Page 31

He lets out a soft exhale. “Yes, they have.” For a moment, I sense him weigh whether to say more.

Then he nods, as if reaffirming a decision.

“Tomorrow, you’ll demonstrate your infiltration skills in a mock scenario.

We’ll simulate orc defenses in the training grounds.

If you excel, I’ll consider sending you on the actual recon. ”

My pulse stirs at the prospect. “An infiltration exercise? You think that’ll prove my loyalty?”

A muscle in his jaw flexes. “It’ll prove your competence—and your willingness to follow my orders.”

Heat flares along my skin as I remember how we clash with steel or words so frequently. My mind flicks to the swirl of tension in the war room after everyone left. “And if I pass your test, what then? You’ll trust me with a squad?”

He arches a brow. “I’m not one to dole out trust easily. But I might give you a leash long enough to see if you hang yourself with it.”

A smirk touches my lips. “What a charming metaphor, Commander.”

He steps closer, presence dominating the space. My breath catches, though I refuse to back away. “I don’t do charm,” he says, voice low. “I do results.”

A swirl of electricity runs between us. For a single charged moment, I recall Zareth’s attempts at mental intrusion, Eryx’s shadowy offers, and Vaelith’s unwavering discipline.

Each man tries to shape me, each in a different way.

But Vaelith alone stands as my direct jailer, the one who can test me daily, physically and strategically.

Despite resenting him, I can’t deny the pull of that challenge.

“I’ll get you results,” I murmur, letting a fraction of the tension slip into my tone. “As long as you remember I’m doing it for me, not for Orthani.”

A flicker of annoyance crosses his features, but something else flickers there too—a reluctant fascination. “We’ll see,” is all he says, stepping back. “Guard, show her out. She has a schedule to maintain.”

I roll my eyes but comply. The guard who enters tries to loom, but I ignore his intimidation.

We exit the war room, traversing corridors until we reach the open courtyard.

The sky overhead is uncharacteristically bright, pale daylight reflecting off the estate’s stone walls.

A cluster of soldiers trains on the far side, swords clashing in a metallic din.

I watch them for a moment, pondering how best to manipulate or glean more details.

Then, deciding I need a private corner, I wander toward a small orchard Vaelith keeps behind the estate.

The guard trails at my heels, though at a respectful distance.

In that secluded orchard, rows of low fruit trees provide dappled shade.

My guard stands near the entrance, glancing around idly.

I drift among the trunks, casually practicing the faint touches of psionic suggestion I’ve been honing since I arrived.

Nudging him with mild apathy, letting him believe there’s nothing suspicious about me wanting to study the orchard.

He relaxes, posture easing. Perfect. Another subtle victory.

I settle under a gnarled tree, leaning back against the trunk.

My mind replays the war council discussion, each general’s worry, the infiltration plan.

The sabotage I introduced on their maps remains undiscovered.

If the orcs prove more cunning than expected, Orthani might face a nasty surprise.

And I can slip in to “save” them at the right moment, extracting favors.

The notion makes me grin. I’m playing a high-stakes game, but each step draws me closer to a position of power.

A rustle of leaves signals movement behind me.

My hand goes to the knife at my belt. The orchard is supposed to be deserted, aside from the half-bored guard at the entrance.

I peer around the trunk, tense. But no threat materializes, just a faint breeze stirring branches.

I exhale. My nerves remain on edge, though.

Zareth tried sneaking in before, Eryx lurks in shadows, Vaelith’s watchers circle.

This orchard feels like my only respite—and even here, I’m not fully safe.

I push away from the tree, deciding I’ve lingered enough.

The guard at the orchard’s entrance perks up as I return, but I brush past him with a curt nod.

“Take me back to my room,” I order. “I want to rest before more training.” He obeys, perhaps under the faint psionic ripple I’m weaving, or maybe because he’s used to following orders from anyone Vaelith endorses.

Once in my chamber, I ensure the door is locked.

Then I pace the small space, mind swirling.

My transformation spells remain stable, scars hidden.

Good. I sense the wards pricking at the edges of my magic, but they’re satisfied with no major usage.

Summoning a stealthy hush, I kneel by the bed and pull out a small strip of parchment I pilfered from the war council, plus a quill and ink I scrounged from a servant’s desk.

Jotting down key details of Orthani’s upcoming maneuvers, I plan to stash them, possibly for Eryx to find if he sneaks in again.

Or maybe for my own reference if an escape route emerges.

Ai’s rescue weighs on me, though I’m no closer to knowing exactly where they’re keeping her.

I vow not to let that slip, but for now, I must strengthen my leverage.

As the day wears on, a servant delivers a simple meal—a bowl of stew, a chunk of bread. I taste it warily, suspecting Orthani might drug me to keep me docile. The flavor is bland but not suspicious. No dizziness comes, so perhaps they trust me not to attempt sabotage so openly. Fools.

Evening draws near. Vaelith doesn’t summon me again, so I suspect he’s busy finalizing tomorrow’s infiltration test. I remain watchful, practicing slow stretches to keep my muscles loose.

My mind wanders to the tension-laden moment in the war council after everyone left, how his eyes locked with mine in that swirl of shared aggression and something tangibly heated.

The memory kindles a spark in my chest. I’m not blind to the undercurrent pulling us together, like two storms colliding.

But it’s a reckless temptation. If I indulge, I risk tangling my cause with his disciplined world.

And we stand on opposing sides of too many lines.

Eventually, I decide fresh air might settle my restlessness.

I step into the corridor, ignoring the guard’s startled look.

“I need to walk,” I announce. He grunts but follows.

I wander the estate halls, picking routes I haven’t explored.

One corridor leads to a smaller library, lined with locked cabinets.

Another to a lounge with cushioned chairs and a grand fireplace.

Servants dart by, heads bowed. I offer no greeting.

Then I stumble upon a small training yard.

Torches line the perimeter, casting flickering light on a polished stone floor.

No one is here. Perfect. I gesture to the guard.

“Stay at the entrance. I want to practice forms.” He hesitates, then obeys, positioning himself near the arched entrance.

As a courtesy, Orthani’s wards likely won’t object to some private drills. Good.

Stepping onto the yard’s center, I unsheathe the dagger Vaelith allowed me.

The torchlight glints off the blade’s edge.

My heart pounds with a craving for motion.

I run through fluid forms, each slash and parry guided by the memory of battles I’ve survived.

Soon, my breath comes in soft pants. I spin, dagger whistling through the warm night air, imagining I face an invisible foe—Zareth’s mental assault, Eryx’s cunning secrets, Vaelith’s watchful eyes.

I lash out again and again, until my arms quiver from the exertion.

Something shifts at the entrance. My guard stands straighter, a shape looming behind him.

Vaelith emerges from the shadows. My pulse jolts.

He likely caught word that I’m practicing alone.

Tension flares in my chest. Our gazes lock as he crosses into the torchlight, his posture carrying that military calm I know so well.

“You find hidden corners for training now?” he asks, voice low but unaccusing. More curious than angry. “You could’ve asked for the main yard.”

My chest heaves from exertion, a fine sheen of sweat on my skin. “I wanted quiet. Fewer eyes.”

He studies me, eyes trailing over my stance, the dagger in my grip. “You push yourself relentlessly. Why?”

I wipe a bead of sweat from my temple with the back of my hand. “Because your infiltration test tomorrow isn’t a joke. If I fail, you’ll never trust me outside these walls.” That’s the partial truth. The deeper reason is I need every advantage to outmaneuver Orthani, but I won’t say that.

His expression softens a fraction. “The test is demanding, yes. But you’re skilled. I’ve no doubt you can handle it.”

I exhale, letting the dagger’s tip lower.

The yard’s torchlight flickers across his obsidian features, highlighting the war brand on his left arm.

There’s something about him in these half-lit moments—driven, unwavering, yet harboring an undercurrent of tension that matches my own.

Sparks flicker in the space between us, reminiscent of our sharper clashes.

He steps closer, leaving a mere breath between us. My pulse flutters. I sense that coiled attraction, the same that’s haunted each meeting. “You said earlier you’re doing this for yourself,” he murmurs. “Not Orthani. Mind telling me what you truly hope to gain?”

I swallow, heat swirling in my veins. “If I told you, you’d clamp me in irons.”

He smirks, a flash of unexpected humor. “Possibly. But I might also be curious enough to let you speak.”

The tension thickens. For a heartbeat, I want to challenge him further, press up against his defenses. But caution prevails. I half-turn away, blade dropping to my side. “Curiosity can be dangerous, Commander. Let’s keep some secrets. Or do you prefer to enforce absolute obedience?”

A flicker of something crosses his face, annoyance or hunger, maybe both. He lifts a hand, as though he might brush back a loose strand of my hair. Then he seems to think better of it, letting the hand fall. “Obedience is safer,” he admits quietly, “but you’ve never cared about safe.”

His words stir an ache in my chest. Safe?

No, I rarely had that luxury. Even so, the raw honesty in his tone surprises me.

I tilt my chin up. “I can’t be safe here, not truly.

We stand on opposite sides of too many lines.

” The look we share is fraught, the tension ripping open old wounds.

A part of me wonders what it might feel like if we dropped these roles for a moment, but that’s a fleeting fantasy.

He dips his head, close enough that I catch the faint scent of steel and sweat.

Torchlight gilds the curve of his jaw, the tight line of his mouth.

My heart pounds in a painful staccato. The swirling energy that draws us is thick enough to taste, but it’s layered atop all we resent about each other.

Then, as abruptly as it flares, he steps back, an almost trembling exhale escaping him.

His gaze flicks to the dagger in my hand. “Train as you will,” he says hoarsely. “Don’t exhaust yourself. Tomorrow demands your best.”

I nod, throat tight. “Understood.”

With a last lingering look, he strides away.

The guard follows him, leaving me alone once more in the flickering torchlight.

My breath shakes, and I curse inwardly at how easily Vaelith stirs me.

I never asked for this undercurrent of desire, or for the way my body responds when he stands so close. It complicates everything.

Still, tomorrow’s infiltration test looms, and I’ll need my full focus.

Putting aside these tangled thoughts, I resume my practice, repeating fluid sequences, each slash a vow to remain in control of my path.

Orthani’s war council may think they own me, but I’ll use their arrogance for my own ends.

Let Vaelith harbor whatever curious pull he feels.

Let Zareth circle with hungry psionic eyes.

Let Eryx roam in the city’s shadows. I stand at the center of their ambitions, forging my own destiny.

By the time I finish, my limbs tremble from exertion, sweat dripping along my brow.

The torch flame has nearly burned to a sputtering stub.

I tuck the dagger away, stepping back inside the corridor.

A late hour hush blankets the estate. My guard reappears, escorting me to my room with minimal fuss.

My bed beckons in the gloom, a meager comfort, but I drop onto it.

Sleep remains elusive. I stare at the low-burning lamp, mind replaying the war council, my sly sabotage, the orchard solitude, the tense exchange with Vaelith in the training yard.

My heart thrums with anticipation for tomorrow.

In that half-dark, half-sleepless state, I let a soft chuckle escape me.

I’m slipping deeper into Orthani’s labyrinth, weaving trust with a city I despise, luring them into believing I might be tamed.

But a caged viper is still a viper. The question remains whether I’ll poison them from within or become entangled in these men’s conflicting demands.

For Ai’s sake, for my own liberation, I must stay two steps ahead.

Exhaustion drags me under. Tomorrow awaits, with infiltration tests, subterfuge, and more encounters with Vaelith that threaten to spark a wildfire I’m not sure either of us can contain.

I close my eyes, allowing the swirl of my plans to lull me.

My last conscious thought is a silent promise that I won’t be broken by Orthani’s chain.

No matter how seductive or fierce the men in my orbit, I will carve a path to freedom—one cunning step at a time.