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She regards me with a flicker of amusement, as if she sees through my half-truth. Yes, it’s safer for her to walk with me. But it’s also an excuse to ensure she returns to her room unharassed. I keep my expression neutral, offering no further explanation.

She stands, clutching the small stack of texts to her chest. “All right,” she says simply.

We move through the library in silence, weaving around shelves. The single librarian on duty—a gaunt Vrakken scribe—barely looks up from his desk as we pass. Our footsteps echo softly over the mosaic floor, blending with the gentle crackle of the library’s chandeliers.

Exiting into the corridor, I notice the flickering torches have been replaced by orbs of arcane light, set in sconces along the wall.

They cast a purplish glow, giving everything a faintly surreal quality.

There’s a hush at this hour, an anticipation that underscores how lethal the fortress can be once darkness sets in fully.

Valeria seems tense, though whether from fatigue or vigilance, I can’t tell. We walk beside each other, my wings furled tightly to avoid brushing against the stone columns. She glances at them once—something she does occasionally, as if fascinated by the possibility of flight.

The corridors twist until we reach the hallway leading to her suite, flanked by tall windows that overlook the courtyard. Moonlight drapes the exterior, silvering the gargoyles perched on the walls. I glance outside, noticing the faint forms of patrolling guards.

We stop before her door, the same one bearing House Draeven’s crest. She shifts the texts to one arm, fishing the key from her pocket. After a moment’s fumbling, she unlocks the door. Before stepping inside, she looks back at me.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For, well, all of this. The training, the resources.”

I dip my head, maintaining my composure. “It benefits us both. Remember that.”

Her expression softens, and I catch the subtlest trace of something warm in her gaze—gratitude, or perhaps relief that we can share a moment of civil interaction. It disarms me in a way I’m not prepared for.

She steps past the threshold, sets her scrolls on a small table, then turns. “Would you like to come in?” The question emerges hesitant, as though she’s uncertain of my reaction.

A thousand warning bells clang in my head, and I forcibly lock down any surge of emotion. My mother’s voice echoes: Never let them see you falter. You can’t risk attachments. This is a war.

“No,” I say, voice calm but final. “You need rest, and I have my own duties.”

She nods, casting her gaze down. “I figured as much.”

An odd heaviness descends. I wrestle with a twinge of guilt for refusing, though I know it’s the right choice. Keeping emotional distance is critical. I can’t befriend, let alone desire, the woman whose loyalty I must constantly question. But do I truly question it? Or am I just following habit?

Shaking away the thought, I let my tone soften by a fraction. “Sleep well, Valeria. Tomorrow is another day of training, infiltration prep... and more potential bruises.”

She musters a faint smile. “Sounds like paradise.”

I huff out a quiet laugh. “Go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She closes the door, and the click of the lock resonates in the still corridor.

I stand there for a heartbeat, staring at the carved crest on the wood.

I’m oddly protective , I realize with an uneasy start.

A portion of me wants to ensure she’s not devoured by the fortress’s myriad dangers—both within and without.

Why?

I can’t let it compromise the mission. That’s the bottom line. If she fails, I’ll have to cut her loose, no matter how uncomfortable the thought has become. Any sign of weakness in House Draeven invites exploitation by our enemies—dark elves or rival Vrakken Houses.

So I turn on my heel, ignoring the strange tightness in my chest, and stride back down the corridor. My boots echo against the stone, each step a reminder that I must remain detached. Valeria is an asset, a crucial one, but an asset nonetheless.

Even so, I can’t entirely quell the memory of her exhausted smile or the stubborn glint in her eye. Something stirs in me, reminiscent of empathy—something I haven’t felt in a long time. Damn it, I curse silently. Keep your distance.

Still, the moment I return to my own chambers, I linger at the window, gazing out at the moonlit courtyard.

The fortress stands silent, an edifice of stone and secrets.

My mind churns with thoughts of Valeria’s next step, the infiltration mission, the danger she’ll face.

I wonder if she’s already asleep, or if she’s studying those scrolls by the dim glow of a candle, pushing herself even further.

A part of me admires her resilience. Another part, the one raised by a ruthless matriarch, urges caution. She’s human. They break easily.

Yet so far, she hasn’t broken. Every time she stumbles, she rises again, forging ahead with unwavering determination. That mixture of grit and vulnerability draws me in, much as I hate to admit it.

Eventually, I tear my gaze from the night sky, running my fingers through my hair. My reflection in the window stares back, pale eyes ringed with flickers of silver. You can’t show weakness. The mantra echoes. But I suspect that, in my own quiet way, I’ve already begun to care more than I should.

I blow out a long breath and move to a desk piled with documents, trying to refocus on House Draeven’s broader agendas.

Politics, supply lines, expansions, alliances—my life’s tapestry of power plays.

Still, as I sift through the parchments, I catch myself glancing at the empty corner of the room, imagining Valeria’s expression if she ever ventured here.

Enough. I set the stack of documents down, cursing under my breath. It’s going to be a long night, and I can’t afford to squander my energies on unproductive thoughts.

So I force my mind into the realm of strategic plans, reminding myself that the war between Vrakken and dark elves still smolders, that House Draeven stands on a precipice. Valeria is part of that puzzle, nothing more.

If only my heart believed it as easily as my head.

With a low snarl at my own conflicting emotions, I settle behind the desk, burying myself in the methodical chaos of the fortress’s affairs.

Tomorrow, I’ll watch her train again, push her limits, ensure she remains strong.

And I’ll guard the boundary between necessity and something dangerously close to care.

Because no matter how impressed I am by her progress, no matter how much I admire her spirit, the truth remains: I am Vaelorian Draeven, prince of a predatory House. If she falters, I cannot afford to let sympathy rule me.

Even if that sympathy has begun to feel alarmingly real.