For the first time in weeks, Viktor let his shoulders drop.The castle’s northern wing was quiet, untouched by the hum of war preparation. Here, lanterns glowed softly, casting golden halos across the stone walls and polished wooden floors. The chamber he shared with Reva was modest, tucked beneath the old tower, its windows arched and open to the night air.Reva sat on the edge of the bed, brushing out her dark hair, still damp from the bath. Her eyes were closed, her body relaxed, her skin carrying the faint scent of pine and lavender. For all her power and ferocity in battle, in this moment she looked peaceful—like a moonlit enchantment breathing gently in the quiet.Viktor leaned in the doorway, arms folded, just watching her.He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her like this—not preparing spells, not bleeding magic, not exhausted and on the verge of collapse. Just herself.“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word escaping like a breath he didn’t mean to speak aloud.Reva opened
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