Page 58 of Bound In Shadow

She nods, her gaze softening. "More than that."

I kiss her, slow and deep, because words fail me. The promise hangs between us, unspoken but undeniable—this is more than lust, more than desperation. It’s a vow.

Eventually,I gently ease away, smoothing her hair from her damp forehead. We exchange a shaky laugh tinged with relief. She tugs her tunic back into place, cheeks flushed. My own face burns with the intensity of what we’ve just shared. This is more than just lust; it’s a reaffirmation that we stand as one, beyond the realm of betrayal and doubt.

She rests her head on my shoulder, exhaling softly. “We should… get back. They’ll wonder if a scouting party found us.”

I nod, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Yes. And we have preparations to finalize. The council won’t rest. We can’t, either.”

We help each other straighten our rumpled clothing, pulse still unsteady. The orchard’s breeze cools the sheen of sweat from my skin. When we’re presentable enough, we stand, lingering a moment, hands still joined.

A swarm of emotions buzzes in my chest: fierce protectiveness, a surprising tenderness, and renewed determination. If we survive the battles ahead, it’ll be because we forged this unity—together.

We step from behind the trees, rejoining the clearing. My guards and her rebel allies avert their gazes politely, though I catch a few smirks. Lysandra’s cheeks color, but she lifts her chin, resolute. I do the same, ignoring any snide remarks that might come.

One of my most trusted soldiers, Takar, approaches with an air of urgency. “My prince,” he says, saluting. “We’ve scouted further south. There’s a sizable farmland enclave that’s agreed to meet with you—under Lysandra’s guarantee. But they warn that the council’s outriders have been sighted nearby.”

I exchange a glance with Lysandra. She nods, face smoothing into resolve. “We can’t let them slip away. If we can rally that enclave, we might form a real base of resistance.”

I turn to Takar. “Then gather everyone. We leave within the hour. If the council’s outriders attempt to intercept us, we’ll deal with it.”

He salutes and hurries off. Lysandra exhales, scanning the orchard. “I just hope they trust me enough to stand down. If they see you, a Dark Elf prince, leading an armed band, they might panic.”

I thread my fingers through hers, drawing her gaze back to me. “We have no choice but to try. Our alliance is the only chance we have.”

She squeezes my hand, giving me a faint, determined smile. “Then let’s do it.”

Within the hour, we mount our horses—some borrowed from farmland stables, others carried over from the fortress escape. Our combined force is a motley crew of a dozen Dark Elf soldiers loyal to me, plus about half that number of humans who followed Lysandra, or at least trust her enough to see reason. The orchard behind us recedes as we set off under the rising sun.

We ride in a tight formation, scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit. My thoughts drift to the second we shared behind those trees. My body still hums from her touch, a fierce reminder that whatever fate awaits us, we won’t face it alone.

At midday, we crest a low hill and spot the farmland enclave in the distance—a sprawling cluster of huts and makeshift barricades. Figures pace the perimeter, wary of intruders. Lysandra signals for us to halt a short distance away.

She dismounts, calling out to them in a clear, confident voice. “It’s me, Lysandra Riven!” The tension in our group spikes, but she stands tall, ignoring the anxious glances from my men. “I come with a Dark Elf prince who’s turned against the council. We want to parley.”

For a heartbeat, I sense the hush of the farmland. Then, a single figure emerges from behind the barricade—an older man with a scar across his cheek. He narrows his eyes at Lysandra, then at me. “Riven,” he mutters. “We heard rumors you joined them. Sold us out.”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Never. The council wants me dead. Xelith saved my life. He’s an outcast now, same as we are. We’ve come to unite, not conquer.”

A murmur ripples through the small crowd behind the barricade. The old man eyes me warily. “Prince or not, a Dark Elf’s a Dark Elf. Why should we trust him?”

I swallow any offense, focusing on calm. “Because the council hates me nearly as much as they hate you,” I say, letting a wrynote slip into my voice. “We stand a better chance together than apart.”

He spits on the ground, still uncertain. Lysandra steps forward, voice steady. “Please. We don’t have time to argue. The council’s outriders scour the farmland. They’ll crush anyone who defies them. Xelith and I can help you fortify, or at least relocate somewhere safer.”

A flicker of doubt clouds the man’s features, but Lysandra’s words must resonate. He motions for us to come closer, though his people remain armed, lining the barricade. My men bristle at the hostility, but they keep their weapons sheathed.

We enter a tense negotiation. Lysandra does most of the talking, explaining how we escaped the fortress, how the council demands her head, how I stand opposed to them. The enclavers remain torn—some see me as a cunning viper, others recall Lysandra’s old leadership with respect. Gradually, the tide shifts in our favor when she reveals bruises from captivity and relays how the council nearly executed her.

“Why would a Dark Elf prince risk everything for you?” someone asks, suspicion lacing their tone.

Lysandra casts me a sidelong look, cheeks faintly coloring. “Because he believes in a different future,” she says quietly. “And, well… we have a personal stake in each other’s survival.”

I meet the enclavers’ gazes, letting them see my sincerity. “The council’s tyranny spares no one. I’ve learned that the hard way. I won’t let them continue this cycle of brutality, not if there’s another path.”

At last, the enclave’s leader—named Jarin—nods grimly. “We’ll consider your proposal. Stay the night, prove you aren’t leading a hidden ambush. If all seems true, we’ll stand with you.”

Night falls swiftly, and the enclavers guide us to a half-collapsed barn on the outskirts, offering it as a makeshift shelter. My men set up watch, while Lysandra’s group confers with oldfriends in hushed tones. I can almost taste the tension swirling in the humid evening air.

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