Page 22

VAELORIAN

I wake before dawn, sprawled in the dim glow filtering through Valeria’s chamber window.

The heavy curtains are pulled halfway, letting a thin line of lavender light stretch across the polished stone floor.

My body feels oddly weighted, a tangle of conflicting sensations.

There’s warmth—her warmth—wrapped around me.

Then realization floods in with a merciless rush.

She’s pressed against my side, her leg draped over mine, her cheek resting against my chest. Our breathing merges in a steady rhythm.

My pulse kicks up. Last night really happened.

I’m not the type to second-guess every decision, but as I absorb the reality of our shared intimacy, my mind churns with an unfamiliar mix of regret, longing, and resolve.

I trace the outline of her bare shoulder with my gaze.

Her auburn hair spills across my arm, soft waves that hint at the ferocity of our coupling.

Marks from my fingertips line her skin, faint bruises that speak of passion and desperation.

Each bruise is a reminder of how I dropped my guard, letting a human slip through my defenses.

I should go.

The thought resonates. If I had more discipline, I would have left hours ago—before the darkness eased into twilight. But her presence lulled me into a rare, uneasy sleep. Now the sun threatens to rise fully, and the responsibilities of House Draeven won’t wait.

I shift, intending to slip away. But she stirs, letting out a soft sigh. Her eyelashes flutter before she opens her eyes, bleary with sleep. For a breath, she seems disoriented. Then her gaze locks on mine, and I see a mix of wonder and trepidation in that stormy gray. My chest tightens.

“Vaelorian,” she whispers, voice husky from slumber.

My name on her lips does something to me—unsettles the fortress I’ve built inside my mind, the place where I keep my emotions in check. I fight the urge to pull her back into my arms and lose myself again. Instead, I disentangle from her, sliding to the edge of the bed.

“This was a mistake,” I say quietly, forcing my tone flat.

She sits up, hugging the sheet to her chest. Confusion flashes across her face, but I don’t let her speak. If she apologizes, or tries to rationalize what happened, I might soften. That’s not an option.

“We have a mission,” I continue, pressing my feet to the cool floor. My clothes lie scattered—my coat draped over a chair, my shirt on the floor. I pick up the shirt, slipping it on with controlled motions. “I can’t afford distractions.”

She stiffens behind me. “Is that what I am?”

I don’t answer, busy with the buckles on my coat, though my hands tremble more than I’d like.

I don’t want to lie. Yet I can’t be fully honest, either.

The raw truth is that I can’t let myself care for her.

My mother’s watchful eyes, the dark elf threat, the precarious standing of House Draeven— it’s all too great a gamble.

“It’s dawn,” I say curtly. “You have training scheduled, followed by a mission briefing with me. Be ready.”

I stand, wings folding tight as I cross the room to the door. My gaze flicks to her reflection in the metal mirror near the dresser. She watches me with an expression that blends hurt, resolve, and something I can’t decipher. A pang spears my chest.

Get out before you say something you regret.

I open the door, stepping into the corridor.

The hush is palpable; most of House Draeven hasn’t stirred yet.

Two guards posted down the hallway straighten when they see me.

I offer a curt nod and sweep past, the echo of my footsteps reverberating against the stone. There’s no time to indulge in regrets.

I find a deserted balcony overlooking the courtyard, needing air.

The vantage point reveals the fortress stirring below: a few early patrols, servants hauling supplies.

My breath mists in the cool morning light.

Normally, I relish these quiet moments, a time to plot without interruption.

Now, my mind roils with the memory of Valeria’s skin, her taste, the ragged urgency that consumed us both.

It can’t happen again.

My mother’s words echo from countless lessons: We are apex predators, Vaelorian.

We do not form attachments that compromise us.

She hammered that lesson into me from an early age, ensuring I never let personal ties overshadow House Draeven’s supremacy.

Yet I’ve crossed a line—one I might not be able to uncross.

I stare at the fortress ramparts. If anyone knew I’d spent the night with her…

Darkness surges in my thoughts. The possibility of blackmail, the vulnerability it entails. House Draeven’s enemies—both within and outside—would tear us apart if they found a chink in our armor. My mother might see it as the ultimate betrayal of her teachings.

Steeling myself, I turn from the balcony. No more indulgence. For Valeria’s sake and mine, we must keep distance, remain professional. She’s valuable. She’s the operative I’ve been cultivating for weeks, and her success is crucial to our plan of undermining the dark elf aristocracy.

I stride through the corridors, ignoring the tension twisting in my chest. By the time I reach my private study, I’ve wrapped myself in the mantle of the prince of House Draeven—cold, calculating, and resolute.

Inside, the study is still and dim, a solitary lamp burning on the large desk.

Scrolls and documents cover every surface, detailing trade routes, alliances, and intelligence on dark elf gatherings.

One scroll in particular catches my attention—the invitation to a minor banquet in a dark elf province near the city’s outskirts.

This is the perfect opportunity to test Valeria’s infiltration skills outside the fortress.

Sitting, I sift through the invitation. It’s addressed to a lesser noble allied with House Draeven, but I can arrange for Valeria to attend under the guise of a newly acquired courtesan or servant.

A subtle infiltration, minimal risk. She’ll gather initial intel, gauge the political climate, confirm rumors about potential alliances with orc raiders.

If she succeeds, it’ll pave the way for a deeper infiltration later.

My gut churns with uncertainty. She’s ready, or so I’ve told myself. But am I prepared to let her walk into potential danger?

A knock interrupts my thoughts. “Enter,” I call, clearing my throat.

The door creaks open to reveal Erlena, my mother’s advisor—a tall Vrakken woman with iron-gray hair braided in an intricate pattern. She offers a shallow bow. “Matriarch Brinda asks your presense to come to the audience chamber. She wishes an update on your spy’s progress.”

My spine tenses. Our spy. Hearing Valeria referred to so clinically jabs at a raw nerve. “I’ll attend her shortly,” I say, tamping down any sign of emotion. “Inform the Matriarch I’m finalizing the next stage of the plan.”

Erlena inclines her head. “Very well, my lord.” She departs without further question.

I gather the scroll detailing the banquet. Before I face my mother, I need to speak with Valeria. She should hear the details from me first. But I also need to be sure I won’t lose my composure in her presence. After last night, one slip of my voice or a telltale look could compromise everything.

You’re stronger than this.

Bolstering my resolve, I depart my study. The path to the training courtyard feels interminable, every step laced with memories of how her body felt entwined with mine. I grind my teeth, forcing a neutral expression.

At the courtyard entrance, I find Helrath and Valeria already at it—he’s leading her through a series of knife drills.

She’s clad in fitted breeches and a short tunic, her hair pulled back.

Circling each other, they exchange blows with practice knives, Helrath delivering instructions in clipped tones.

My breath stirs with reluctant admiration. She moves with grace, her reflexes honed from rigorous practice. When Helrath lunges, she parries with the dagger angled low, pivoting to evade a potential finishing strike. Her expression is focused, the momentary vulnerability I saw in her chamber gone.

Helrath feints a second thrust, and Valeria almost counters in time but stumbles. He catches her wrist, twisting. She drops her blade with a curse, forced to yield. Helrath releases her, smirking.

“Again,” he orders. “One day, the dark elves will want you on your knees, but you’ll need a better reason to get there than losing your weapon.”

She scowls, retrieving the dagger. Before they can resume, I clear my throat. Both turn. Valeria’s gaze meets mine, a flicker of something flashing in her eyes—anger, embarrassment, maybe a hint of longing. She masks it quickly, adopting a neutral stance.

“Vaelorian,” Helrath greets, stepping aside. “Here to observe?”

“Not today. I need Valeria for a briefing. She can return to your tender mercies afterward.” My tone is clipped.

Helrath grunts and motions for Valeria to follow me. She wipes sweat from her brow, setting the practice dagger on a nearby rack. Then she crosses the courtyard, each step measured. We’re both feigning calm.

I lead her into an adjacent corridor, away from prying ears. The stone walls muffle the clang of blades. Once we’re alone, I stop, turning to face her. She stands, arms folded, posture guarded.

“We have a mission,” I begin, keeping my voice level. “A minor banquet in a dark elf-held province. We’ve been invited through a proxy. It’s the perfect chance to test your skills outside these walls.”

Her chin lifts. “When?”

“In two days. You’ll pose as a newly acquired servant for Lord Marik, who’s an old ally of House Draeven. You’ll accompany him and his retinue to the banquet. Your objective is to listen for rumors about orc alliances, possible expansions, or any mention of blood-infused magic.”

She frowns slightly. “Lord Marik… Will he know who I really am?”