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She arches a silver brow. “Are you? I see the way you speak of her. You claim she’s an asset, but your voice betrays something… deeper. Do not let sentiment drive you to reckless decisions. Power must be seized and safeguarded without emotional entanglements, or we risk everything.”

I bristle, remembering how Valeria accused me of using her purely for strategic ends. “I can balance both,” I insist. “I won’t let personal feelings overshadow our war with Xathien. But neither will I sacrifice her to outdated laws.”

Brinda regards me with a hint of sadness.

“You’ve grown willful, my son. That could be a strength—if harnessed properly.

” She picks up her wineglass again, swirling it.

“If you fail, the Council might dethrone you as my successor. They’ll claim you’re compromised, unfit to lead House Draeven in the looming conflict.

I cannot shield you from that if your plans unravel. ”

A spike of anger mixes with fear. I force a calm veneer.

“Then I’ll make sure my plans don’t unravel.

Once we expose Xathien’s vile experiments, the rest of the Houses will rally behind us.

Valeria’s role will be undeniable. They’ll see the value in her heritage.

” Value. Another word that feels insufficient for what she means to me.

Brinda nods, stepping away from the table. “Be certain you’re not chasing illusions, Vaelorian. I taught you that power isn’t given; it’s seized. But if you cling too tightly to a half-breed in defiance of tradition, you risk turning allies into enemies.”

I can’t help the dryness in my tone. “Tradition also says we Vrakken only belong underground, away from the sun, a custom we’ve long since broken. Times change. Let the old laws rot.”

She studies me, a flash of wry amusement tugging one corner of her mouth. “You do have your father’s stubbornness. Very well. I’ll quell the Council for now, in the name of unity against Xathien. But do not fail me.”

We stand there, the flickering candlelight dancing across our pale complexions. A memory surfaces: me as a child, terrified of the dark caverns beneath House Draeven, and her voice urging me to conquer my fear. We’ve come so far from those days.

I set my untouched wine down, heart pounding. “I won’t fail. House Draeven will crush Xathien’s plot, and Valeria will be recognized for her contributions. That’s my vow.”

Brinda nods once, a regal inclination of her head. “See to it.” She gestures toward the door. “Go. There’s no point in us lingering with tension hanging in the air. The fortress hums with rumor. Best you address your responsibilities.”

I dip my head in a stiff bow, then turn to leave, mind roiling. She’s letting me keep Valeria for now, but the reprieve is conditional. If we slip, the Council will demand blood.

I depart the receiving chamber, stepping into a corridor lined with tall, arched windows.

The night sky looms beyond, studded with stars, the faint glow of the moon outlining the fortress walls in silver.

My chest feels tight, anger and relief tangling.

At least the Matriarch hasn’t insisted on immediate punishment.

Still, the threat lingers: one misstep, and Valeria could face execution.

I stride down the corridor, wings twitching with barely contained frustration.

Two guards bow as I pass, but I offer them no acknowledgment.

My thoughts veer to Valeria. How did we get to this point?

One half-breed female holding so much sway over House Draeven’s future…

and my own. A flicker of longing stabs me.

I recall her face etched with fury and heartbreak when she confronted me about my deception. She’s furious, and rightfully so.

Rounding a corner, I nearly collide with Helrath. He halts abruptly, brows lifting. “You look ready to bite someone’s head off.”

I exhale sharply. “My mother. The Council. They want to weigh the possibility of executing Valeria to keep old superstitions appeased.”

His mouth tightens into a grim line. “Figured that might happen. You shut them down?”

I clench my fists. “For now. Brinda won’t press it, but she gave me a warning: if the dark elves or rival Vrakken exploit this, I might not be able to protect Valeria.”

Helrath studies me. “You’d risk going against the entire Council for her? That’s… bold.”

I glare at him. “I refuse to let them slay her out of ignorance.”

He nods, stepping aside so we can walk. We fall into pace, the corridor stretching before us. “She’s in the training yard, by the way,” he says. “Been practicing infiltration illusions alone. She told the recruits to give her space.”

A pang hits my chest. Of course she’s alone. She hates me, or at least she can’t bear to be near me. “Thanks,” I mutter. “I’ll head there.”

Helrath inclines his head in a brief gesture of respect. “Good luck.” Then he turns down a side passage, leaving me with my tumultuous thoughts.

Night air meets me as I cross from the fortress interior into the training yard.

Torches line the perimeter, casting bobbing halos of orange against the darkness.

The yard is mostly empty—most of the soldiers have retired.

But I spot a single figure near the central sparring circle, the glimmer of illusions warping the shadows around her.

She stands with arms raised, weaving a thread of faint, shimmering magic that flickers in and out of sight.

My breath catches at the sight of Valeria.

Her hair is pulled back, a few strands framing her face in the torchlight.

She’s wearing fitted training clothes—dark pants, a sleeveless tunic—that accentuate the lithe lines of her body.

Even from a distance, I sense the tension rolling off her.

She completes an intricate illusion, then curses under her breath as it collapses into sparks.

I approach slowly, letting the crackle of my boots on gravel announce my presence. She glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing when she sees me. “What do you want?” she asks, tone clipped.

I come to a stop a few paces away. The air is cooler here, the faint smell of scorched illusions lingering. “I heard you were training. Thought I’d check in.” It sounds weak, even to my ears. Check in? As if we’re cordial acquaintances.

She snorts, turning away to pick up a waterskin. “I’m practicing illusions. Unless you have some grand scheme to test me for half-breed magic again, I’d rather you leave me be.”

Her barb stings. “I’m not here to test you. I just…” My voice falters. “My mother confronted me about you. The Council might push for… extreme measures.”

She stills, setting the waterskin down. The flicker of illusions fades as her concentration breaks. “That doesn’t surprise me.” Her voice is weary. “I suppose you’re here to tell me to pack my things, that I’m too dangerous?”

I stiffen, crossing my arms. “No. I told them I won’t allow it. I said you’re too valuable and that I’d protect you.”

She spins to face me, an angry flush staining her cheeks. “Valuable. Always that word. You talk like a merchant praising a rare commodity. Do you hear yourself?”

Frustration simmers in my chest. “It’s the language that resonates with the Council. But that doesn’t mean I see you as property. You know me better than that.”

She laughs without humor. “I used to think I knew you, but you kept half my identity from me. So maybe I don’t know you at all.” She rakes a hand through her hair. “Look, if the Council decides I’m a threat, you can’t shield me forever, can you?”

A pang resonates behind my ribs. She’s right that my power isn’t absolute, but I refuse to admit defeat.

“I’ll do whatever it takes. If they try to pass an execution order, I’ll break the Council.

House Draeven’s future is not served by killing the one operative who’s brought us vital intel on Xathien. ” And the woman I…

My thoughts spin. I can’t voice how I truly feel—my mother already called me out on letting attachments overshadow reason. But each time I see Valeria, every rational thought tangles with the fierce urge to protect her. It’s irrational, unstoppable.

She stares at me, eyes reflecting torchlight in a stormy swirl. “Why? Why fight so hard for me if I’m just a half-blood freak no one wants around?”

The vulnerability in her tone twists my insides.

I step closer, near enough to catch the faint smell of sweat and illusions clinging to her skin.

“Because… you matter. Because you’ve proven yourself stronger than any fear or prejudice they can hurl at you.

” I hesitate, searching her gaze. “And because I can’t watch you be thrown to the wolves for something beyond your control. ”

Her expression wavers, flickers of anger, sadness, longing all in one breath.

“That’s not enough,” she whispers. “I can’t survive on your pity or strategic benefit.

If I stay, I need the truth. No more manipulations, no more secrets.

And I need to be certain you see me as a person, not just a tactical advantage. ”

I inhale sharply. She’s right. “I swear,” I begin, voice tight, “no more hidden agendas regarding your half-blood nature. I’ll help you understand it, harness it, if that’s what you want.

If you choose to remain with House Draeven, you’ll do so as a full partner in our war against Xathien, not as a test subject. ”

Her eyes flick over my face, searching for signs of deceit. The silence crushes me. Then she lets out a shaky exhale, crossing her arms. “I guess we’re both stuck in a corner. The dark elves would dissect me if I walk away, and if I trust you, I risk being used again.”

My chest tightens. “I won’t let them dissect you. Or do anything else. And I won’t exploit you again. I vow it on House Draeven’s name. If that’s not enough, tell me what else you need.”