guards stirred.
A ripple moved through their ranks, soft, disbelieving.
Amerei turned—just as Gabriel appeared at the side of a wagon, half-carrying, half-holding upright the man who leaned against him.
Her heart seized.
“Viktor.”
He moved like a specter torn from smoke. Ribs bound in blood-stained bandages, one arm splinted, his left eye hidden beneath a strip of cloth. Every step shook through him, the ruin of war carved deep into his body.
And still he stood.
No man should have survived what he endured. No man so broken should have found his feet again. And yet here he was—alive, each faltering step bearing the weight of a vow fulfilled.
Gasps turned to murmurs, disbelief spilling outward like fire across dry fields. Even Xavien stiffened beside her, his face cut sharp with something she could not name.
Her breath broke.
Her hand slipped from Xavien’s arm.
For one impossible heartbeat she stood frozen.
And then—
She ran.
She tore down the marble steps, skirts tangling, hair flying, his name breaking from her throat like a sob.
“Viktor!”
His head lifted at the sound, his ruined gaze finding hers.
“Amerei.”
The world fell away.
She collided with him so hard Gabriel staggered back. Viktor caught her with what strength he had left, clutching her as though he would never let go. She buried her face in his neck, tears streaming hot, sobs breaking loose.
“I thought you were dead,” she gasped against his skin. “I thought I lost you.”
His forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged.
“I did die,” he whispered, words trembling against her lips. “And I came back.”
Her sob caught, fierce and desperate.
“Don’t you ever leave me again—”
His answer was a vow in ruin.
“Not even death could keep me from you.”
He leaned toward her with the same hungry fire that once undid her in a darkened tent, lips crashing against hers as though he might devour the veil itself.
Amerei gasped, caught between tears and laughter, the world spinning as she braced for him.
Gabriel swore under his breath, catching him hard against his chest, keeping him from crumpling to the stone.
“By the stars, you reckless bastard,” he hissed, ears burning crimson. “Can’t even stand, but you’ll die trying to kiss her.”
Amerei cupped Viktor’s face in both hands, shaking with relief, with love, with the absurdity of it all. Her laugh broke through the tears.
“You cut your hair.”
For a moment Viktor could only stare.
Of all the ruin—bandaged ribs, splinted arm, fever still burning—she saw that.
Not the wreckage.
Him.
A laugh caught in his throat, half-broken, half-dazed. Dask, she had noticed. And for one fragile instant awe swept through him stronger than pain.
Her emerald eyes locked on his, and across the bond—shattered so long—something flared bright. Whole again.
“I know you,” she whispered across their tether.
His knees nearly buckled from the force of it. Only Gabriel’s grip held him upright.
But his soul—his soul had already fallen into her arms.
Her hands slid from his face, releasing him back to Gabriel. His smile faded to ruin, but the fire in his eyes remained.
The wagon rolled closer, servants spreading furs across the benches. Gabriel shifted to guide him back, but Viktor stirred against his grip. Slowly, with a tremor that shook through his frame, he lifted his right arm high enough for all to see.
A soldier’s salute.
Ragged, but fierce.
The courtyard stilled. Even Xavien did not flinch. His jaw set, his shoulders squared, and with the weight of a king he inclined his head in return—acknowledgment, respect, the answering of one commander to another.
Only then did Viktor allow Gabriel to lower him into the wagon.
Amerei climbed in at once.
She knelt first, smoothing the furs as though the smallest crease might wound him. Gently, she eased him down, her hands lingering at his shoulders, his jaw, unwilling to release him.
“Amerei—”
“Shh.”
She drew a blanket to his chest.
Then she lay beside him, careful of every bandage, curling close. Her gaze flicked once to the bound arm before she whispered, “Don’t tell me. Not yet.”
Their breath came shallow, eyes locked, unwilling to look away, as though the other might vanish if they blinked.
“Stay like this,” she said. “Just… like this. A while.”
The wagon jolted forward, wheels grinding against stone.
The courtyard, the king, the world—all fell away behind them.
Only the two of them remained: broken soldier, waiting queen, the miracle of a heartbeat shared.
At last, he whispered across the tether:
“Mine.”