Page 43 of Bound In Shadow

She watches, arms folded, expression guarded. “You’re giving me the bed? That’s hardly necessary.”

I give her a level look. “You’re injured. The bruise on your side, your?—”

She scowls. “I’m not some porcelain doll. But… thanks.” A tension-laden hush returns as I lay the blankets down, one corner of my mind cursing how quickly we went from a passionate entanglement to an awkward arrangement of bedrolls.

When I finish, I glance her way. “You rest. I’ll keep watch for a while, ensure no intruders slip by.”

She nods, stepping toward the bed. The flickering light outlines the lean lines of her body, stirring memories of earlier. Her gaze flicks away from me. “All right. Good night, Xelith.”

I incline my head. “Good night, Lysandra.”

She eases onto the bed, pulling the covers around her. I sink onto the makeshift bedding, leaning against a carved chest. The hush intensifies, broken only by the hiss of mana-lamps overhead.

My thoughts wanders to the farmland plan, the looming council meeting, and Lysandra’s sirenblood. If we survive the next day, we may buy enough time to keep her secret hidden. If not, everything unravels. And I have to reconcile this new closeness—this savage spark that binds us in ways neither of us anticipated.

Gradually, her breathing deepens, hinting that she’s fallen asleep. I remain awake, gaze fixed on the door, every sense alert. My chest still aches from the intensity of what we shared, the knowledge that it might never happen again. My eyes close, exhaustion tugging.We can’t let desire blind us to the threats swirling in the shadows.

Eventually, I drift into a light doze, half-ready to spring up if the wards flare. In that twilight of consciousness, I recall the warmth of Lysandra’s skin, the taste of her lips, the desperation in our union.Bad guys close in, but for a moment we found a measure of reprieve.In the morning, we face the council, the farmland crisis, and the possibility of an assassin lurking in every dark corner. I wonder if that single stolen moment might be the only solace we’ll ever share before the storm engulfs us.

I breathe, counting the seconds, letting the faint arcs of magic hum through the wards. For now, Lysandra is safe. I cling to that thought like a shield against the looming uncertainties. When dawn comes, we’ll step back into the political battlefield together—bound by uneasy alliance, a secret sirenborn power, and a raw, impossible connection neither of us can deny.

11

LYSANDRA

Istare at the ceiling of Xelith’s private bedchamber, the lamplight casting faint, shifting shapes across the polished stone. My body still hums with the aftershocks of last night’s collision—both the physical surrender and the emotional chaos that followed. He sleeps on the makeshift bedding across the room, his form half in shadow, cloak tossed aside. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the ghost of his touch, a reminder of how easily we lost ourselves in the tempest of need.

Guilt and confusion war inside me. I’ve betrayed everything I stood for, letting desire override my hatred.That single moment of passion changes nothing,I remind myself, echoing the words we spoke. And yet, I’m not sure I believe it. My chest tightens each time I recall the desperate way he looked at me, or the ferocity in our embrace.

Enough. I clench my jaw, forcing my thoughts to the present. Dawn’s pale glow seeps through a high window, signaling the day that will decide so many fates. The farmland enclaves, my life, Xelith’s tenuous hold on power… it all converges at the council meeting. We have a plan—present enough “progress”to satisfy their bloodlust, hopefully sparing my people from a purge.But do I trust him to follow through?

I exhale shakily, recalling how easily Dark Elves twist alliances. Xelith is cunning, exiled or not. He swears to protect me, but I’ve seen how desperation can make even the strongest yield.If handing me over would secure his power… would he do it?

A bitter note churns in my gut. Last night’s intimacy might be no more than another chess move. I roll off the bed, feet touching the cool floor. Goosebumps rise on my bare arms, but I ignore them. My garments lie draped on a nearby chair, so I tug on my breeches and tunic, cinching the belt with hurried fingers.

I cast a glance at Xelith—still asleep, or pretending to be. His hair spills across the pillow in a pale curtain, war sigils catching stray light. My heart clenches.It shouldn’t be so easy to admire him.I swallow, shoving that traitorous thought aside.

I move silently to the door, pressing a palm against the ward. The runes flicker, recognizing my presence, and I recall Xelith’s promise that the wards only open to those he designates. It hesitates a fraction of a heartbeat, then yields with a faint hiss. Relief mingles with dread;he must have included my signature.

I slip into the corridor. Two guards stand watch, blinking in surprise at my sudden appearance. My mind races. If they truly intend to keep me safe, they might not let me wander.But I can’t remain caged.

One guard steps forward, posture stiff. “My lady, can we assist you?”

I cringe at the false courtesy. “I need air,” I say curtly, keeping my chin high. “Xelith told me I’m free to walk about, so long as I remain within the warded halls. Are you going to stop me?”

He exchanges a wary look with his partner. “We… of course not. Just keep within the fortress interior. The prince’s orders are for your protection.”

I nod, forcing a faint sneer. “I’ll be quick.”

They stand aside, letting me pass.Fools. They suspect no immediate betrayal.Guilt stings, but I push forward.I have to confirm for myself whether Xelith is truly on my side or just leading me to the slaughter.

I move through a series of hallways, following the route we once took to the fortress library. My pulse hammers. If I can slip out of the warded zones, maybe I can find a vantage that overlooks the farmland or locate a messenger route to contact any rebel allies who might be hiding near the city. I need to warn them or ensure they’re prepared to flee if Xelith’s plan is another trap.

At a junction, I pause, glancing around. Torches line the walls, but no guards linger here. The hush feels thick, ominous. I recall Xelith’s attempts to intensify patrols.Where are they?My instincts prickle.

I move faster, ducking into a side corridor that angles downward. The walls shift from polished stone to rougher masonry—an older section of the fortress. I cling to the memory of these passages from the day I tried to scout potential escape routes.

Soon, the corridor opens into a dim archway. A half-broken door stands ajar, revealing a small courtyard rarely used. Daylight streams in, its brightness stark against the gloom. I slip through, my heart pounding with a reckless mix of fear and determination. The courtyard is empty—cracked stones, a few withered vines.

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