Page 44

I nod, tracing a pattern in the stream with my fingertips. “No rest for the wicked?” My attempt at humor falls flat.

He offers a weary smirk. “We’ll rest eventually. For now, we survive.”

Silence envelops us, broken by the soft murmur of orchard fighters tending their animals.

I watch the water swirl around my hand. So much has changed in such a short time—less than a moon cycle ago, I was a rebel with a battered band, fleeing into the orchard wilderness.

Now I lead orchard enclaves side by side and accompanied by a Dark Elf prince, forging a fragile alliance built on illusions and enthrallment.

It’s terrifying how quickly life can twist.

I realize something in that reflection: I can’t leave Xelith behind.

He’s sacrificed everything for me, not just once but again and again.

If I were to slip away, thinking to spare him from the council’s wrath, it would only tear our tenuous unity apart.

He staked his claim with me in the orchard stable, in the halls of Pyrthos, in every battle we fought. We’re bound by more than necessity now.

My breath shivers with emotion. “I’ve been meaning to say… I’m not going anywhere,” I blurt, turning to face him fully.

He tilts his head, a quizzical arch to his brow. “I never assumed you would.”

A shaky laugh escapes me. “No, I mean… I know I could slip away, hide among orchard enclaves, let you handle the brunt of the council’s retaliation. But I won’t. I won’t even consider it.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. He exhales, shoulders sagging with relief. “I suppose part of me worried you might vanish, thinking you’d spare me the trouble.”

I look away, cheeks warming. “The thought crossed my mind weeks ago, when we were first forging this alliance. But not now. We stand as equals. If the council hunts you, they hunt me as well.”

He shifts closer, fingers curling lightly around mine.

“That means more than I can say.” Then he glances around at the orchard fighters, the battered Dark Elves conferring near the ravine’s edge.

“They see it, too—that you and I are united beyond mere strategy. That bond might be the only reason they trust us to keep them safe.”

A hush falls between us. I let the tension in my spine unwind fractionally, leaning my head on his shoulder. He’s warm despite the dusty leathers and the lingering odor of battle. My pulse steadies. I’m not alone. The siren guilt, the illusions, even enthrallment—he understands, and he accepts me.

Moments later, Takar strides over, clearing his throat. We straighten, though Xelith keeps a reassuring hand on my back. Takar’s expression is grim. “My prince, we found fresh footprints. They lead south, too, but from the size of them, it might be a scout party from the fortress.”

Xelith’s jaw tightens. “We move immediately, then. We can’t let them corner us here.” He glances at me. “Can you ride?”

I manage a curt nod, though my limbs protest. We’ve no choice. Takar departs, relaying the order to break camp. Within minutes, orchard rebels gather their wounded, loyal Dark Elves mount up, and we file out of the ravine, forging a winding path deeper into farmland territory.

The day blurs into a relentless journey.

By noon, the sun beats down mercilessly, gnats swirling in the air.

We pass orchard groves scorched by old council raids, fields left untended after the farmland workers fled.

My chest squeezes at the sight. All this devastation, just to feed the council’s greed.

Occasionally, orchard enclaves come out of hiding, offering a handful of supplies or a place to rest, but we seldom linger.

We can’t risk staying in one spot for too long, not while outriders might be tracking us.

Some enclaves join our group, swelling our numbers with fresh faces—tired farmers who pick up scythes as makeshift weapons.

The sense of unity humbles me. We truly are forging a new future, a ragtag army of those refusing to bow.

Evening approaches, and a hush settles. The orchard rebels exchange worried glances, likely recalling the horrors of the Great Hall.

My illusions and enthrallment saved many lives, but they also highlight how precarious our victory was.

We can’t rely on that alone for every fight.

My magic is limited, my siren voice exacts a terrible toll.

We need something more sustainable—organization, strategy, hope.

Eventually, Xelith halts the column near a cluster of ancient oaks.

Nightfall creeps in, painting the sky a bruised purple.

Guards set watch, orchard rebels scrounge for kindling, and we make a small, discreet fire in a hollow between root tangles.

Flickering flames illuminate the exhausted faces around me: Tali tending a battered orchard fighter, Takar polishing his blade, and a pair of Dark Elves dividing rations.

Xelith stands a short distance away, speaking quietly with a group of orchard elders.

I watch him from my spot by the fire, something warm fluttering in my chest. He’s orchestrating how best to distribute supplies, ensuring orchard families get enough to eat, that the wounded are not neglected.

This man, once an exiled noble prince scornful of humans, is now championing them.

My chest tightens with gratitude and a pang of longing. I push to my feet, ignoring the throb in my legs. The orchard elders disperse, leaving Xelith alone. He notices me approaching, a faint, tired smile lighting his features.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, tone laced with concern.

“Better than I was,” I admit, voice soft. “Though I might collapse if we push another day like this without rest.”

He nods, scanning the orchard fighters. “We’ll set a proper camp soon, one we can defend. If the outriders come, we’ll be ready.”

A hush envelops us, broken only by the crackle of the small fire.

For a moment, I study his face—bruised cheek, shadows under his eyes, war sigils partially obscured by grime.

My heart thrums with a mix of empathy and raw affection.

He sacrificed everything—throne, comfort, safety—to stand with me.

I recall the orchard stable, the orchard illusions, how he never faltered.

I step closer, reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm. “Xelith,” I begin, voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “I don’t know if I ever truly thanked you. For refusing to hand me over to the council when it would’ve been so easy. For standing by me, even when it cost you your inheritance.”

He lifts his free hand, covering mine. The warmth of his touch seeps through me. “We stand or fall together,” he murmurs, repeating the oath we’ve shared a hundred times. Then, voice tight with feeling, he adds, “I’m certain of that.”

A swirl of fierce protectiveness and love surges in me, almost overwhelming.

I want to fling my arms around him, bury my face in his chest, let the orchard rebels see that we are more than allies.

But I hold back. We have many eyes on us, and though none would truly mind, I sense that Xelith might prefer a moment of privacy for any deeper show of affection.

Still, I slip my hand in his, interlocking our fingers. “I won’t leave you,” I whisper, eyes gleaming with resolve. “Ever. If the entire council hunts us to the edges of Protheka, I’m at your side.”

He exhales, relief and tenderness softening his features. “I was afraid, once, that you’d slip away to spare me. Or that you’d realize how dangerous it is, staying with me. But hearing you say that… it means everything.”

I tighten my grip, lips curving in a quiet smile. “We face the future as partners, Xelith. Nothing less.”

Satisfied, he dips his head, pressing a brief kiss to my knuckles.

Warmth floods my face. Our orchard watchers politely avert their eyes, though I notice a few orchard rebels exchanging subtle smiles.

Let them see. This bond is no secret. If we are to unify humans and Dark Elves, our unity must be visible.

Night fully descends, the stars scattered in the velvet sky.

Our people eat a meager supper, settle around the small fire for warmth.

The orchard rebels stand closer to the exiled Dark Elves than I ever thought possible, sharing stories of old farmland battles, cursing the council’s tyranny.

A fragile camaraderie grows among them, nurtured by the shared victory at Pyrthos.

My illusions and Xelith’s shadows remain uncast now, letting the night’s calm reign.

We set a rotation for watch. Takar insists I rest, pointing out how much magic I expended enthralling the fortress guards. Xelith agrees, guiding me gently to a spot near the fire, where he lays out a cloak as a makeshift bed. My cheeks warm at the gesture, but my body is too drained to protest.

I curl up on the cloak, eyes drifting shut.

Over the crackle of flames, I hear orchard rebels discussing how different everything feels—how they never thought to see a Dark Elf noble champion their cause.

Another voice wonders if the council will regroup, possibly sending a legion to crush us.

A pang of dread ripples through me. We can’t dwell on that tonight.

I am exhausted. Sleep claims me swiftly.

—

I awaken hours later, the fire reduced to embers.

Soft starlight illuminates the orchard clearing.

My back aches, and my illusions swirl faintly in my half-asleep mind, vestiges of a dream where I enthrall armies with a single word.

I jolt upright, breath catching. It’s just a dream.

The orchard fighters remain slumbering around me, Takar stands watch on the perimeter, and Xelith is absent. My heart skips. Where is he?