Page 4

“No.” I tap the parchment in front of me. “The lesser chamber is fine for now. I’ll speak with her again soon, see if she’s ready to be… cooperative.”

He studies me briefly, then nods. “I’ll ensure no one disturbs you.” Without further comment, he turns and exits, footsteps receding.

I gather my papers, thinking about Lysandra’s defiance.

A small, reckless part of me aches to see just how far she can push before she breaks.

Another part—more pragmatic—wonders if we can reach an agreement.

She doesn’t have to love me or my people, but if her goals align with my private ambitions…

well, there could be a mutually beneficial path.

Standing, I extinguish the torch. The corridor outside is lit well enough by mounted sconces.

My boots echo on the stone as I retrace my route, eventually arriving at a side door that leads toward the wing of the fortress where Lysandra is kept.

A pair of guards stiffen at my approach.

One glances at the chain coiled at his hip, as if expecting me to request it.

I shake my head and step past them without a word.

The hall beyond is narrow, flickering with subdued torchlight that gleams on polished black stone.

My footsteps slow as I near the wooden door with swirling runes etched along the frame.

I can hear faint rustling inside—movement, perhaps the scrape of a chair’s leg on the floor.

My hand hovers over the latch. I hesitate.

Normally, I’d stride in confidently. But something about Lysandra’s presence demands a more careful approach.

She’s dangerous in her own way, though it’s not necessarily physical strength that concerns me.

Her sharp tongue and unyielding spirit could rally others if given half a chance.

I exhale softly, remembering how she glared at me earlier. That gaze, filled with contempt, challenged me to do my worst. It’s rare that anyone dares confront me so openly, especially a mere human. Oddly enough, I admire it.

A smile twists my lips. I press down on the latch. The wards recognize my magical signature, allowing me entry without triggering any alarms or traps. The door opens on silent hinges, revealing a small chamber lit by a single torch bracketed on the wall.

She sits on a wooden chair, wrists still shackled together by a short chain.

Her dark hair—tangled, with streaks of dried blood—frames a face set in stubborn lines.

Storm-gray eyes snap to me the moment I enter, narrowing in open hostility.

I note the fresh bruise on her cheek, the tension in her posture.

The remains of a meal rest on the table nearby.

I shut the door behind me and move a few steps closer. “You’re awake.”

She snorts. “Hard to sleep when you expect a blade at your throat any second.”

I arch a brow, crossing my arms. “You’re at my mercy. If I wanted you dead, you would be.”

Her gaze flicks to the walls. “Maybe you enjoy the game too much to end it quickly.”

I don’t deny it. She’s not entirely wrong. “How are your wounds?” I ask, letting my eyes travel over her bruises. I note the scab on her forearm, and the stiffness in her left shoulder.

A bitter laugh escapes her. “Aw, so concerned. I’m touched.”

“You can be stubborn all you like. It won’t expedite your release.” I keep my voice quiet, measured, stepping around the table to stand opposite her.

She shakes her head, dark hair brushing her collarbone. “Release isn’t on the table, is it?”

“Perhaps.” My answer is intentionally vague. “Depends on your cooperation.”

She leans forward, manacles clanking. “Let me guess: you want the locations of any other rebel groups, details on how we coordinated our attacks, the names of my allies. Once you have that, you’ll kill me.” There’s no tremor in her voice, just cold anger.

I consider her words. “That’s what the council expects me to do.”

“Then why hesitate?” she demands, eyes narrowing. “Finish the job—like the rest of your kind would.”

I clasp my hands behind my back. “I don’t consider myself quite like the rest of my kind.”

Her gaze flicks over my arms, possibly noting the silver sigils. She’s sharp enough to guess I’m nobility. “You’re still a Dark Elf, still their prince.”

“An exiled prince,” I remind her, letting a hint of steel enter my tone. “Removed from my rightful position. I’m here as a matter of… necessity.”

She tilts her head, curiosity flickering across her features. “Exiled for what?”

A smile ghosts across my lips. “Disagreements with the council. Let’s leave it at that.”

She scoffs. “Sounds like you’re not as powerful as you pretend.”

That stings, though I refuse to show it. “Power can take many forms, Lysandra. The council’s brand of authority relies on fear and subjugation—particularly of humans. But there are other ways to influence outcomes.”

She looks unconvinced. “If you had real influence, you’d have your title back and wouldn’t be skulking around a fortress at the edge of the farmland.”

I inhale a slow breath, reigning in my temper. “You speak as though you understand our politics. Let me give you a simpler perspective: I can help you survive. In return, I want something.”

Her jaw clenches. “You want me to betray my people.”

“Not necessarily. I’d rather you redirect your efforts in a more… strategic manner. Your rebellion, as it stands, is doomed to fail. But if you had a powerful Dark Elf at your side, perhaps you could achieve some of your aims without being slaughtered in the process.”

She looks at me like I’ve sprouted horns. “You’re suggesting we work together?”

“If it suits my interests as well, yes.” I step nearer, resting a hand on the table’s edge.

“Imagine a scenario where humans are granted better conditions. Fewer whippings, more autonomy in the farmland. In exchange, they quietly produce the goods the council demands, without sabotage or revolt. Everyone benefits.”

Her nostrils flare in disbelief. “So you think we’ll settle for scraps of kindness? How gracious of you. We want freedom, not a slightly lighter chain.”

I hold her gaze. “Full freedom isn’t an option. Not yet. You must realize that. Our system is entrenched. A direct assault on Pyrthos will fail every time. But if we chip away at the foundation—subtly, from within—change might happen.”

She utters a humorless laugh. “And you’d be the one chipping away? The exiled prince who can’t even protect himself from his own court?”

My fists tighten behind my back. “Careful, Lysandra. I may tolerate your bluntness for now, but I’m not beyond retribution.”

She doesn’t flinch. For a moment, we lock eyes, tension humming between us. Then she leans back, exhaling. “Fine. Suppose I entertain this idea. What do you get out of it?”

I flex my shoulders, rolling out the tension.

“A foothold in Pyrthos. Right now, the council sees me as an inconvenience—useful for certain tasks, but unworthy of full reinstatement. If I can quell unrest while simultaneously consolidating the farmland’s loyalty, I might regain enough leverage to stand against them.

They’ll need me more than they fear me.”

Her expression becomes guarded. “Then you’d no longer be an exile.”

“Exactly.” The single word carries weight. It’s my path to regaining lost honor and forging a new power base.

She shifts in her seat, the chain rattling. “And once you’re restored, do you plan to tighten the yoke on humans again?”

I huff a short breath of amusement. “You’re quite cynical.”

“With good reason,” she mutters. “Dark Elves have lied before.”

I let a beat of silence stretch. “You’ll have to decide if I’m different.”

Her eyes narrow. “Or you’ll force me to comply?”

I meet her glare with my own unwavering stare. “If force was my intention, I’d have you in the torture chambers by now. Or tossed you to the council’s inquisitors.” I straighten up. “I’d prefer a willing arrangement, if that’s even possible.”

She studies me, wariness etched into every line of her posture. “For a moment, let’s say I believe you. How do I know you won’t hand me over the second I outlive my usefulness?”

“Trust is earned, not demanded,” I reply. “And yes, perhaps I’ll betray you if it suits me. Just as you might plunge a knife in my back if you get the chance.”

She smirks, the faintest curl of her lips. “You’re refreshingly honest, for a lord.”

“Honesty comes easily when both sides know the stakes.” I gesture at her manacles.

“Let me make this simpler: If you help me stabilize Pyrthos from the inside—tempering the rebellion enough to keep the council off my back while giving humans a better chance at survival—I’ll ensure your people aren’t slaughtered in mass purges.

That’s more than they’d get without my involvement. ”

She’s silent, likely weighing her options. When she finally speaks, her voice wavers between skepticism and reluctant curiosity. “You’re offering me a lesser evil for a glimmer of hope. I’m not sure if I hate you or admire the audacity.”

I shrug one shoulder. “Feel as you wish. The outcome remains the same.”

She exhales, glancing away. A moment passes, the quiet broken only by the sputter of the torch.

I sense the conflict roiling within her—self-preservation warring with loyalty to her cause.

Perhaps she wonders if she can manipulate me as well, turning my plan against the council.

The possibility that we might be using each other in a precarious dance doesn’t bother me.

If it yields the result I want, so be it.

Eventually, she looks at me again. “I’ll need time to think. I don’t trust you. I don’t even like you.”

“That’s fair,” I say calmly. “I don’t need your affection, just your cooperation.”

She tenses, as if remembering her injuries. “Then at least allow me to recover properly. I won’t be much help if I’m half-dead.”