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We travel for an hour or more, the farmland unfolding under moonlit fields. The night air carries the scent of turned soil and distant crops, so different from the fortress’s sterile corridors. Eventually, we halt near a small orchard, dismounting to rest the horses.

Xelith’s men fan out, establishing a perimeter.

The hush of night wraps around us. Xelith and I find a spot beneath an ancient orchard tree, its twisted branches forming a sparse canopy overhead.

I sink to the ground, exhaustion weighing on me.

He settles beside me, posture tense, scanning the darkness for threats.

After a while, he speaks softly. “Tomorrow, we approach the enclaves again—this time as outcasts ourselves. Maybe they’ll see reason.”

I nod, turning to him. “What if they refuse? They blame me for associating with you. They might see us both as liars.”

He grimaces. “We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it. If they remain hostile, we… keep searching for enclaves that will join us in resisting the council.”

Silence lingers, pregnant with all the uncertainties. My gaze drifts to him, moonlight tracing the silver in his hair, the hardened lines of his jaw. The memory of his raw fury as he broke into that chamber resonates still. He truly risked everything.

Cautiously, I lay a hand on his forearm, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He meets my eyes, something like sadness flickering there. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice unsteady. “For doubting you. For nearly getting myself killed. For… so many things.”

He closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. “I have my own apologies to make. I pushed you into corners, demanded your compliance, withheld trust.”

We remain there, a fragile peace settling between us. My heart clenches with the enormity of what we face. The council’s wrath, the farmland’s fragile trust, my sirenblood secret. But in this stolen moment under an orchard tree, we find a wordless understanding.

At length, I speak again, voice hushed. “So we’re teaming up for real now? No more half-lies or threats?”

A faint, wry smile tugs at his mouth. “Yes, Lysandra. We stand or fall together. I’d hoped to avoid open rebellion against my own people, but they forced my hand.” He lifts a hand, brushing back a strand of my hair. The gentle motion sends shivers through me.

My throat tightens. “If you hadn’t come…” I can’t finish the sentence, the memory of that cell too raw.

He cups my cheek, voice low. “I’ll always come for you. Even if it destroys me.”

Tears prick my eyes. I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. Our breaths mingle, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the world fades. We have no fortress left to confine us, no illusions of appeasing a corrupted council. Just two souls bound by necessity and something dangerously close to love.

He leans in, lips ghosting over mine with a trembling exhalation. I sink into the brief kiss, letting it reaffirm the fragile bond we share. A flicker of warmth surges, banishing the chill of night. Then we draw apart, acknowledging that duty and danger overshadow everything else.

I shift, forcing a steadier tone. “Tomorrow, we approach the enclaves. We prove that I’m not your prisoner, that I stand willingly at your side. If they believe that, maybe we can unify them enough to repel the council’s retribution.”

Xelith inclines his head, eyes shadowed with wariness. “Yes. The council will rally an army soon. We must gain every ally possible. If your illusions—” He hesitates, swallowing. “Your siren voice might also tip the scales if carefully used. But it’s risky.”

My stomach clenches, recalling how enthrallment nearly triggered panic among the guards. “I’ll be careful. But if it comes to that, I’ll do what I must to protect us both.”

His jaw sets. “We’ll find a path. Or we’ll carve one.”

Silence envelops us again. The orchard’s leaves rustle softly in the night breeze. I rest my head against his shoulder, exhaustion tugging at me. Despite the danger, a fragile hope glimmers. He came for me. He chose me over his people. Now we stand on the precipice of forging a new fate.

Eventually, he helps me stand, guiding me to where his men set up a makeshift camp.

They greet me with guarded respect—some uneasy, some acknowledging my role.

We’re all outcasts now. I sink onto a bedroll under the sky, close to where Xelith sits scanning the darkness.

Sleep creeps in on silent wings, lulled by the knowledge that, for once, I’m not alone.

Before my eyes fully close, I catch a glimpse of Xelith. He’s angled toward me, posture tense, dagger resting across his knees. Our gazes meet in the faint moonlight. I offer the barest nod, a silent promise that I won’t run again. He nods back, exhaling softly.

I drift off, clinging to the sense of unity that’s formed amid destruction.

If Xelith and I are to survive, if we are to break the council’s hold, we must stand together.

No more half-measures or forced captivity.

In the morning, we’ll approach the farmland enclaves as equals.

If they accept us, we have a chance. If not, I’ll enthrall or fight my way out.

Because I refuse to be caged again, and I refuse to let him face the council’s wrath alone.

Yes, I’m sirenborn, a rebel, and he’s a disgraced prince. But for tonight, in this orchard under a canopy of stars, we forge a bond that neither council threat nor ill fate can easily sever. And if that bond spells war for Protheka, so be it. We’ve made our decision.