Page 37 of Bound In Shadow

My lips twist in a bitter smile. “How charming. I’ll play the docile captive while I hide a power that could enthrall them all.”

“You won’t enthrall them all,” he warns, a flash of urgency in his tone. “Promise me, Lysandra. This power is too risky to flaunt. If you enthrall the wrong official, we’ll be undone.”

I swallow. The thought of enthralling the entire council as vengeance crosses my mind, but it’s fleeting. The risk is astronomical. “I promise I won’t use it… unless absolutely necessary.”

He exhales, relief mingling with caution. “That’s all I can ask.”

I stand, crossing to the table where the tome lies. My finger brushes the illustration of a siren with swirling runes around her throat. I imagine myself in her place, voice pulsing with unstoppable command. A tremor runs through me—fear, yes, but also raw possibility.If I harness this, I might liberate my people once and for all. But at what cost to my own soul?

Xelith steps behind me, close enough that I feel his warmth. My pulse quickens. “Whatever you decide,” he says quietly, “know that I’m not your enemy. We share a goal—preventing a catastrophe the council might unleash.”

I tilt my head, glancing up at him. Our gazes lock, tension humming in the space between us. Despite the chaos swirling around us, an undeniable spark lingers—the same pull we’ve skirted for days. My heart thrums louder.He’s a dark prince, an exile with cunning… but he’s also the only one who knows the truth about me now.

“Thank you,” I whisper, surprising myself with the raw gratitude in my voice. “For… not throwing me to the wolves.”

His lips quirk in a faint, wry smile. “I’ve never been fond of wolves. Or councils. Or anything that presumes to control me.”

I allow a brief, humorless laugh. “We’re alike in that way, I suppose.”

He lifts a hand, as if tempted to brush a stray curl on my face. Then he catches himself, letting the hand drop. The moment passes, but a flicker of longing stays behind, fueling the swirling confusion in my chest.

“We should finalize the farmland plan,” he says. “We’ll present it tomorrow. The council expects me to prove you’re cooperating. If you can give them a location or two—some smaller cells that might be negotiated with—perhaps I can spin it into a temporary resolution.”

I nod, stepping away from the tome, away from him. “I’ll do it. But I choose which enclaves. No slaughter. I want them given a chance to surrender.”

He inclines his head. “I promise to push for mercy. But be warned, mercy in Dark Elf terms is still exploitation. Your rebels might end up as laborers under better conditions rather than free citizens.”

A lump forms in my throat, but I steady myself.Any life is better than the pyres.“I’ll do what I can to ensure no more bloodshed.” My voice trembles with the weight of compromise.

He exhales, crossing to the chamber door. “We’ll refine the details in my study, then. And keep your voice in check, Lysandra. We can’t afford another enthrallment… or illusions.”

I offer a grim nod, following him out. The corridor beyond is quiet, though I can’t shake the feeling of eyes lurking behind every corner.Council spies, perhaps.My limbs still buzz with leftover adrenaline from enthralling Nyrus. My mind reels with the knowledge that I carry a power all Dark Elves dread.

As we walk, Xelith’s cloak brushes my arm. I notice the tension in his posture—shoulders taut, jaw set. He might claim practicality, but something about this siren revelation rattles him deeply.Is it the threat to his people’s order, or something more personal?

We reach his private wing, wards shimmering aside to admit us. The door seals behind us, muffling the fortress’s hum. Inside, the table is spread with farmland rosters, maps, and scraps of parchment detailing supply routes. I recognize the documents from earlier. The flickering overhead lamps cast shifting shadows, like serpents dancing on the walls.

Xelith gestures to the chairs. “Sit. Let’s craft the story we’ll feed the council.”

I sink into a seat, forcibly shoving my fear about sirenblood aside. We begin dissecting the farmland, circle potential enclaves that might be willing to yield. I advise him which leaders are more pragmatic. He suggests forging offers of reduced quotas in exchange for surrender. The cynic in me scoffs at any real trust, but it’s better than a massacre.

Hours pass in hushed debate, scrawling notes, crossing out lines. Eventually, we have a workable plan: a handful of enclaves I’ll claim as the “primary cells,” hoping the council sees it as enough.They might still enslave them, but they’ll live.My chest twists at the half-betrayal. Yet I remind myself that if I remain silent, the entire farmland faces systematic slaughter.

Exhaustion seeps in. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since morning. Xelith stands abruptly, stretching. The lamps cast pale light across his obsidian skin, highlighting silver war sigils that shimmer faintly with mana.

I watch him, a swirl of confusing warmth coiling in my belly. This man has become both ally and captor, a potential shield against the worst evils of his kind. And now the only person who knows my secret. A shiver runs through me.

He glances my way, noticing my gaze. For a heartbeat, the tension simmers again, something that has little to do with politics. I look away hurriedly, cheeks warming. “We should… finalize the wording,” I say, clearing my throat.

He nods, returning to the table. “Yes. The council meeting is tomorrow at dusk. I’ll present our plan to them. You’ll remain in the wings, appearing docile but present. They’ll likely want to question you, too.”

My heart clenches. “Then I’ll do my best to appear cowed.”

His lips twitch wryly. “You? Cowed? That I must see.”

A faint smirk escapes me. “Don’t get used to it.”

His responding grin is brief, overshadowed by the gravity of our circumstances. With renewed focus, we revise the final draft. The room grows silent, broken only by the scratch of quills and the rustle of parchment. Outside, the fortress hum hushes as evening deepens. My back aches, my mind reels. But at last, we’re done.

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