Page 55 of Bound In Shadow

Xelith’s men fan out, establishing a perimeter. The hush of night wraps around us. Xelith and I find a spot beneath an ancient orchard tree, its twisted branches forming a sparse canopy overhead. I sink to the ground, exhaustion weighing on me. He settles beside me, posture tense, scanning the darkness for threats.

After a while, he speaks softly. “Tomorrow, we approach the enclaves again—this time as outcasts ourselves. Maybe they’ll see reason.”

I nod, turning to him. “What if they refuse? They blame me for associating with you. They might see us both as liars.”

He grimaces. “We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it. If they remain hostile, we… keep searching for enclaves that will join us in resisting the council.”

Silence lingers, pregnant with all the uncertainties. My gaze drifts to him, moonlight tracing the silver in his hair, the hardened lines of his jaw. The memory of his raw fury as he broke into that chamber resonates still.He truly risked everything.

Cautiously, I lay a hand on his forearm, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He meets my eyes, something like sadness flickering there. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice unsteady. “For doubting you. For nearly getting myself killed. For… so many things.”

He closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. “I have my own apologies to make. I pushed you into corners, demanded your compliance, withheld trust.”

We remain there, a fragile peace settling between us. My heart clenches with the enormity of what we face. The council’s wrath, the farmland’s fragile trust, my sirenblood secret. But in this stolen moment under an orchard tree, we find a wordless understanding.

At length, I speak again, voice hushed. “So we’re teaming up for real now? No more half-lies or threats?”

A faint, wry smile tugs at his mouth. “Yes, Lysandra. We stand or fall together. I’d hoped to avoid open rebellion against my own people, but they forced my hand.” He lifts a hand, brushing back a strand of my hair. The gentle motion sends shivers through me.

My throat tightens. “If you hadn’t come…” I can’t finish the sentence, the memory of that cell too raw.

He cups my cheek, voice low. “I’ll always come for you. Even if it destroys me.”

Tears prick my eyes. I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. Our breaths mingle, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the world fades. We have no fortress left to confine us, no illusions of appeasing a corrupted council.Just two souls bound by necessity and something dangerously close to love.

He leans in, lips ghosting over mine with a trembling exhalation. I sink into the brief kiss, letting it reaffirm the fragile bond we share. A flicker of warmth surges, banishing the chill of night. Then we draw apart, acknowledging that duty and danger overshadow everything else.

I shift, forcing a steadier tone. “Tomorrow, we approach the enclaves. We prove that I’m not your prisoner, that I stand willingly at your side. If they believe that, maybe we can unify them enough to repel the council’s retribution.”

Xelith inclines his head, eyes shadowed with wariness. “Yes. The council will rally an army soon. We must gain every ally possible. If your illusions—” He hesitates, swallowing. “Yoursiren voice might also tip the scales if carefully used. But it’s risky.”

My stomach clenches, recalling how enthrallment nearly triggered panic among the guards. “I’ll be careful. But if it comes to that, I’ll do what I must to protect us both.”

His jaw sets. “We’ll find a path. Or we’ll carve one.”

Silence envelops us again. The orchard’s leaves rustle softly in the night breeze. I rest my head against his shoulder, exhaustion tugging at me. Despite the danger, a fragile hope glimmers.He came for me. He chose me over his people. Now we stand on the precipice of forging a new fate.

Eventually, he helps me stand, guiding me to where his men set up a makeshift camp. They greet me with guarded respect—some uneasy, some acknowledging my role.We’re all outcasts now.I sink onto a bedroll under the sky, close to where Xelith sits scanning the darkness. Sleep creeps in on silent wings, lulled by the knowledge that, for once, I’m not alone.

Before my eyes fully close, I catch a glimpse of Xelith. He’s angled toward me, posture tense, dagger resting across his knees. Our gazes meet in the faint moonlight. I offer the barest nod, a silent promise that I won’t run again. He nods back, exhaling softly.

I drift off, clinging to the sense of unity that’s formed amid destruction.If Xelith and I are to survive, if we are to break the council’s hold, we must stand together.No more half-measures or forced captivity. In the morning, we’ll approach the farmland enclaves as equals. If they accept us, we have a chance. If not, I’ll enthrall or fight my way out. Because I refuse to be caged again, and I refuse to let him face the council’s wrath alone.

Yes, I’m sirenborn, a rebel, and he’s a disgraced prince. But for tonight, in this orchard under a canopy of stars, we forge a bond that neither council threat nor ill fate can easily sever. Andif that bond spells war for Protheka, so be it. We’ve made our decision.

14

XELITH

Istand on the border of a narrow clearing, watching the first rays of dawn break over the farmland. Pale sunlight threads through the twisted orchard trees, illuminating the dew-damp grass that carpets the ground. Behind me, a small band of loyal soldiers and a few wary human rebels gather in cautious alliance, nursing wounds and exhaustion after our midnight flight from the fortress.

It still feels surreal, turning my back on the council, proclaiming myself a traitor to save Lysandra. I can sense the tension rippling through both groups. The Dark Elves in my retinue have always served me, but now they’re uncertain, estranged from the fortress they once called home. The humans are likewise uneasy, unsure how much faith to put in a Dark Elf prince, however many times I’ve defied my kin.

Yet in the midst of all that friction, we share a singular focus: survival against the council’s impending wrath. We can’t remain in the open for long. Rumors swirl that the council might dispatch an entire battalion to capture or kill us. We’ve found temporary refuge in this remote orchard clearing—a vantage point that offers concealment while we plan our next steps.

I rake my fingers through my hair, scanning the horizon. A flicker of movement catches my eye: Lysandra. She emerges from the orchard’s edge, walking carefully around a broken fence post. My pulse quickens at the sight of her. Despite everything that’s happened, relief surges through me each time I realize she’s free.

Our gazes lock. She hesitates, then crosses the clearing, ignoring the curious glances from soldiers and rebels. Beneath the morning light, her dark hair frames her face in loose waves, and although fatigue lingers in her posture, there’s a quiet determination in her stride.

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