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I bristle, forcing a casual shrug. “I didn’t do anything. He just… spaced out.”

He studies me like a puzzle he’s dying to solve. “That wasn’t normal.”

“Maybe he’s incompetent,” I retort, trying to hide my trembling hands by folding them under my cloak. “You’d know better than I.”

An uneasy silence hangs between us. Finally, he exhales, leading me further along the path. The tension coils, thick and pressing. We reach a secluded alcove where a stone bench stands beside a shallow pond. Mana-lamps cast shifting patterns on thewater’s surface, and tiny fish dart beneath lily pads that glow faintly pink.

He halts, turning to face me fully. “I’ve noticed… moments,” he says carefully, “when your presence seems to unsettle those around you. I wonder if you’re aware of it.”

My heart races. He’s dangerously perceptive. “I’m well aware I unsettle them. I’m a human rebel in a fortress full of Dark Elves.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I grit my teeth. “Then speak plainly.”

He studies my face, as though searching for cracks. “You claim humans can’t sense mana. Yet I’ve caught you glancing at illusions in the corridors, reacting to subtle shifts like a sorcerer would. And just now, that guard… it was as if something tugged at his mind.”

My stomach churns. I can’t let him see how much this unnerves me. “Hallucinations from stress,” I say, forcing my voice level. “Being stuck in this fortress is enough to drive anyone half mad.”

His gaze darkens. “You’re lying.”

The flat conviction in his tone rattles me, but I keep my features schooled in defiance. “Even if I were, why do you care? Unless you think I can overshadow you with some hidden power?”

A bitter note creeps into my voice. The idea that I, a battered human, could pose a genuine magical threat to a Dark Elf prince is almost laughable. Except, a whisper in my mind insists it might be possible.

He moves closer, the space between us shrinking until I can almost feel the heat rolling off him. The cool air of the garden mingles with his crisp scent, stirring something uneasy and electric inside me.

“Humor me,” he says softly. “If you did have some latent power, it would be in your best interest to share it with me rather than let the council discover it. They’d see it as grounds for immediate execution.”

I clench my jaw, my pulse thundering.What if he’s right? If the council found out humans could wield magic, they’d react with brutal efficiency.

I let out a harsh breath. “So you’re offering protection if I confess to something that might not even exist?”

He cocks his head, gaze tracing the lines of my face. “Is it so unthinkable that you possess abilities you never imagined? The world is vast, and the Sirens?—”

He breaks off abruptly, but my ears catch that final word. My heart jolts. “Sirens? That’s… that’s a myth, right?”

His lips press into a tight line. “Some claim so. But I’ve read accounts suggesting otherwise.”

A swirl of fear and strange excitement churns within me. Sirens were said to enthrall with their voices, to manipulate minds. If that’s more than legend, and I share some blood with them—no, that’s absurd. Still, my heart hammers, recalling how the guard’s eyes glazed over.

I force a laugh, shaky but determined. “You think I’m a Siren? Next, you’ll accuse me of sprouting wings.”

He doesn’t smile. “Joke if you wish, but be mindful. Legends sometimes carry a grain of truth. Should the council suspect any trace of Siren magic, they’d call for your head without hesitation. The sirenblood was supposedly wiped out for a reason.”

My stomach twists. “You’re serious.”

He lifts a shoulder in a fluid shrug. “I deal in possibilities. For now, keep your secrets if you must. But if you cause more magical ‘accidents,’ I won’t be able to hide it.”

Anger flares—anger at the situation, at him, at the possibility my own body might betray me. “Maybe I want the council to see,” I retort. “I’m sick of playing by your rules.”

He regards me with that infuriating calm. “This fortress would devour you if you tried. I—” He hesitates, glancing away, as though checking for eavesdroppers. “I prefer to keep you alive, Lysandra. Even if you drive me mad in the process.”

There’s a hint of something in his tone that jolts me—a raw edge. I swallow, realizing we stand mere inches apart. My next breath stutters, and I force myself to hold his stare. The tension hums, a reminder that behind our mutual hostility lies a disconcerting awareness.

“Careful, Xelith,” I say, trying to sound bold. “Your fascination is showing.”

A faint, humorless chuckle. “Takes one to know one, does it not?”