Page 9

Indecision gnaws at my mind. The council won’t wait forever.

Rumor has it they’ll convene soon to finalize their demands.

If I defy them, I might as well carve a fresh brand of exile into my life.

But the alternative is losing any chance of forging an alliance with the woman who might be the key to unraveling their hold on Pyrthos.

She is the catalyst. I sense it like a storm on the horizon, pressing against the thick air. If I kill her, I remain a puppet for the council to jerk around whenever they please. If I keep her, I risk their ire. Which poison do I swallow?

A memory surfaces: the flicker of Lysandra’s gaze meeting mine, unafraid.

So few humans have dared to look at me like that, even before my exile.

That spark drives me to do something reckless.

The thought of letting them snuff out her life enrages me in a way that’s both exhilarating and unsettling.

Decision coalesces in my mind. Slowly, I straighten from the balustrade, my resolve settling into place.

I won’t kill her. Not yet. Not when she could be the weapon I’ve been searching for—someone who shares a hatred for the powers that be, someone bold enough to attempt the unimaginable.

If I’m cunning, I can keep the council at bay, claiming I need time to extract valuable information from her.

That should buy me enough space to see if she’s truly worth the risk.

My pulse quickens, excitement coursing through my veins.

This path feels dangerous, but it aligns better with my nature than meek capitulation.

I turn on my heel and retrace my steps into the fortress interior.

If I’m going to defy the council, I need a strategy, and that means speaking to Lysandra directly. No more subtle hints or empty threats.

I snake through the corridors until I reach the section housing her temporary quarters. At the door, two guards stand watch, exactly as Rhazien arranged. They stiffen when they see me. One fumbles for the key.

“Open it,” I say under my breath, determined not to wake everyone in the fortress.

They comply. The door unlocks with a click, and I slip inside.

A lantern hangs from a hook on the wall, illuminating the small space with a subdued glow.

She’s there, lying on a narrow bed. Her manacled wrists rest atop the thin blanket, and though her eyes are closed, her expression is far from peaceful.

I make sure the door’s shut before I approach. Her breath catches, as if she senses someone near. She blinks awake, storm-gray eyes focusing on me. Immediately, her hands jerk, the chain clattering. She tries to sit up, wincing at some unseen pain in her side.

I hold up a hand to show I’m not here to hurt her. “Quiet,” I murmur. “It’s late.”

She eyes me with wariness. “What do you want?”

Standing at the foot of the bed, I keep my voice low. “Word travels fast around the fortress. The council recorded your… official status earlier. They’re unhappy you still draw breath. You know that, right?”

She huffs a short laugh that contains no amusement. “It’s painfully obvious. Didn’t you send me there to be humiliated? Forced me to claim I’m your captive?”

My jaw tightens. “I didn’t send you to them. They took it upon themselves to assert the council’s power. I simply made certain they didn’t execute you outright.”

She shifts, pressing a hand to her bandaged side. “How magnanimous,” she drawls, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

I step closer, leaning over the bed. A flicker of defiance lights her gaze, reminding me not to get too close.

Still, I can’t stop from noticing the curve of her lips, or how the tension in her posture accentuates the sleek lines of her shoulders.

Her physical appeal is an uninvited distraction, but it’s there, pulsing beneath every sharp retort she offers.

“Listen,” I say, pitching my voice lower. “This is bigger than your pride or mine. The council wants your head. They’re pressing me to deliver it. If I do, my exile might end. If I don’t, they’ll brand me a full traitor—and your days will be numbered.”

A strange gleam appears in her eyes. “So that’s it,” she murmurs. “My life is a bargaining chip for your politics. If I’m lucky, you’ll keep me breathing until you get what you want.”

“That’s one way to see it,” I allow. “Another is that I’m risking my own precarious standing by not killing you.”

Her chain rattles as she pushes herself into a sitting position. The bed creaks under her slight weight. “So what do you get out of this… arrangement?”

My thoughts skim dangerous territory—the notion of using her influence, her possible hidden powers.

And there’s the undeniable spark that draws me to her, though I’d never admit it so plainly.

“You could be useful,” I say, keeping my tone even.

“You have a sway over the human rebels. If we harness that, we might accomplish something that benefits us both.”

She studies me, eyes narrowed. “You talk about harnessing me like I’m a weapon.”

I shrug. “In many ways, you are. But perhaps you’re more than that.” My voice softens. “You want freedom for your people, don’t you?”

She doesn’t break my gaze. “I do.”

“And I,” I continue, “want leverage against a council that sees me as a disposable pawn. If we unite our goals, we might find a path that grants you some measure of independence—and me the influence I need to reshape Pyrthos.”

Lysandra presses her lips together, clearly skeptical. “Dark Elves have promised less cruelty before. It always ends the same: in whips and chains.”

“I’m not them,” I say, frustration creeping in. “But I can’t pretend to be a savior. I’m looking out for myself too.”

She exhales, wincing when the movement aggravates her wounds. Concern prods at me, but I fight the urge to check her bandages. Instead, I stand there, letting the hush stretch.

Eventually, she looks away, focusing on her manacled wrists. Her voice emerges quieter. “What exactly are you proposing?”

I settle at the edge of the bed, mindful not to crowd her.

The chain jingles again as she tenses. “I’m proposing we keep you alive.

Officially, I’ll tell the council I need time to extract information from you, or to break the rebellion fully.

In reality, you and I work together behind the scenes.

You feed me strategies or points of weakness we can exploit—anything that disrupts the council’s iron grip without painting a target on your entire race. ”

Her eyebrows rise. “So you want a partial rebellion, controlled and directed by you?”

“A rebellion that doesn’t end in your people’s mass slaughter,” I clarify. “A rebellion that influences the fortress from within, gradually eroding the power of those who would see you as vermin.” I pause, meeting her gaze. “I know it’s not the grand freedom you dream of. But it’s a start.”

She snorts, but the edge in her tone softens. “You’re basically asking me to conspire with a Dark Elf against other Dark Elves. Talk about impossible alliances.”

“Impossible alliances are sometimes the most effective,” I murmur, recalling my own path that’s led me here. “You can keep fighting, or you can adapt.”

She’s silent for a moment, features etched with conflicted thought. Then she bites her lower lip, doubt flickering across her face. “What guarantee do I have that you won’t betray me the second it’s convenient?”

I lean forward, fighting the lure of her proximity. “Betraying you means losing the one tool that might shift the balance in my favor. I’d be a fool to discard that. And if I have a reputation, it’s for cunning, not stupidity.”

She mulls that over, still uncertain. My eyes trace the line of her jaw, the hollow of her throat.

I can’t deny the strange pull. She’s enticing—not just physically, but in the raw force of her spirit.

It’s not often I meet anyone who challenges me like this.

That challenge sparks a thrill I can’t fully ignore.

At length, she exhales. “You want me to trust you, but I don’t see how I can. You’re a Dark Elf prince, exiled or not, and your people killed my friends.”

A pang of something like regret twinges in my chest. “I understand your anger. I won’t ask you to let it go, only to channel it in a way that benefits us both.”

She braces an arm behind her, posture tense. “I’ll consider it.” Then her lips curve in a bitter half-smile. “Seeing as my alternative is certain death, I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“There’s always choice,” I murmur, reaching out carefully.

My fingertips graze the manacle on her wrist. She doesn’t pull away, but her entire body goes rigid with anticipation.

“You could try to kill me here and now. You might even succeed if I let my guard down. But we both know how that would end—you’d be hunted, and the rest of your people would be massacred in retribution. ”

Her jaw tightens. “Exactly.”

I swallow a frustrated breath. “Then we find a way to survive together. And if it goes sour, at least we can say we tried.”

She allows a small nod, though her expression remains guarded. “Fine. But I want proof of your sincerity. Release me from these shackles. Let me heal. That’s the only way I can begin to trust you.”

My gaze drops to the metal binding her wrists.

The council would throw a fit if they saw me remove them, but perhaps it’s a necessary step.

“If I unlock you, you must promise not to harm anyone within this fortress,” I say quietly, though my words carry weight.

“At least not without my express approval.”

She laughs dryly. “You want me to sign a vow in my own blood?”

I smirk. “No, I want your word. As fragile as that might be.”

A beat passes. Then she lifts her chin. “You have it. As long as no one tries to kill me first.”

Accepting that, I slide off the bed, retrieving a small iron key from a hidden pouch at my belt.

I step behind her. The closeness floods me with warmth—her hair, dark as midnight, smells faintly of sweat and some herbal salve Halren must have used on her wounds.

The combination is strangely comforting in this grim fortress.

Fitting the key into the lock, I twist. The left cuff pops free, then the right. Her breath hitches as she rubs the raw skin around her wrists, the faint red grooves marking where the metal chafed her.

“Better?” I ask softly, stepping back.

She rubs a sore spot, relief flickering across her features. “Yes.”

I nod, returning the key to my belt. “I’ll tell the guards you’re not to be shackled unless you attack someone. But don’t give them a reason to question my judgment.”

“Understood,” she mutters.

Silence settles, weighted by the reality of our new accord. She’s no longer chained, but she’s still within these walls, still at my mercy. For my part, I’m no longer free to claim ignorance if she stirs trouble. The risk is ours to share now.

Her expression shifts, a trace of confusion mingling with her usual hostility. “Why go this far?” she asks. “You could’ve left me cuffed and avoided extra trouble with the council.”

A thousand half-formed answers swirl in my mind: Because I’m entranced by your defiance. Because I sense an untapped power that might rival the entire fortress. Because I’m tired of playing by the rules of a court that despises me anyway. I settle for a simpler response.

“I believe your rage can be harnessed. But not if you feel like a caged animal.”

She blinks, and for the first time, something like gratitude sparks in her eyes. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. “Thank you,” she says quietly, though the words sound strange on her tongue.

I give a curt nod, ignoring the unsteady rhythm of my own pulse. “Rest. I’ll bring you more details soon. The council demands answers by tomorrow night. We’ll need to present a united front.”

Her lips part, as if she wants to protest, but she just sighs. “I suppose I’ll be here, either way.”

I glance around the cramped room. It’s hardly fitting for someone who might become my ally—my co-conspirator. “If you prove trustworthy, I’ll move you to better quarters.”

She snorts softly. “I’ll try not to get too comfortable.”

A faint wry grin tugs at my mouth. “Of course.”

Without further ceremony, I turn and walk to the door, quietly letting myself out. The guards outside stand at attention, startled to see me alone without the chain in hand.

I wave off their questions. “She remains in my custody, unshackled. If she leaves that room without my express permission, you know the consequences—both for her and for yourselves.”

They nod, eyes flicking warily toward the shut door.

I stride away, boots tapping on the stone floor, my thoughts a tumult of possibility and risk. I’ve chosen: I will keep Lysandra Riven alive, at least for now. In doing so, I might earn the full wrath of the council. Yet the alternative—wasting her potential—feels wrong, or at least unprofitable.

Passing a torchlit alcove, I brush my fingertips across the carved depiction of a serpent devouring its prey. My reflection in the polished stone stares back, reminding me that I, too, am a predator in this fortress. But who exactly is devouring whom in this arrangement?

Smothering a sardonic laugh, I continue down the corridor.

Tomorrow, I’ll face the council again, bearing a flimsy explanation for why I haven’t delivered Lysandra’s head.

That’s a battle I’m prepared to wage. For the first time since my exile, I sense a spark of genuine anticipation thrumming through my veins.

Yes, it’s dangerous. But the path to regaining power—or forging a new kind of rule—was never going to be safe.

Lysandra has that same hunger, that fire.

If we manage to align our separate drives for freedom and authority, we might tear down the stagnant structures around us.

Or we might tear each other apart in the process.

Either way, the game has truly begun and I’m determined not to lose.