Page 24

XELITH

I stand at the top of a narrow stairway, hands braced on the carved stone banister.

Below, a group of Dark Elf nobles mills around the fortress’s side courtyard, their murmured voices echoing against the walls.

They wear arrogance like armor, each posture stiff with suspicion.

I catch flashes of disapproval in their eyes whenever they glance my way.

The sense of precariousness I’ve labored under these past days intensifies.

I’ve just finished meeting with a handful of lesser council members, all of whom demanded fresh assurances about Lysandra’s “cooperation.” They’re ravenous for progress.

They want to see my plan to subdue the farmland enclaves executed without delay—and they’ve grown impatient with my appeals for caution.

If they knew Lysandra is sirenborn… The mere thought twists my stomach.

That revelation would upend everything, fueling a fervor for her immediate destruction.

I turn to Rhazien, my second-in-command, who’s waiting at the top of the steps.

He holds a folded parchment in one hand, jaw set in a tight line.

“The nobles are restless,” he says quietly, as though stating the obvious.

“They gossip that you’re stalling. There’s even talk of hiring assassins to remove your human captive if you refuse to deliver her soon. ”

A spike of anger flares, but I retain my expression, controlling it. “Let them try. She’s under my protection, and any direct attempt on her life in my domain is an insult I won’t tolerate.” My voice echoes a little too loudly in the stairwell.

Rhazien nods once. “Just be careful. Some among the nobility might see that as a challenge.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “Everything is a challenge here.” Then I descend the steps with brisk strides, cloak sweeping behind me.

I can’t allow fear to rule me. The corridor at the foot leads into the heart of my private wing, and each step pulses with tension.

If an assassin has truly been hired, they’ll strike soon—tonight, maybe. There’s no time to lose.

At the threshold to my quarters, two guards stiffen. I sense the hush inside, the wards acknowledging my magical signature. With a flick of my wrist, I override the locks and push the door open.

Inside, I spot Lysandra pacing near the window.

She wears a simple black tunic and fitted breeches, hair braided loosely down her back.

Despite the persistent bruise along her jaw, there’s a fierce vitality in the way she moves.

My chest tightens, recalling the raw surge of her voice that enthralled Nyrus just a day ago.

Sirenblood. The word churns in my mind, forcing me to confront how precariously we stand.

She glances up, eyes immediately flicking over me as though assessing my mood. “Another meeting?” she asks, tone edged with tension.

I nod. “The nobles are pressing harder. They want you delivered or proven docile.” I stride closer, each footstep echoing on the polished floor. “Some might take matters into their own hands.”

She exhales, crossing her arms. “So I’m supposed to hide in here and pray they don’t send an assassin to slit my throat while I sleep?” Sarcasm laces her words, but her grip on her forearms betrays her unease.

I level my gaze on her. “You’re safe in this wing. My wards would alert me if anyone tries to breach it.” I pause, letting the gravity sink in. “But outside these chambers, yes. You’re in danger.”

A flicker of bitterness crosses her face. “And how am I to help with your farmland plan if I’m locked away like a caged bird?”

I step nearer, tension crackling between us.

“You’ve seen the documents. You’ve identified enclaves that might surrender, saving them from total annihilation.

We’re a day away from implementing that plan.

Once we do, the council should see enough progress to back off—assuming no one else disrupts it.

” I allow a grim note to enter my voice. “Still, you remain their prime target.”

She lifts her chin, defiance mingling with fear. “I won’t cower like a frightened animal, waiting for someone’s blade. I’d rather fight.”

Admiration stirs despite the peril. “I know. But if you want to stay alive, caution is paramount.”

Her posture stiffens. We stand a breath apart, the room’s air thick with unspoken tension.

Over the past days, we’ve grown familiar with this closeness—an undercurrent that thrums whenever we’re alone.

She’s sirenborn, I’m a disgraced prince.

Logic demands we keep our distance, yet something pulls us like iron to a lodestone.

Rhazien enters, clearing his throat pointedly. His expression flicks between us, wariness in his eyes. “My prince, I’ve arranged extra patrols in the corridors leading here. If an assassin tries to approach, we’ll know.”

I force a nod, stepping back from Lysandra. “Excellent. Have them rotate unpredictably. If there’s a plot, let the conspirators see we’re prepared.”

Rhazien bows and departs, leaving the hush behind. Lysandra and I exchange a charged glance. She exhales, tension roiling. “So… you’ll lock me up and hope the council doesn’t speed things along?”

My jaw sets. “For tonight, yes, until the farmland plan is in motion. We can’t risk giving them an opening now.”

She scoffs, pacing away. “Lovely. A prisoner, as always.”

Anger flickers in me, anger at the council for forcing this, at myself for failing to keep her safer. “It’s better than dead,” I snap, voice sharper than intended.

Her eyes spark. “Am I supposed to be grateful?”

I surge forward, frustration boiling. “Grateful you aren’t a corpse? Yes, perhaps. I’m doing everything to protect you from a city that despises your kind.”

She spins, meeting my glare head-on. “You act like I owe you. I never asked for your ‘protection.’ If not for your council, we wouldn’t be in this nightmare.”

My pulse thuds. Tension ignites like a spark to kindling, our mutual tempers flaring in the face of lethal pressure. “Don’t be naive,” I growl. “Without me, the council would have paraded your severed head weeks ago.”

Her cheeks flush, but she refuses to back down. “Or maybe I’d have escaped. My illusions—my power—could’ve saved me.”

I bark a hollow laugh. “That power nearly revealed your secret to the entire fortress. You’d be hunted beyond these walls, with nowhere safe.”

She steps closer, chest heaving, eyes bright with fury. “You’re the one who demanded I bury it. Yet you fling it in my face whenever it suits you.”

The air crackles. I can almost feel her sirenblood thrumming beneath her skin, a fierce energy that calls to me. The frustration of the day, the looming threat of assassination, it all converges into a storm of heated emotion. Neither of us wants to cede ground.

She lifts her chin defiantly. “I’m not some puppet you can jerk around?—”

I seize her wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to stop her words.

Our gazes lock, and everything else fades—my fear for her, my anger at the council, my desire to keep control.

She’s breathing fast, pulse fluttering at her throat.

Heat swells, raw and urgent. It’s a madness that’s been building for days.

“Don’t you see?” I rasp, voice low. “We’re both trapped. If we fail, we fall together.” My grip lingers on her wrist as I bask in her warmth, sliding into me like a brand.

Her eyes flick down to where I hold her, then back up, lips parting. “Then what are we fighting each other for?”

Emotions roil. The next heartbeat slams into me, a wave of reckless need. I yank her closer, the distance between us vanishing. She gasps, but her body moves in tandem, as though some invisible thread tugs us both. My free hand slides to her waist, heat flaring under my palm.

“You drive me mad,” I whisper, voice ragged. “Every time we speak, I teeter on the edge of losing control.”

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, her gaze drops to my mouth. Her voice comes out strained. “Then maybe… we should let go. Just for a moment.”

The last shred of restraint snaps. My lips crash against hers, hunger and anger colliding in a fierce, desperate kiss.

She sucks in a startled breath but doesn’t pull away—instead, she presses closer.

A raw sound escapes me. My senses reel from the taste of her, the electric jolt of tension transmuted into fiery contact.

Her fingers curl into my tunic, gripping it tight as though she’s drowning and I’m her lifeline.

We stumble backward, pinned against the wall.

My thoughts blur, replaced by the urgent ache of this moment.

The threat of assassins, the council’s looming demands, it all dims compared to the feverish press of her body.

She breaks the kiss, chest heaving, eyes ablaze. “I hate you,” she breathes, though there’s no conviction behind the words—just a trembling intensity. “I hate that I want this.”

My throat constricts. “The feeling is mutual,” I rasp, unable to tear my gaze from her parted lips. “You’re a poison in my veins, Lysandra.”

She clenches her jaw, then surges forward again, dragging me into another fierce kiss.

This time, it’s all tongues and muffled groans.

My hands slip under the hem of her tunic, grazing the soft skin of her waist, drawing a breathless gasp from her.

We break apart, devouring the sight of each other in that lamplit hush.

A small, rational voice tries to break through—reminding me we’re in the corridor near my quarters, that guards could pass by.

But I shove it aside, hooking an arm around her legs and sweeping her up.

She yelps, arms flung around my neck. I stride through the open doorway into my personal chamber, kicking it shut with a savage motion. The wards hum, sealing us in.