Page 51 of Bound In Shadow

We stand close, so much tension swirling that it’s a wonder the air doesn’t ignite. The memory of our frantic intimacy lingers, overshadowed by the strife that followed. My chest feelstight. A wave of guilt surges—she’s turned to me for some form of assurance, and I have so little to give.

I clear my throat. “Tomorrow, we ride at dawn. A small retinue, carefully chosen. We approach the enclaves near the southern farmland. You’ll address them, confirm I haven’t forced you to yield your people.”

Her mouth twists, suspicion brimming. “I can try. But they might demand I leave with them. Will you allow that?”

My heart stutters.Allow her to vanish with the rebels?The council would label me incompetent, or suspect a trick. War might break out. But the thought of denying her that chance to be free sears me.

“I… we’ll see,” I whisper, unsure of my own answer.

She exhales, stepping away. “Let me rest. I need a clear head by dawn.”

I nod woodenly. She slips out, leaving me with the smoldering hearth and the roiling conflict in my soul.Killing her would be easy, losing her impossible.The council’s deadline looms, Rhazien’s warnings echo, and I can’t find a path that spares us both from heartbreak or bloodshed.

Hours drag as I pace, the flames dying to embers. My mind cycles through potential outcomes: Lysandra enthralls the enclaves, we unify them quickly; the council grows suspicious, demands her immediate surrender; or perhaps the enclaves distrust me so thoroughly that everything collapses. In each scenario, her survival hangs by a thread.

At some point, exhaustion claims me. I drift into a restless doze in the chair, haunted by dreams of a council chamber filled with shrieking voices, Lysandra bound in chains. My father’s face looms, sneering at my weakness.You let your heart overshadow your cunning.

I jolt awake, heart pounding, the room darker than before. The hearth’s embers glow faintly, casting long shadows. Mythroat is parched, my limbs heavy with dread.I can’t do this, can I?

In the hush, I realize something fundamental has shifted in me. The knowledge of Lysandra’s sirenblood, her rebellious spirit, her vulnerability—somehow, it’s torn down my barriers. I want more than just to wield her as a tool. I want her to stand beside me, forging a path that defies the council’s tyranny.And that, ironically, might seal our doom.

Sighing, my face sinks in my hands. The weight of guilt, fury, and an impossible longing presses in. This is my dark night of the soul, the moment I realize I’ve stepped beyond rational ambition into something deeply personal. If the council demands her death… part of me wonders if I’d burn Pyrthos to the ground to keep her safe.

A quiet knock sounds at the door. My heart lurches. “Enter,” I rasp.

Eiroren peeks in, looking subdued. She glances at my haggard state with concern. “It’s nearly dawn, my prince. You said you’d ride to the farmland.”

I stiffen, forcing myself upright.Dawn already.“Right. Thank you.”

She hesitates. “I see your turmoil. Whatever happens, I stand with you.” A flicker of empathy warms her voice.

I offer a curt nod, unable to voice gratitude. She steps out, leaving me alone once more. The time has come to face the farmland enclaves, try to satisfy the council’s demands. Lysandra will accompany me. We’ll walk a razor’s edge—any misstep, and the council’s deadline becomes my condemnation.

As I rise, the half-empty liquor decanter catches my eye. For a moment, I consider drowning my fear in another swallow. Yet I force the feeling down.I need a clear mind.

My fingers brush the hilt of a dagger sheathed at my belt.Killing her is easy, losing her impossible,the refrain repeats.A bitter chuckle escapes me. I can’t decide which path is more dangerous.

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I steel myself.No more hesitation.If I must defy the council to spare Lysandra, so be it. I’ll gather what allies remain, fight if necessary. The alternative—delivering her head on a silver platter—is unthinkable.

I exit the study, wards sealing behind me. In the corridor, a small group of loyal guards awaits, along with Rhazien. Lysandra stands near them, face drawn, arms folded. Our gazes meet, a flicker of tension bridging the gap.She must sense my inner turmoil.But neither of us speaks.

Rhazien steps forward. “We’re ready, my prince. Horses prepared in the lower courtyard. We’ll escort Lysandra to the farmland enclaves as planned.”

I nod. “Then let’s go.”

We move through the fortress’s labyrinthine halls, descending broad staircases until we emerge into the crisp morning air of the courtyard. Dawn spills gold along the high walls, the city stirring to life beyond. Soldiers and stable hands bustle around a line of glossy black horses. Lysandra quietly takes the reins of one, glancing at me with guarded eyes.

I mount my own steed, heart pounding a steady war drum in my ears. The council’s ultimatum hovers like a dark cloud.Two days. If we fail, they want her dead.I grit my teeth, guiding my horse forward as the gates open with a groan. Lysandra falls in behind me, a small contingent flanking us.

Once we pass through the fortress gates, the city streets greet us with hushed curiosity. We ride in tense silence, eventually hitting the farmland roads that stretch out in neat, cultivated rows. Despite the lush greenery, fear thrums under my skin. By tonight, we either secure enough enclaves to appease the council or face unimaginable consequences.

And all the while, the more I consider handing her over, the more the idea repulses me. My father would curse my sentimentality, but I can’t see Lysandra as just a chess piece anymore. She’s become vital to me, a living embodiment of everything I desire to change in this world. If that means war with the council, so be it.

I lower my gaze to the reins, recollecting the swirl of her hair on my pillow, the taste of her frustration and desire. The guilt stabs deeper—my anger at her betrayal, her anger at mine. We’re stuck in a vicious cycle, each equally capable of destroying the other.Yet I can’t let her go.

Raising my eyes, I see the farmland horizon stretching wide, a patchwork of fields and distant huts. Lysandra rides beside me, posture tense. We exchange a brief look, and in it, I see her fear, her hope, and the flicker of unresolved longing. That alone spurs me on. I’ll face down the council’s wrath if it means keeping her from their inquisitors’ knives.

We press onward, hearts heavy with the knowledge that every passing moment draws us closer to a breaking point. The farmland wind rustles the crops, and overhead, the morning sun climbs, oblivious to the war brewing in our hearts.

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