Page 26

The guards nod, taking their duty more seriously than ever. Lysandra folds her arms, tension etched in her posture. We move away, heading down a narrower hallway that leads to a side entrance. Another pair of guards stands watch, equally vigilant. It seems no threat has broken through—yet.

Once we’re a short distance away, Lysandra clears her throat softly. “No sign of assassins so far.”

I nod, glancing at the stone walls, the flickering torches in their sconces. “They might wait until the middle of the night, or possibly strike during tomorrow’s council session, hoping to catch us both off-guard.”

She snorts. “Council session. More like a viper’s nest.”

I can’t argue. My steps slow, and I find myself turning to face her.

The swirl of candlelight casts shifting patterns over her features.

Her hair is still disheveled from our heated encounter, cheeks flushed.

My heart stutters, an echo of the desire that just burned between us.

Guilt and longing tangle in my gut. We have no time for this emotional swirl. Danger presses in from all sides.

“I—” I start, then stop. Words fail me.

She lifts a brow, face carefully guarded. “What?”

I scrub a hand over my jaw, searching for something to break the awkwardness. “I don’t regret it,” I admit quietly, pulse pounding. “But I know it complicates everything.”

Her gaze flicks away, a tightness in her jaw. “Complicates is an understatement.”

We stand in strained silence. Then footsteps approach from behind—a soldier, out of breath, saluting with a sharp bow. “My prince, urgent message from the southern gate. A robed figure was spotted lingering near the outer wards. They fled when approached. Could be the assassin.”

Adrenaline spikes. They’re already testing our defenses. Lysandra’s eyes lock with mine, tension brimming. She murmurs, “Told you they wouldn’t wait long.”

I nod, pushing aside the roil of my emotions. “Gather a detail. I’ll see if we can track them. Lysandra, stay behind with a guard.”

She glowers. “I’m coming with you.”

A pang of protectiveness wars with my pragmatic side. “No. You’ve no gear, no guarantee I can shield you if a fight breaks out. Stay in the fortress interior. If we catch them, it might deter further attempts.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but the urgency of the situation hangs thick. Finally, she exhales, eyes flaring with reluctant acceptance. “Fine. But be careful.” The quiet concern in her voice stirs a confusing warmth inside me.

With a sharp nod, I bark orders to the soldier, who scrambles to gather a small party. Lysandra steps aside, arms folded. Our gazes meet one last time—a silent exchange of caution and the unspoken link formed between us. Then I pivot, cloak swishing as I head for the southern gate.

…

Under moonlight, the fortress walls loom, arcs of magical wards shimmering faintly.

The search proves fruitless. Whoever prowled near the southern gate vanished before we arrived, leaving only vague footprints in the damp soil.

My frustration mounts. They’re testing us, seeing how we respond. Next time, they might be bolder.

As I return to the fortress’s main hall, my mood sours further.

The stares from passing nobles intensify, as if they sense something amiss.

I nod curtly, not pausing for conversation.

My mind drifts to Lysandra, the memory of her taste, the echo of her fierce presence.

Damn the timing. We stand on the brink of a pitched battle—political and literal—and we’ve entangled ourselves in a moment of vulnerability neither of us expected.

I slip back into my private wing. The wards hum as I cross them, verifying my identity. I find Lysandra in my antechamber, perched on a small settee. She springs to her feet when I enter, eyes scanning me for injuries.

“Nothing,” I mutter. “Whoever it was, they fled.”

She nods, relief evident. Then an awkward hush settles. We’re both keenly aware of what happened earlier, how we crossed a line we pretended we’d never approach.

I run a hand through my hair. “You’ll stay here, in my quarters, for the night. The wards are strongest, and I don’t trust any other place.”

Her brows lift. “Your quarters?”

I clench my jaw. “We can arrange separate sleeping spaces if you prefer. But I can’t risk you being alone in your chamber. The council is cunning enough to bribe or manipulate guards outside it.”

She presses her lips together, conflict swimming in her gaze. “Fine. If that’s the best way to avoid an assassination.” She exhales, tension draining from her shoulders. “This fortress is a maze of predators.”

A wry half-smile forms on my lips. “And now you know why I keep a firm hold on power. Without it, we’re both prey.” My voice softens despite myself. “I’ll ensure you remain safe. Even if we… can’t do that again.”

Her cheeks color slightly, though she lifts her chin. “We won’t,” she agrees, voice a bit too quick. “One lapse of judgment is enough.”

A pang hits me, a fleeting sense of loss.

But I ignore it, offering a curt nod. “Right. Then let’s retire.

We’ll face tomorrow’s council session with a united front.

” I gesture for her to follow me into my main living area.

It’s spacious, lit by wall sconces that glow with subdued arcane light.

A large bed stands against one wall, draped in rich fabrics.

I cross to the wardrobe, pulling out spare blankets and a wide cushion that can serve as a makeshift bed.

She watches, arms folded, expression guarded. “You’re giving me the bed? That’s hardly necessary.”

I give her a level look. “You’re injured. The bruise on your side, your?—”

She scowls. “I’m not some porcelain doll. But… thanks.” A tension-laden hush returns as I lay the blankets down, one corner of my mind cursing how quickly we went from a passionate entanglement to an awkward arrangement of bedrolls.

When I finish, I glance her way. “You rest. I’ll keep watch for a while, ensure no intruders slip by.”

She nods, stepping toward the bed. The flickering light outlines the lean lines of her body, stirring memories of earlier. Her gaze flicks away from me. “All right. Good night, Xelith.”

I incline my head. “Good night, Lysandra.”

She eases onto the bed, pulling the covers around her. I sink onto the makeshift bedding, leaning against a carved chest. The hush intensifies, broken only by the hiss of mana-lamps overhead.

My thoughts wanders to the farmland plan, the looming council meeting, and Lysandra’s sirenblood.

If we survive the next day, we may buy enough time to keep her secret hidden.

If not, everything unravels. And I have to reconcile this new closeness—this savage spark that binds us in ways neither of us anticipated.

Gradually, her breathing deepens, hinting that she’s fallen asleep.

I remain awake, gaze fixed on the door, every sense alert.

My chest still aches from the intensity of what we shared, the knowledge that it might never happen again.

My eyes close, exhaustion tugging. We can’t let desire blind us to the threats swirling in the shadows.

Eventually, I drift into a light doze, half-ready to spring up if the wards flare.

In that twilight of consciousness, I recall the warmth of Lysandra’s skin, the taste of her lips, the desperation in our union.

Bad guys close in, but for a moment we found a measure of reprieve.

In the morning, we face the council, the farmland crisis, and the possibility of an assassin lurking in every dark corner.

I wonder if that single stolen moment might be the only solace we’ll ever share before the storm engulfs us.

I breathe, counting the seconds, letting the faint arcs of magic hum through the wards.

For now, Lysandra is safe. I cling to that thought like a shield against the looming uncertainties.

When dawn comes, we’ll step back into the political battlefield together—bound by uneasy alliance, a secret sirenborn power, and a raw, impossible connection neither of us can deny.