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Sharavel, a high-ranking councilor, narrows her gaze. “Prince Xelith, you arrive with your… captive, I see.” Her tone drips with derision.

He inclines his head. “Councilors. I bring Lysandra Riven to demonstrate the progress we’ve made. She cooperates and has provided details of enclaves that might be peacefully incorporated.”

Murmurs ripple through the chamber. One or two voices snort in disbelief. I keep my focus on a fixed point in the distance, struggling not to tremble.Calm, Lysandra. Show no fear.

Sharavel lifts an eyebrow. “So you claim. We demand specifics, evidence that your lenience is not foolish. Speak, rebel, if you indeed have turned from your misguided cause.”

A flicker of anger stirs, but I recall the plan.Act subdued.I cast a sidelong glance at Xelith, who gives a nearly imperceptible nod. My heart pounds as I step forward, bowing my head. “I… have seen the folly of open revolt,” I say, forcing a subdued tone. “I’ve offered Prince Xelith the names of certain enclaves willing to lay down arms, if guaranteed improved conditions.”

Sharavel’s lips curl. “Improved conditions? You overreach, human. Better to accept your place than bargain.”

My jaw tightens. “We do not bargain. We only… hope to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.”

Lord Kalthos, another council member, interjects, scanning the documents Xelith presents. “Here are the enclaves, annotated with potential for assimilation,” he reads. “I see. If they submit to tribute and labor quotas, the farmland remains productive.”

Nods of grudging acceptance pass through the ranks, but suspicion lingers. Sharavel’s eyes gleam with distrust. “And what prevents this rebel from lying, leading us into a trap?”

Xelith stands tall, voice cool. “She’s under my watch. If she deceives us, I’ll personally see her punished. I vow her illusions—” He catches himself, glancing at me briefly. “—her rebellious tendencies are contained.”

My pulse spikes at that slip. A handful of councilors exchange sharp looks.Does illusions ring a bell from rumors?My gut churns with fear. But Xelith continues smoothly. “I request a small window of time to secure these enclaves, thereby preventing a larger purge that would harm farmland production.”

The council murmurs, some nodding. It’s practical logic. King Throsh’s city needs stable production more than public executions.

Sharavel taps a jeweled finger against her seat. “We’ll deliberate.” She signals the other council members, who forma tight knot, whispering rapidly. My breath falters.This is it. They either accept or declare me worthless and demand my immediate execution.

Minutes stretch like hours. Finally, Sharavel refocuses on us. “Very well. We grant you a short reprieve—no more than three days—to demonstrate real results. If you fail, we revert to standard measures.”

Standard measures. Code for a large-scale purge. My stomach knots, but at least we bought some time. A flicker of relief crosses Xelith’s face, though he remains stoic. We’re about to step back when a figure steps forward from the crowd—Lord Nyrus. My blood chills.Does he remember being enthralled?

He inclines his head, though his eyes burn with simmering distrust. “Councilors, a moment. Before we adjourn, I wish to speak about the reliability of this… rebel’s compliance.”

Xelith tenses. “Nyrus, we’ve just established?—”

Nyrus cuts him off, gaze cold. “I have reason to believe this woman attempted to leave the fortress unsanctioned earlier.” His voice rings across the chamber, drawing startled gasps. “Is that not a sign of continued rebellion?”

Dread floods me.He knows.

Sharavel’s eyes narrow. “Explain yourself, Nyrus.”

He smirks, leveling a pointed stare at me. “I found her in a deserted corridor, seemingly on the verge of escaping. I confronted her. Then… I recall very little. A blank in my memory.”

A ripple of alarm stirs among the councilors. Xelith clenches his jaw, stepping protectively near me. “Nyrus, we dealt with that. She was under my instruction to remain within the fortress. Perhaps you startled her.”

Nyrus’s lips twitch in a humorless grin. “Startled, yes. Enough that I lost track of time and memory? Suspicious, is it not?”

Sharavel’s face tightens. “Prince Xelith, can you account for her whereabouts at all times?”

He tries to remain composed. “I discovered her soon after. A minor misunderstanding.”

A wave of tension crackles. Nyrus’s gaze sweeps the assembly, feeding on their unease. “The rumor of illusions persists. Perhaps she wields powers beyond normal means. If so, can we trust any statement she makes? She could enthrall us all with a whisper.”

My breath goes shallow. The phraseenthrall us allhovers like a death knell.He’s alarmingly close to the truth.

Some councilors shift uncomfortably. Sharavel rises, face pale with new suspicion. “Prince Xelith, the presence of such magic in a human is… inconceivable. But if there’s even a shred of possibility, the threat is grave.”

Xelith forces a brittle smile, though I sense panic beneath. “Nyrus exaggerates. Her illusions—if any—are minor tricks born of rebellious cunning. She poses no threat to our greater wards or the council’s dominion.”

Kalthos frowns. “Still, the best way to confirm is to question her thoroughly. Perhaps a private session with our inquisitors?—”