Page 12 of Bound In Shadow

It’s a straightforward demand: hand Lysandra Riven over for execution, or forfeit any hope of an end to my exile. I toss the parchment onto the desk in front of me. A single candle flickers at my elbow, casting dancing shadows on the fortress’s stone walls. The flame’s faint glow highlights the ancient tapestries behind me, each thread capturing a triumphant scene of Dark Elves subduing lesser races. Usually, I find those images a stale reminder of my people’s pride. Tonight, their presence grates on my nerves.

Leaning back in my chair, I exhale through clenched teeth. The council’s message echoes in my head:We’ve been lenient with your trespasses because you remain a useful tool, Prince Xelith. But harboring a rebel is a step too far.

My gaze drifts past the flickering candle to the far wall, where a narrow window reveals the hazy glow of Pyrthos inthe distance. Lanterns burn across the city’s winding streets, illuminating the old stone architecture that has shaped my life since birth. Once upon a time, I believed I might govern all this. Now, I remain an outcast, dancing on the edge of acceptance.

I rise from my chair and approach the window. Night air seeps through the narrow gap, carrying the faint scent of farmland just beyond the city walls. A farmland that, hours ago, trembled under Lysandra’s attempted uprising. If the council had not known better, they might have pinned the blame squarely on me for letting the human rebels get so far. As it stands, they only see my refusal to hand Lysandra over as another blemish on my already tarnished reputation.

My thoughts wander to the woman in question. She’s fierce, no doubt—anger and courage melded into one formidable package. The memory of her glare flits across my mind’s eye. Even chained and wounded, she wouldn’t cower. That defiance stirs something unexpected in me, a mixture of admiration and… curiosity. Possibly even desire.

I try to shove that notion aside. It’s not wise to entertain the idea of wanting a human, especially one who’s proven capable of gathering an entire rebellion under her banner. Yet I can’t deny the pull she exerts on my attention. I recall how she stood in that lesser hall, refusing to break even when I threatened her with the same finality she faces now from the council. That spark in her eyes has lodged itself in my thoughts, refusing to extinguish.

Resting a hand on the cold stone windowsill, I weigh my options.Kill her and end my exile.Two problems solved at once—no more rebel, no more suspicion from the council. But a bitter taste coats my tongue at the thought. Execution, while politically expedient, feels too final. She’s more than a troublemaker. She’s resilient, cunning, and fierce. That combination might be as valuable as it is dangerous.

The alternative is to defy the council outright, continue sheltering her. They’ve warned me if she incites further chaos, I’ll be fully stripped of what meager standing I retain. In truth, though, how much do I care about regaining my official place among them? After the fiasco that cost me everything, I realized this society’s hypocrisy runs far deeper than I once believed. They mark me a betrayer for refusing one vile order, yet they see no contradiction in enslaving entire populations to do their bidding.

A noise by the door jerks me out of my reverie. “Enter,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.

Rhazien steps inside, head bowed just enough to show respect without groveling. He’s one of the few guards who hasn’t abandoned me despite my exile. His loyalty is the kind I can’t buy with titles, so I value it all the more.

“My prince,” he begins, voice low. “I delivered your instructions to the lesser staff. They’re to bring additional provisions to Lysandra’s room, ensure her bandages are changed regularly. Also, they reported she was taken before some lesser officials earlier.”

“I’m aware,” I reply softly, turning to face him. “They made her confirm that I’ve claimed her, yes?”

He nods. “She did so begrudgingly. They documented it. I heard rumors she was furious.”

I huff a short laugh. “I’d expect nothing less. She’s not one to roll over and play the meek captive.”

Rhazien shifts, fingertips tapping the hilt of his sword. “The council is relentless. They have no desire to let her live. Rumor says a more formal summons is coming in the morning, demanding a final verdict. If you keep defying them, they’ll tighten the noose around your neck.”

“They’ve tried that before,” I retort, though the edge in my voice betrays my unease. It’s not that I fear them physically—my skill in combat remains formidable even without the official sanction of my old station—but the council’s power lies in collective political might. They can make my life a living hell, stifling my every move within Pyrthos.

Rubbing a thumb across the silver war sigils on my left arm, I weigh Rhazien’s presence. He’s proven trustworthy, so I speak freely. “I must decide if she’s worth the risk. Her potential is obvious, and there’s something unusual about her. I suspect she’s not just an ordinary human rebel. Have you… observed anything odd about her?”

Rhazien’s brow furrows. “Odd, my prince?”

I recall fleeting moments when Lysandra seemed to bend the atmosphere around her with sheer will, though I can’t be sure if it was my imagination. “Perhaps it’s nothing. Or maybe it’s a sign she holds some hidden gifts. The way she rallied so many humans suggests more than raw determination.”

He shrugs. “I haven’t seen any direct evidence of magic, if that’s what you mean, but she definitely commands loyalty. The remaining rebels speak her name with reverence.”

My gaze shifts to the candle, the flame sputtering as if echoing my internal dilemma. “It’s a gamble,” I murmur. “If she truly possesses power or can harness influence among the humans, then aligning with her might serve my own plans. But crossing the council further might be the final push they need to declare open season on me.”

Rhazien meets my eyes, unwavering. “You’ve never been one to back down when you see a path to power, especially if it undermines those who betrayed you.”

He’s not wrong. I recall the day they accused me of treason—the sneers, the false courtesy, the perfumed threat that overshadowed any defense I offered. They stripped me of my high seat, relegated me to the fringes of Dark Elf society, then claimed it a mercy they didn’t execute me. I’ve carried that slightever since, searching for the right moment to upend their smug dominion.

“The question,” I say, “is whether Lysandra’s continuing existence grants me that chance, or if it’s an anchor dragging me to ruin.”

Rhazien shifts on his feet. “May I speak plainly, my prince?”

I give a curt nod.

“She’s a spark. If you stoke that flame carefully, it could become a fire that cleanses this fortress of the rot we’ve endured. But if you lose control, you’ll both burn.”

I mull his words for a moment. “Then I’ll have to learn how to handle her, won’t I?”

He dips his head in agreement. “Should I post an additional guard outside her room?”

My lips tilt in a half-smile. “Yes, but ensure they aren’t too heavy-handed. If she senses we’re all just waiting for her to lash out, she’ll never consider cooperation. And I do want her to consider it, for however long it takes to glean her secrets.”

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