Page 9

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I’m acutely aware of how alone we are and how easily he could kill me if he so wished. My pulse drums, but I keep my posture steady, refusing to show the fear fluttering inside me.

“Step closer,” Vaelorian says quietly, gesturing to the table. “I have something to discuss with you.”

I do as instructed, halting at the opposite side of the table. The spread of parchment catches my eye—there’s a map depicting the dark elf capital, as well as outlying territories marked with red ink. Scribbled notes in a flowing hand—possibly Vaelorian’s—cover the margins.

“You read, don’t you?” he asks, tapping a finger on one of the maps.

I hesitate, surprised by the question. “I do, yes.”

He arches a brow. “Fluently?”

“Mostly,” I admit, recalling the scraps of education I gleaned while serving my former masters. Sometimes I spied on them in the library, memorizing letters and words whenever I could. “I’m familiar with reading in the common tongue, and I can interpret some of the dark elf runes.”

Vaelorian’s expression doesn’t quite shift, but I sense approval. He taps the corner of the map. “Good. Then we can speak more plainly. Tell me, what do you know of the dark elf court? Their political structure, their intrigues?”

I draw a measured breath. “They have a ruling monarchy, the Khuzuth caste, but there’s also a general parliament that includes certain upper castes. The dark elves pride themselves on their cunning, but they rely heavily on enslaved humans for labor. Many of the noble families feud behind closed doors, each trying to curry favor with the monarchy. Gossip is their favorite currency. They’ll align with those who can offer them the best advantage—until it ceases to serve them.”

He listens without blinking. “That’s an astute summary.”

I shift on my feet, uncertain where this is going. “I learned these things because it helped me survive, my lord.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Don’t call me that.”

I blink, taken aback.

His voice retains that quiet edge. “Use my name. I’ve no need for empty honorifics.”

“All right... Vaelorian,” I say, a ripple of nervousness coloring the syllables.

He inclines his head, as though satisfied. Then he turns to the map, tracing a line with one gloved finger. “You know their alliances and grudges. You speak their language. You’ve lived among them. That alone makes you valuable.”

“Valuable?” My heartbeat kicks, echoing that single word in my mind.

Vaelorian lifts his gaze, and I catch the faint gleam of silver in his otherwise black irises. “I’m prepared to offer you a unique arrangement. You see, House Draeven has a keen interest in collecting information—real information, not the drivel the dark elves feed each other in formal gatherings. I want the truths they hide beneath layers of manipulation.”

My pulse flutters. Is he about to suggest what I think he is? “You’re talking about espionage,” I say slowly.

A hint of a smile curves one corner of his mouth. “Precisely. I need someone who can infiltrate their society, who understandstheir customs, and who won’t arouse suspicion. A human would be the perfect... ghost in their midst. They rarely pay you slaves much mind, do they?”

My mind reels. A part of me is horrified at the thought of returning to the dark elf courts, even on a mission. Yet I know how to navigate that environment. I survived it once, maybe I can again.

“Why me?” I ask.

He rests a hand on the table, leaning forward. “Because I suspect you’re more than a meek concubine. You listen. You remember. You adapt.”

The directness of his words startles me, but I refuse to shrink under his scrutiny. “So what’s the offer?”

His gaze intensifies. “Become my operative inside the dark elf courts. Infiltrate their gatherings, glean their secrets, and feed the information back to me. In exchange, I won’t treat you as a common thrall. No feeding on you. No humiliating tasks. You’d have certain freedoms within my domain, and my protection from... lesser Vrakken appetites.”

Adrenaline swells inside me. This is not what I anticipated. I’d braced for the moment he’d bare his fangs and drain me dry. Instead, he’s offering to keep me alive, even protect me, if I do his bidding.

“And if I refuse?” I manage, my throat tight.

He straightens, wings shifting slightly behind him. “Then you remain a blood thrall, nothing more. Perhaps not even that, if I decide you’re a risk. Survival in this fortress would be unlikely.”

A chill washes through me. It’s a harsh ultimatum, but I can’t pretend it’s unexpected. The Vrakken are not known for mercy.

I look down at the map, tracing a cluster of runes near the dark elf capital. Memories of that place swirl in my mind: the decadent banquets I served at, the humiliations inflicted on me, the secrets I overheard from behind tapestry-covered walls.Could I truly bear to go back there, even in the name of my own survival?