Page 26

The meeting continues, each officer reporting on supply levels, mercenary hires, and the shifting alliances of other dark elf houses. I stand there, silent but absorbing everything. My sabotage done, I savor the knowledge that I might undermine them further if the chance arises.

Vaelith dismisses the officers with a brisk wave.

They file out, some casting hostile glances at me.

I remain by the table, arms folded. When the last officer leaves, Vaelith shuts the door and rounds on me.

The warmth in the room intensifies as his eyes spark with a mix of exasperation and something more primal.

“You don’t know how to hold your tongue, do you?” he mutters, resting both palms on the table.

I smirk. “You brought me here to share my insight, not to echo your yes-men.”

He exhales, a low hiss of breath. “I brought you here so you’d grasp our strategies. If your knowledge aids us, fine. But keep your barbs in check. My officers won’t tolerate your insolence forever.”

“Says the commander who can barely hide his frustration,” I tease, stepping closer.

The tension that thrummed in our sparring session flares again.

The war room door is locked, no guards inside.

We’re alone, the morning sun streaming through tall windows, illuminating dust motes in the air.

Our stares collide like flint and steel.

“That frustration,” I continue, voice lowering, “is why you can’t ignore me. Part of you hates that you need me. Another part… enjoys the fight, doesn’t it?”

He stiffens, knuckles whitening on the table’s edge. “Don’t presume to know me, purna.”

I shrug, letting a slow smile curve my lips. “Oh, but I do see it, Vaelith. You relish testing me. Even now, your blood’s thrumming, same as mine.”

His nostrils flare. He steps away from the table, closing the distance between us in a few strides.

I stand my ground, refusing to yield. My heart pounds at the sheer energy radiating from him.

This dangerous dance edges close to something savage, a collision of power and desire.

I sense how easily it could tip into violence or something equally intense.

He lowers his voice. “What are you trying to provoke? Are you courting punishment?”

I tilt my head, letting the moment stretch until my pulse beats hard in my ears. “I’m testing the boundaries, Commander. Isn’t that what you do with a new weapon?”

He bristles at my words. “You’re no mere weapon. You’re a volatile force that could devour us if we’re not careful.”

My smile widens. “Then treat me as such.”

Time seems to slow. I see his eyes flick to my lips, then up to meet my gaze. A flicker of doubt crosses his expression, as though he’s fighting some internal battle. He tenses, stepping back abruptly, forcing composure into his posture.

“Return to your training,” he orders, voice strained. “I have reports to finalize.”

My heart is still racing. I swallow, smoothing my expression.

The intensity between us remains, thick and electric.

I give a slight bow, mocking in its politeness, and turn to leave.

At the door, I pause, glancing over my shoulder.

He’s half-turned away, fists clenched. I can almost taste his frustration. Another small victory.

The corridor outside feels cooler, emptier.

Harken stands there, suspicious as ever.

He leads me back to the courtyard, where a few soldiers spar.

I pretend to watch them, though my mind spins with the idea that Vaelith is no brute, no puppet.

He’s disciplined and cunning, less prone to sadism than Zareth, but perhaps more dangerous because of it.

I approach a cluster of younger guards, stepping into their conversation about supply runs and schedules.

With subtle psionic nudges, I sow hints that Vaelith might be biting off more than he can chew with this new southern campaign.

Maybe the orcs are stronger than we think.

Maybe a betrayal looms. I can’t plant deep commands, not in Orthani’s warded domain, but a scattering of whispered doubts might hamper morale over time.

They barely notice the infiltration, chalking up the uncertain flickers in their thoughts to normal anxiety.

A servant scurries by, carrying a stack of parchments. I wave him over, feigning curiosity. “Those for the war council?”

He nods nervously. “Yes, the updated maps and orders. I need to bring them to the scribes for copying.”

My pulse quickens. Another chance to sabotage. “Let me see them.”

The servant hesitates, glancing at Harken, who stands guard. Harken shrugs. “She’s working under the commander’s orders. Might be relevant.”

The servant hands me a sheaf of parchments.

I flip through, spotting the map Vaelith will rely on for final route planning.

My sabotage from earlier is visible—subtle shifts in the lines, but they might not notice until it’s too late.

I let out a thoughtful hum, half-wishing I could push it further, but the wards hamper any major manipulations.

Instead, I trace a faint line with my fingertip, leaving a slight smudge that could mislead them about where a key ridge stands. That’s enough.

I pass the documents back. “Better hurry,” I say with a gracious nod, internally pleased at how seamlessly the deception continues.

Later in the day, Vaelith summons me to a smaller training yard behind the stables.

He says nothing of our earlier tension, adopting a calm, instructive manner.

We run drills with his archers, learning how to coordinate close-combat fighters with ranged support.

I absorb every nuance while letting my presence unsettle them.

My purna aura alone makes a few archers uneasy.

Some stutter as they obey Vaelith’s commands.

Each sign of fear tugs a slight smile from me.

After the drills, Vaelith dismisses the archers. We remain alone again, both breathing heavily from the exercise. The dusty ground and the hush of the stable yard wrap us in an intimate bubble.

“Your infiltration skills might serve Orthani in scouting,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm. “But I need to be sure you won’t vanish if sent out alone. Orthani’s wards can’t track you in the field.”

I cross my arms, refusing to break eye contact. “You want me to vow loyalty?”

He hesitates. “I want you to understand the consequences of disobedience. If you vanish, the council punishes Ai.”

He uses the child’s name—Ai. My chest twists, a reminder of what’s truly at stake. Rage sears me at how Orthani uses her as leverage. “I won’t abandon her,” I say, voice low.

He nods slowly. “Then we have an understanding.”

Tension simmers. I wonder if he sees the resentment coil behind my eyes.

He tries to keep an aura of unflinching command, but I catch the subtle flicker in his gaze whenever I stand too close.

The attraction is mutual, though unspoken.

We’re bound by forced proximity and a mutual wariness that crackles on the edge of something more heated.

I inhale, stepping forward until we’re separated by a hand’s breadth.

His breath hitches, a minuscule sign of the storm brewing inside him.

“You’re trying to be the perfect soldier, Commander,” I murmur, letting each word bristle with undertone.

“But deep down, you know this alliance is a tinderbox waiting for a spark.”

He clenches his fists, jaw tensing. “Careful, Selene.”

I smirk. “Or what? You’ll clamp me in irons again? Enjoy your little show of control?”

His eyes flash with anger, but also hunger. In that charged moment, I sense how easily we could fall into a chaotic spiral—lips colliding, bodies straining. But he wrestles the impulse back, stepping away, breath uneven.

“Back inside,” he says, voice clipped. “We have a final briefing in half an hour, and I need you present.”

I swallow my own surge of adrenaline. “Lead the way.”

He spins, stalking off, posture rigid. I follow at a short distance, letting the swirl of frustration and excitement swirl in my gut. Another small victory: each time I rattle him, I remind him that I’m no docile recruit. If he’s wise, he’ll realize his precarious hold on me.

We pass through the corridors, returning to the war room.

Officers gather for the day’s final briefing, going over revised routes and supply checks.

My tampered map rests at the table’s center.

I watch Vaelith pick it up, scanning the lines with a faint frown.

He shakes his head as though uncertain, but nothing is obviously out of place enough to trigger alarm. My lips curl, satisfaction blooming.

The meeting drags on with mundane logistics—food inventories, scheduling patrols, reinforcing outposts.

My mind drifts occasionally to Ai, locked somewhere in the fortress, used as leverage.

The guilt gnaws at me, driving me to escalate my sabotage so Orthani’s grip falters. When they slip up, I’ll strike.

At last, the officers disperse. Vaelith closes the door again. It’s become routine for us to end these gatherings alone, tension thick in the war room. He’s tall, obsidian skin gleaming under the torchlight. I stand near the table, ignoring the throb of my tired limbs.

He regards me a long moment, voice quiet. “You behave better in meetings than you do when we’re alone. Why is that?”

I tilt my head. “Because I want them to see me as the calm captive, while you get the real me.” I let the final words dip into suggestion, watching the flicker of heat cross his eyes.

His voice drops an octave. “Is that your game, playing two faces?”

I shrug. “I do what I must to survive, to gain advantages. You know all about that, I suspect.”

He exhales, tension radiating from his stance. “If you remain consistent, perhaps you’ll earn more freedom.”

“And if I push too far?” I ask, stepping around the table, drawing close enough to catch the subtle scent of leather and sweat clinging to him. “What will you do?”

Something sparks between us, a live wire bridging the gap. He stiffens, as though wrestling with the urge to either claim control or back away. The air crackles with possibility. Then he breaks eye contact, turning his head.

“Enough for today,” he says, retreat in every syllable. “Go. Rest. We continue tomorrow.”

My pulse pounds, frustration mingling with satisfaction. Each encounter we share intensifies the thread between us. He fights it, I feed on it. This precarious dance is an advantage I intend to nurture, so long as it pushes him to rely on me—and eventually, to slip up.

Silently, I leave, crossing the hall to return to my assigned room.

The entire estate feels like it hums with watchful eyes, but beneath that hum, I sense the seed of chaos I’ve begun sowing: guards who feel uneasy, officers who might second-guess the map, Vaelith himself uncertain how to handle me.

In my chamber, I close the door behind me.

The day’s strain settles over my shoulders, yet satisfaction warms me.

I sabotage their map. I sow disquiet in the ranks.

And I see Vaelith in a clearer light: not just a brute, but a disciplined commander who’s as strategic as he is controlled.

That means I must tread carefully—he’s no fool.

But if I keep stoking the tension, maybe I can unravel that iron discipline bit by bit.

I settle on the bed, letting out a slow breath.

My thoughts wander to Ai once more, and a pang of guilt returns.

I vow to accelerate my manipulations. If Orthani’s next campaign goes awry, the confusion might open a path to free her.

If Vaelith looks to me for solutions after the sabotage, I’ll name my price: Ai’s safety.

Let Orthani’s empire strain under its own arrogance.

I’ll be the thread that unravels them from within.

Tomorrow is another day of training, more subtle sabotage, more stirring the heated tension with Vaelith.

My lips twitch into a small, defiant smile.

This forced captivity might be the key to forging my own power, so long as I handle it with cunning.

Let Orthani keep thinking I’m tamed—by the time they realize otherwise, I’ll have twisted their war machine to serve my ends.

With that thought, I extinguish the lamp, the room sinking into darkness.

My body aches from the day’s battles, but my mind hums with triumph.

Even caged, I hold the reins of my destiny.

Orthani is a labyrinth of ambition, cruelty, and secrets—and I’ve just begun unraveling its threads.

If Vaelith is a gatekeeper, I’ll slip through his defenses with every heated glance, every whispered sabotage.

Soon enough, we’ll see who truly wields control in this dark empire.