Page 51

XELITH

I stand at the edge of an ancient clearing bathed in moonlight, my breath catching at the quiet beauty of it all.

Smooth boulders ring a pool of clear water, which glimmers beneath the soft glow of the night sky.

Tall, gnarled trees, reminiscent of the orchard groves where we first found shelter, loom overhead.

Their leaves rustle in the late-summer breeze, as though whispering approval of the bond Lysandra and I have just forged.

My mind drifts back to the ceremony that took place only hours ago in our subterranean refuge—where the orchard rebels and my exiled Dark Elves witnessed our soul-binding.

Even now, my skin tingles with the lingering sensations of that merging: the orchard dust spiraling in the water, Lysandra’s illusions dancing around us like living ribbons of light, and the silver cords we tied around each other’s wrists.

The faint hum of our newly entwined magic pulses in my veins, a living reminder that we stand as one, illusions and shadows forever bound.

Despite the hush of the clearing, my heart races.

The orchard enclaves are celebrating back in the caverns, feasting on whatever meager fare they could gather to honor us.

But Lysandra and I slipped away, leaving Takar to manage the festivities.

We needed solitude—a space to breathe, to let the magnitude of our vow settle in.

This clearing, discovered by one of the orchard scouts, called to us.

Sheltered by trees and a glimmering pool, it feels almost sacred.

I wait, half lost in thought, scanning the rippling water. My shadows coil, subdued but present. A faint sense of her illusions tugs at me through the bond, and I realize: Lysandra is near.

At that moment, she steps from the tree line, wrapped in a cloak of soft gray cloth.

The moonlight catches on her hair—raven-black in the day, but now shimmering with silver threads.

She glances around the clearing, then finds me with her gaze.

My chest constricts with tenderness and awe, my eyes lingering on the cords looped around her wrist.

“Xelith,” she says, voice low, almost reverent. “I— I needed a moment alone, but I realized I want it with you.” She glances at the water, then back at me. “Thank you for waiting.”

I smile, setting aside the mild worry that had blossomed while she was gone.

“Always,” I reply, crossing the grass to meet her.

The silence of the orchard illusions flutters around her shoulders, a shimmering aura that frames her in moonlit radiance.

I want to reach out and touch that glow, to lose myself in the quiet magic that is now partly mine.

She steps into my arms, pressing her cheek to my chest. The cords on our wrists brush, a subtle spark jumping between them—my shadows and her illusions melding in that intangible thread of power.

I inhale the scent of orchard dust that clings to her hair, remembering how she looked during the vow: courageous, tearful, unwavering.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” she murmurs, face turned up to mine. “This bond… it’s not just symbolic. I sense your presence inside me, like a second heartbeat.”

My throat tightens with the truth of it. “Yes,” I whisper. “It’s breathtaking, and—” I laugh shakily, “—a little terrifying.”

She nods, illusions flickering around her fingertips.

“Terrifying, and wonderful. I wanted to talk in private because… I can’t stop thinking about how everything changes.

We’re still fugitives, yes, but we have this new power—this new unity.

And I don’t want the orchard enclaves’ eyes on us for a while. I want you, only you.”

Her words heat my blood. Despite the hush of the clearing and the swirl of orchard illusions, a raw desire floods me.

We’ve shared intimacy before—moments fueled by desperation and relief.

But tonight, under the moon after sealing our souls together, the desire feels different: calmer, deeper, tinged with an exquisite tenderness.

I brush my fingers along her cheek, letting my thumb linger at her jawline. “We can set aside the rest of the world for now,” I say softly. “They’ll manage without us for an hour or two.”

She exhales a laugh, leaning into my touch. “An hour or two. That’s all we’re allowed?”

“Maybe more,” I tease, pressing my forehead to hers. The orchard illusions flutter in response, drifting like faint starlight across the grass. My shadows murmur at the tips of my perception, stirred by our closeness.

Her lashes flutter, and her eyes find mine. “Then let’s claim this clearing,” she whispers, voice trembling with the intensity that always draws me in.

My heart thuds. I take her hand, leading her closer to the water’s edge. The moon reflects in the pool’s surface, shimmering in time with the illusions she unconsciously conjures. The watchers are far behind us, no prying gazes, no responsibilities for a few precious moments. We are free here.

She unfastens the cloak, letting it slide from her shoulders.

My breath catches as soon as I see her in the moonlight—her tunic and leggings cast aside soon after, revealing the soft lines of her body.

Scars and bruises mark her skin, reminders of battles we’ve fought, but they do nothing to diminish her beauty.

If anything, they deepen my admiration: she is no helpless captive but a siren warrior who stands proudly by my side.

She steps closer, illusions weaving around her ankles, trailing in the pool’s shallows. I realize she intends for us to slip into the water. A thrill courses through me. I can do that. She’s never asked, but perhaps the quiet hush of the illusions calls her to this watery hush as well.

I tug off my own leathers, the cords around my wrist glinting with each motion.

A faint reminder that what we do is no mere indulgence but the consummation of a vow that binds more than flesh.

Her eyes never leave me, her breath hitching slightly as I shed the last barrier.

Then we stand, bare under the moon’s silver glow, orchard illusions dancing in lazy ribbons around our ankles.

She reaches for me. I take her hand, guiding us both into the pool.

The water is cool but not frigid, a gentle embrace.

It laps at our waists, refracting the moonlight.

My shadows slip in as well, a faint swirl of darkness along the surface.

She laughs softly, illusions meeting them halfway in a swirl of luminescent shapes that skitter across the water.

We drift closer, arms circling each other.

She tilts her head, wet hair trailing along her shoulders.

Our eyes lock—soul-bound. My chest constricts with an aching tenderness that begs release.

I lower my face, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her lips.

She returns it, mouth warm and eager, illusions flaring around us in shimmering arcs.

A quiet moan slips from her as our kiss deepens.

My shadows ripple in the water, the orchard illusions weaving between them.

Our vow’s magic resonates in my chest, a pulse that throbs with each beat of my heart.

I feel her presence so vividly, as though her soul touches mine beneath the surface.

She grips my shoulders, breath hitching, and I slide my hands along her waist, pulling her flush against me.

A hush envelops the clearing. The only sounds are our ragged breathing, the soft ripple of water, the distant hum of orchard insects.

With trembling care, I brush my lips along her jaw, traveling down her neck, tasting the faint salt of her skin.

She gasps, illusions brightening like a comet’s tail.

The sight of them stirs me, reminds me that we share more than desire—we share power and trust.

“Xelith,” she murmurs, voice low and unsteady. “I want this… I want you… so much.”

Emotion surges in me, mingling with raw lust. “I’m yours,” I rasp, kissing a line across her collarbone. My shadows swirl, dark ribbons meeting her illusions in playful spirals. “Always.”

She clings to me, nails scraping lightly over my shoulders.

The water sloshes around our hips. I’m reminded of the orchard stable, the final confrontation, the battered path that led us here.

Everything feels so distant now, overshadowed by the intimacy of this moment.

Our souls are one, yet we still hunger for the physical connection that cements it.

Gently, I shift her stance, guiding her further into the pool until she’s submerged to her waist. She wraps her legs around my hips, arms hooking around my neck.

We float together, bodies pressed in a slow, sinuous motion that banishes the last chill of the water.

I tilt her face up, capturing her lips again.

The kiss deepens, turning molten. My heart thunders.

She arches against me, illusions flashing in pulses that reflect her rising need.

My shadows tighten around our joined forms, an embrace of living magic.

I sense her heartbeat, rapid and fierce, echoing in my own chest through the newly formed bond.

The orchard illusions seem to sing with every touch.

I lower my mouth to her throat, teeth grazing lightly. She moans, a breathy sound that sends heat coiling in my stomach. “Yes,” she whispers, nails digging into my shoulders. “Don’t stop.”

My body trembles, half in relief, half in anticipation.

Gently, I explore the curve of her waist, her hips, sliding my hands in slow, reverent strokes, memorizing the warmth of her skin.

She returns the favor, lips pressing to the hollow of my collarbone, illusions flickering bright at every pulse of desire.