“Always, Your Majesty.”
My father's hand found my shoulder one last time. “Your mother believed love could save empires. Don't prove her wrong.”
Then he was gone. Leaving me alone with Viktor and the weight of everything unsaid.
“You okay?” Viktor asked.
“I will be.” I slipped my mother's ring onto my finger.
Night camewith rain that turned the windows into rivers.
My chambers felt different. Smaller. More intimate with candlelight throwing shadows across walls. Viktor stood by my desk, studying maps that didn't matter anymore. Dom sat in the armchair by the fire, cleaning his rifle with the kind of methodical calm that came from doing something familiar while the world fell apart.
“Adrian's confirmed the strike pattern,” Viktor said without looking up. “Marcel's hiding in a safehouse outside Brighton. Two guards. One exit. We move tomorrow at dawn.”
I nodded. Didn't trust my voice.
Dom glanced up from his rifle. “You're both wound tighter than a snare drum. Talking strategy isn't helping.”
“What would help?” I asked.
“Literally anything else.” He set the rifle aside. “Tell me something. Anything. What's the stupidest thing you've ever done that wasn't vigilante-related?”
Viktor's mouth twitched. “This is therapy now?”
“This is three men trying not to think about tomorrow by talking about literally anything else.” Dom leaned back. “I'll start. When I was sixteen, I tried to impress a girl by jumping off a pier. Broke my collarbone. She married someone else.”
I laughed despite everything. “That's pathetic.”
“Your turn.”
I thought about it. “I once convinced the palace chef I was allergic to broccoli just because I hated it. Kept that lie going for three years.”
“Amateur hour,” Dom said. “Viktor?”
Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then: “I once spent two weeks learning to bake bread because Anya said she missed our mother's recipe.”
The admission hung there. Soft. Vulnerable.
“Did it work?” I asked.
“No. Was terrible. She ate it anyway and said it was perfect.” His voice went rough. “She lied.”
“That's not stupid,” Dom said quietly. “That's love.”
The fire cracked in the grate, shadows flickering over Dom’s face as he set his rifle aside, stretching out like he owned the room. Rain hammered the windows, the sound making everything inside feel closer, more private. My skin felt too tight, nerves jangling under my damp shirt, the echo of grief and adrenaline still tangled up in me.
Dom glanced between us, his smirk lazy, but his eyes sharp. “So, tomorrow we kill a traitor. Tonight we act like normal people. Anyone got cards, or are we too noble for vices?”
Viktor shrugged, rolling his shoulders, muscles straining under his shirt as he finally looked up from the maps. “I have chess, but you complain I play too fast.”
“Because you cheat,” Dom said, but he grinned, pushing a lock of hair off his forehead. “Let’s be real, none of us are going to sleep. Might as well waste time doing something besides planning how to get shot.”
I kicked off my shoes, sinking back on the settee, staring into the flames. “Don’t suppose the kitchen’s still awake. Could use a drink.”
“Could use about five,” Dom muttered, gaze lingering on Viktor as he leaned back and stretched his legs, one ankle crossed over the other. “Or a distraction.”
Viktor’s lips quirked. “You want distraction, or you want trouble?”
