Page 30 of Bound In Shadow

Sharavel’s lips curl. “Your father, the late Lord Vaeranthe, would never have tolerated such excuses.”

A fresh wave of tension clamps around my ribs at the mention of my father. I allow a small, dangerous smile to ghost my lips. “My father ruled in different times, Lady Sharavel. The farmland is more vital than ever, especially with the new expansions. A rash execution could spark sabotage that sets us all back. Or have you forgotten the fiasco in the western fields?”

Her eyes flash with annoyance. The western fields fiasco—a bungled crackdown that resulted in burned crops—still weighs on the council’s pride.

Lord Kalthos clears his throat, drawing attention away from Sharavel’s glowering face. “Fine. We can tolerate your method… within reason. But we need progress, Vaeranthe. The council demands results, not endless delays.”

I nod slowly. “I’ve already uncovered leads about certain rebel enclaves. They’re scattered, desperate, and less likely to mount a major offensive. Given time, I can either incorporate them into the workforce or eliminate them quietly.”

A stout councilor named Draelan speaks up, drumming ring-laden fingers on the arm of his seat. “The farmland watchers are restless. They expect a show of strength. If you coddle this human any longer, they might question your loyalty.”

My jaw ticks at the insinuation. “Questioning my loyalty is a mistake they can ill afford. Let me be clear: I intend to secure these rebels. One way or another.”

A soft ripple of agreement moves through the semicircle. Yet I sense their impatience, their thirst for swift, brutal solutions.Fools,I think.They’d sooner slaughter every human than address the root cause of rebellion.If they discover Lysandra might harbor actual magic—specifically something as fearsome as sirenblood—they’d demand her head on a pike immediately, no matter the consequences.

And that’s precisely what I must prevent.

Sharavel folds her arms. “Then we await your triumph, Prince Xelith, but not indefinitely. You have a tenday to produce tangible evidence of progress—or at least a public humiliation of this rebel. If you fail, we’ll step in ourselves.”

Her threat hangs in the air. Tension crackles along my spine, but I keep my tone even. “A tenday is sufficient. You’ll have your proof.”

With that, she dismisses me, clearly not wanting to prolong the discussion further. I offer a curt bow, then turn on my heel. My footsteps echo across the chamber, heartbeat thrumming asI pass back into the corridor. The guard posted there glances at me, wide-eyed, but I stride past without a word.

Outside, the corridor empties into a courtyard bathed in pale midday light. I inhale, trying to purge the memory of that council inquisition. They’re losing patience. My “lenience” with Lysandra has them convinced I’m either enamored with her or incompetent. Possibly both.But she’s no ordinary captive, that much I sense. If she truly wields hidden power, handing her over would be a catastrophic mistake—for her, and for me.

The crisp air is a slight relief as I exit into one of the fortress’s open terraces. The vantage offers a view of Pyrthos’s cityscape: slender spires, labyrinthine streets, and the farmland in the distance. My mind churns.

A familiar presence sidles up behind me. Eiroren, her silver hair pulled into an intricate twist, stands poised with her arms folded. “I take it the council meeting was… pleasant?” Her tone drips with false sympathy.

I let out a low exhale. “They want Lysandra delivered soon. Alive, dead, or otherwise humiliated, they don’t care.”

Eiroren inclines her head. “And what do you want?”

“To keep them off my back until I can maneuver properly.” I glance sideways at her. “Do you doubt my strategy, Eiroren?”

She shakes her head, though her eyes remain guarded. “Not exactly. But rumors swirl that you’re entranced by your human toy.”

My lip curls. “Rumors are rarely accurate.”

Her mouth quirks, almost a smile. “Indeed. But rumors shape perception, and perception shapes policy.”

She isn’t wrong. If the council believes I’m enthralled by a mere human, they’ll see it as a sign of weakness.They have no idea how precarious my position truly is.

Eiroren drops her voice. “It’s said Lysandra might have… unnatural abilities. People talk about how some guards lose focus around her, how illusions seem to flicker in her wake.”

My spine stiffens. “Gossip can be dangerous, Eiroren. Encourage them to hush such talk.”

Her eyebrows lift. “You forget, I have no authority over rumors. And if even half are true, we must address the possibility. For your own sake.”

I grit my teeth. “Noted.”

She lingers a moment, studying me. Then with a slight bow, she retreats into the fortress halls, leaving me alone with my roiling thoughts.

If the whispers about Lysandra’s budding magic continue, the council will want to dissect her for every ounce of threat. And if they discover sirenblood specifically…I swallow hard. The history of sirenblood is horrific enough that the Dark Elves, in previous eras, waged campaigns to wipe them out.

Turning on my heel, I head toward the corridor that leads back to my private wing. I need to speak with Lysandra, gauge how much she knows about her own abilities. The council’s breathing down my neck, and I have less than a tenday to produce some performance of control over her rebellion.I can’t do that if she’s on the verge of unleashing powers that overshadow my cunning.

The fortress corridors flicker with torches as I stride, each station of armed soldiers saluting stiffly. I pass by the chamber where scribes keep rosters of farmland labor, then climb the spiral staircase that leads to my domain. Outside Lysandra’s door, two guards stand at attention. They bow as I approach.

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