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Xelith’s gaze flicks to me, pinned by shackles, exhaustion etched in my features. Something fierce flashes in his eyes—an apologetic fury. He raises a hand. “I haven’t failed. I have enclaves on the cusp of surrender. We only need more time.”

Kalthos folds his arms. “Time is up. And she’s ours.”

“Over my dead body,” Xelith growls, stepping between them and me. The crossbow guard fidgets, uncertain whom to aim at.

My breath hitches. He’s chosen me over them. Over his own security. A pang of gratitude mingles with raw fear.

Nyrus smirks. “If you defy the council’s decree, you become a traitor in truth. Are you prepared for that?”

Xelith’s jaw clenches. “If defending Lysandra from your cruelty makes me traitor, so be it.” He levels a dagger at the guard holding the crossbow. “Let her go. Now.”

A heartbeat of charged silence. The guard glances at Kalthos, who offers no help, then sets the crossbow aside and steps back.

The second guard hesitates, eyes flicking from Xelith’s lethal stance to Nyrus’s glare.

Finally, he unlocks the manacles with trembling hands, freeing my wrists.

I sag against the table, massaging the bruised skin.

Nyrus hisses. “You fool, Vaeranthe. The entire council will rally against you for this.”

Xelith squares his shoulders, voice cold. “Let them. I’d rather face them openly than cower behind half-truths. You kidnapped my captive—my ally —out of turn.”

My chest tightens at the word ally. Despite everything, he’s claiming me as a partner, not just a tool.

Kalthos looks ready to explode. “Arrogant child. Siding with a rebel, defying the council’s timeline… you’ll regret this.”

Xelith doesn’t reply, but his posture bristles with unyielding resolve. I glance at him, emotion clogging my throat. He truly came—no half measures, no hidden ploy. He’s risking his status, maybe his life.

I push away from the table, stepping beside him. My body trembles, but I straighten my spine. “You want a fight, Kalthos? Or do you want to let us walk out of here?” My voice remains tight, controlled. If I slip into enthrallment mode, they might all turn on me at once.

Nyrus curses, hand inching toward a blade. Kalthos looks prepared to unleash magical wards. Tension crackles, each side coiled for combat. Xelith’s men shift behind him, waiting for a signal. My heart pounds. We need to escape before the entire fortress converges.

Xelith, reading the same danger, murmurs to me, “Stay close. We’ll carve a path out.”

I nod. Our eyes meet, a silent confirmation that we’re in this together now, truly. My chest aches with an odd mixture of relief and longing. He chose me.

Xelith gestures to his guards. “We’re leaving. Anyone who stands in our way is fair game.”

Kalthos’s face purples with fury. “You dare!” He lunges, conjuring a dagger from beneath his cloak. His attempt is rash. Xelith swats the blade aside with lightning speed, reversing momentum to knock Kalthos off balance. The older lord staggers back, colliding with Nyrus, who hisses in annoyance.

A flash of steel slices the air, courtesy of one of Xelith’s men. The crossbow guard topples with a cry. My pulse races. This is happening so fast— a full-blown confrontation with council loyalists.

Xelith grabs my hand, pulling me behind him as we rush toward the door. Nyrus tries to block us, but a swirl of shadow magic wreathes Xelith’s free arm, flaring like living darkness. Nyrus recoils, shouting in alarm. We burst through the threshold and into the hallway.

Alarms echo from the fortress’s wards, likely triggered by the breach of official lines. Torchlight flickers overhead as we sprint past startled courtiers. Some raise their voices in alarm, others scramble out of the way. My bare wrists sting from the manacles, but I push on, ignoring the pain.

A small cadre of Xelith’s loyal guards forms a protective wedge around us, dispatching any soldier who tries to intervene. We twist through unfamiliar corridors, heading—where? I have no idea, but I trust Xelith to find an exit.

Breath comes in gasps. The thunder of pursuit grows behind us. A crossbow bolt whizzes overhead, embedding in a tapestry. I flinch, stumbling. Xelith yanks me upright, determination etched on his face. “Not much farther,” he mutters.

We round a corner, encountering a set of wide double doors.

Wards flicker. Xelith mutters an incantation, pressing his hand against the runes.

The doors groan open, revealing a side courtyard with stables.

The crisp night air hits me, stinging my sweat-damp skin.

Night? I must’ve been unconscious for a day or more.

Stable hands gawk as we race in, brandishing weapons. One of Xelith’s guards yells, “Make way for the prince!” The stable hands balk, uncertain. Xelith seizes a horse’s reins, tossing me up with a swift motion. He mounts another, barking orders for the rest of his men to follow.

Hooves clatter on cobblestones as we gallop out of the courtyard, a swirl of yells echoing behind us. My heart pounds, realization dawning that we’re truly fleeing the fortress now, forging an alliance that defies the entire council. Xelith is choosing open rebellion.

We thunder through the side gate, the wards sputtering in protest. A few crossbow-wielding guards attempt to stop us, but Xelith’s loyalists scatter them.

Beyond the gate, the city sprawls under starry skies, torches marking major thoroughfares.

Shouts ring out as we dash by confused night patrols, hoofbeats echoing in cramped alleys.

At last, we break free into the outskirts, the farmland’s silhouette rising in the moonlight. Only once we’re miles beyond the city walls does Xelith slow the pace, guiding the horses onto a dim side track. My lungs burn, every muscle thrumming with adrenaline.

We halt near a copse of twisted trees. The night air hums with insects and distant farm creatures. Xelith dismounts, breath ragged. I slide off my horse, knees shaky. A swirl of conflicting emotions hits me: disbelief, relief, a wild surge of gratitude. He came. He risked everything.

Loyal guards cluster around, equally out of breath. One says, “My prince, we’ve lost two men in the escape. The rest followed the direct route.”

Xelith closes his eyes, pain flickering across his face. “We’ll honor them. For now, we must keep moving.”

I step forward, voice hoarse. “Thank you.” The words feel inadequate. “I… truly thought you’d abandon me when they took me.”

His gaze meets mine, silver eyes reflecting the moonlight.

“I nearly lost track of you. The council orchestrated that farce in the farmland, capturing you while my men fought. I had to track you through half the fortress.” His voice cracks with suppressed anger. “I wasn’t sure I’d reach you in time.”

Emotion surges. My chest tightens, tears threatening. “You still came. Why?”

He exhales, stepping closer, ignoring the curious gazes of his guards.

“Because I can’t let them have you,” he admits, low and intense.

“Not after everything. Not after… this.” A flicker of vulnerability shows, referencing the bond we can’t deny—our raw alliance, the nights of forced proximity and that single desperate intimacy.

My heart clenches painfully. “But your throne—your status with the council?—”

He shakes his head, features taut with resignation. “I choose you over that wretched seat.” The words hang, stunning me. “I might lose everything, but I refuse to deliver you to their inquisition.”

Tremors shake my hands. I stare at him, this proud, calculating Dark Elf prince who now stands on the brink of betraying his entire system for me, a sirenborn human rebel. The weight of it steals my breath. Slowly, I lift a trembling hand, brushing fingertips against his cheek.

He leans into the touch, eyes closing briefly. “So we run. We gather any loyalists who remain, maybe attempt to unify the farmland enclaves against the council’s eventual retaliation. But there’s no turning back.”

A swirl of relief and fear churns in me. “So we truly break with them?”

He nods, stepping so close I feel the warmth of his breath. “Yes, Lysandra. After tonight, the council labels me a traitor. We’re fugitives in our own land.”

I release a shaky laugh. “I never imagined forging an alliance with a Dark Elf royal on the run.”

A wry smile curves his lips. “Nor did I imagine risking everything for a rebel siren who set half my fortress ablaze with illusions.”

Despite the darkness, a flicker of humor threads between us, momentarily easing the tension. Then reality crashes back. We have no home, no formal allies. The farmland enclaves might not accept Xelith, and the council hunts us with lethal determination.

One of his guards clears his throat. “My prince, we can’t linger. If the council dispatches a cavalry, they’ll find us.”

Xelith inclines his head, still holding my gaze. “Let’s move.” He raises his voice to address the group, about a dozen soldiers left. “We head south, to the deeper farmland. We’ll rally those enclaves. If they see Lysandra truly free and allied with me, maybe we can forge a better stand.”

A murmur of agreement—some uncertain, some resolute.

We mount up again. This time, Xelith pulls me onto his horse in front of him, arms bracketing me.

My cheeks warm at the closeness, but no one comments.

The group rides off, hooves pounding softly on a secluded dirt path that leads away from the city’s glow.

As the fortress lights vanish behind us, a potent wave of emotion wells in my chest. I’m free of that dungeon, free from the council’s immediate grasp.

The chain is gone, replaced by the strong circle of Xelith’s arms. My head spins with everything we face next.

But for now… I let myself savor the relief of this moment.