Page 45

Quietly, I push to my feet, padding away from the sleeping forms. I find him a short distance from the clearing, perched on a fallen log, gazing at the moonlit farmland. Shadows swirl faintly around his hands, a sign he’s lost in thought or wrestling with emotion.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask softly, stepping up behind him.

He glances over his shoulder, letting the shadows dissipate. “Not really,” he admits, voice hoarse with fatigue. “Too many ghosts in my head.”

I settle beside him on the log, knees brushing his. The orchard hushes around us, trees rustling in a midnight breeze. “I know what you mean,” I confess. “I keep seeing the fortress halls, the enthralled guards, the terror in their eyes.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I recall Kalthos’s staff, Sharavel’s final curses… We’ve stepped beyond any hope of returning to the old ways. We’re truly outcasts.”

A lump forms in my throat. Yes, we are. “I can’t regret it,” I say, voice quivering. “Not when the farmland stands freer for it. But it weighs on me.”

He nods. “We’ll carry the cost. But we’ll also shape a new reality for those orchard enclaves who still cower.” Slowly, he lifts his gaze to mine, silver eyes reflecting starlight. “And I have no regrets about choosing you.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I feel the same,” I whisper. Then, my breath hitches. “I was so scared you’d see me as monstrous after that final enthrallment. That you’d decide the council was right about me.”

He shakes his head, reaching to clasp my hand. “Never. I saw a woman who’d do whatever it took to save her people—our people, now. I saw you wield your power for defense, not cruelty.”

Relief and gratitude flood me, words caught in my throat. I squeeze his hand, letting silence carry the weight of our emotions. The orchard’s hush surrounds us, wind rustling leaves overhead.

After a moment, he slides closer on the log, leaning in until our shoulders touch. “We won’t let them recast us as villains,” he murmurs, a quiet intensity in his voice. “They’ll try, but the orchard enclaves know the truth. We fought for them, not for power.”

I nod, blinking away tears. Warmth spreads through my chest at his closeness. He’s not a typical Dark Elf noble, not anymore—he’s an exiled prince who laid everything on the line for an impossible dream: that humans and Dark Elves can stand side by side, free from chains.

His gaze flicks to my mouth, and my pulse flutters. Even now, battered and exhausted, a flicker of desire stirs. But I quell it, acknowledging the hour, the battered state of our people. “We should rest,” I murmur, voice thick. “Tomorrow, we continue south to find safer ground.”

He exhales, a ghost of a laugh. “Yes. Sleep is wise.”

Yet neither of us moves, bound by an unspoken need to reaffirm our bond.

Gently, he raises our joined hands, pressing my knuckles to his lips in a fleeting kiss.

The simple gesture sends a soothing tingle through me.

He glances away, cheeks flushing faintly in the moonlight.

Even after everything, he can still be shy in these quiet moments.

The thought warms me more than the fire ever could.

Finally, we rise, returning to the dying embers of the camp.

He helps me find a new spot by the logs, draping his cloak over my shoulders.

A few orchard rebels watch with tired smiles, sensing the unbreakable partnership we share.

Let them. We stand as the pillar of this alliance, and if our closeness gives them hope, so be it.

I curl up beneath the cloak, Xelith settling close enough that I can hear his steady breathing. My eyelids droop again, exhaustion claiming me. But before I drift off, I press my palm against his, tangling our fingers. He squeezes back.

I cannot leave him behind. The vow echoes in my mind, guiding me into a restless sleep.

No matter how the council hunts us, no matter if the orchard enclaves splinter, I’ll remain at Xelith’s side.

He’s sacrificed his throne, his noble standing, even the acceptance of his own people to ensure my freedom. I won’t repay him with abandonment.

I slip into slumber, comforted by the warmth of his hand in mine, knowing that come morning, we’ll face the road ahead as one—haunted by what we did, but unyielding in our pursuit of a world free from the fortress’s iron grasp.

Sunlight breaks over the orchard clearing, rousing us to another day of flight.

My illusions remain dormant, my siren voice quiet, but the orchard rebels bustle around me, packing up.

Takar coordinates watch rotations with a Dark Elf soldier.

A sense of cautious optimism permeates the camp; we defied the council and survived.

For the first time in memory, orchard enclaves speak openly about forging a new territory far from the fortress’s reach.

Xelith finds me near the makeshift cooking fire, a battered pot of stew simmering. “We ride soon,” he says, voice still husky from sleep. “Are you well enough?”

I roll a tense shoulder. “I’ll manage. As long as we’re not forced into illusions or enthrallment again today.”

He nods, lips pressing into a tight line. “We’ll avoid confrontation if we can.”

We share a bowl of thin stew, quiet under the orchard’s rustling leaves.

My gaze drifts to the orchard rebels, noticing the bandaged limbs and the fatigue etched into their faces.

We’ve lost friends in the Great Hall, and many more are wounded.

Even so, they muster what courage remains, glancing at me with hesitant respect.

Some even smile, murmuring thanks for how illusions and enthrallment turned the tide.

The praise feels hollow, but I accept it, aware that it helps keep morale afloat.

Once we’re ready, Takar signals our departure.

Horses whicker, orchard rebels hoist supplies, and we set off, forging a winding route that keeps us away from main roads.

An uneasy hush blankets us, each step reminding us we’re fugitives.

But the orchard enclaves follow, spurred by the chance for a freer life.

They trust that Xelith and I can lead them to something better than the fortress’s tyranny.

I ride near Xelith, scanning the horizon for any sign of outriders. The farmland stretches wide, dotted with abandoned farmsteads. Crows circle overhead, a macabre reminder of the council’s repeated raids. Now, perhaps, we can reclaim these fields—if we can avoid their hunters.

Sometime before noon, we crest a ridge overlooking a broad valley.

Hills roll in the distance, blanketed with orchard trees.

A hush falls as orchard rebels gather, marveling at the expanse.

We can see no fortress in sight, no looming spires.

Just open farmland and the promise of a new life, if we can seize it.

“This might be where we settle,” Xelith murmurs, guiding his horse alongside mine. He’s pitched his voice so only I hear. “We can send scouting parties, build small fortifications. The council will come eventually, but at least we’re not pinned against a fortress wall.”

I nod, exhaling a soft sigh. “It’s beautiful. Peaceful.” My heart aches, thinking of how ephemeral that peace might be. “Do you truly think we can keep them from storming in?”

His gaze hardens with resolve. “We can’t promise a perfect sanctuary, but we can rally orchard enclaves to defend it. Some orchard rebels suggest building watchtowers, forging alliances with neighboring territories. They might stand a chance at a life free from constant subjugation.”

A flicker of hope ignites in me, battling the persistent guilt and exhaustion. Maybe this truly is the start of something beyond endless flight. We overcame the fortress’s might. We can carve out a free orchard territory if we hold firm.

My thoughts swirl, drawn back to the vow I made last night: not to leave him.

I catch myself thinking if he dreams of returning to the fortress, claiming the Vaeranthe name once more.

But seeing him here, speaking of orchard watchtowers and farmland unity, I realize he’s let go of that old life for good.

He stands with me, forging a new identity among humans and exiled Dark Elves.

We descend the ridge, orchard rebels fanning out to find water sources, possible camp spots.

The orchard’s hush grows deeper, the trees’ thick canopies sheltering us from the scorching midday sun.

At intervals, I hear orchard fighters murmuring about building huts, planting new fields. My chest swells with cautious optimism.

Xelith and I dismount near a small stream winding through the orchard floor.

We tether our horses, then walk side by side along the bank, the hush laced with birdsong.

I recall the stable from weeks past, the orchard illusions we shaped, the stolen intimacy that solidified our bond.

Now we stand on the brink of forging a real home for countless souls.

As we stroll, my gaze lingers on him—tall, obsidian-skinned, white-silver hair braided neatly, violet eyes flecked with quiet determination. He senses my attention and turns, a question in his expression. I manage a small smile, though nerves tighten my belly.

“I just can’t believe we’re here,” I admit softly. “Not cowering in the fortress cells, not pinned under the council’s blade. We’re… free, in a sense. On the run, but free.”

He nods, threading his fingers through mine. “It’s surreal for me as well. I never thought to lead anything outside the fortress, let alone orchard enclaves side by side with a human. But this is more fulfilling than any hollow nobility the council offered.”

A surge of affection swells in my chest. I halt, pulling him to a stop under the shade of a gnarled apple tree. The orchard hush encloses us, the breeze rustling leaves. “Xelith,” I murmur, voice trembling with emotion I can’t fully name. “Thank you— for everything.”