Page 63 of Bound In Shadow

“Fall back,” Xelith croaks, pulling himself upright. He staggers, one hand pressed to his ribs, but he regains enough composure to lead. “Everyone, we withdraw—now!”

Takar and the orchard rebels echo the order. We hustle away, stepping over the groaning forms of enthralled guards. My illusions swirl in partial arches overhead, forming a corridor of visual distortions to mask our retreat from any archers who might snap out of the trance.

Outside, the courtyard lies in battered ruin, littered with dropped weapons and wounded soldiers. A few orchard rebels help carry their own wounded.We can’t do more to save them all, or risk more casualties.

We break from the main gate, stepping over rubble. My illusions begin to fade. The enthrallment hum in my throat dwindles. My limbs shake, close to collapse. I sense Xelith at my side, shadows drifting around him in a protective swirl.

One final volley of arrows shoots from the ramparts, but Takar’s men raise shields, deflecting most. A rebel cries out in pain, but overall, we remain intact enough to flee.We did it.

The orchard illusions gutter out, my vision dimming. Gasping for air, I nearly topple. Xelith catches me, arms strong despite his own injuries. “Steady,” he murmurs.

My mind spins. We forced the council into submission, at least for a moment. We revealed the siren power in full,enthralling half their guard. But this victory tastes bittersweet. We can’t hold Pyrthos, and now we’ll be labeled criminals across Protheka.

Still, as we limp out of the fortress’s reach, a ragged cry of triumph rises from our battered ranks. The farmland enclaves see we are not helpless sheep, that the council’s fortress can be breached by illusions and sirenblood and unwavering unity.

My knees buckle, but Xelith hoists me onto a waiting horse. He swings up behind me, ignoring his own pain. The orchard rebels set a perimeter, scanning for pursuit. The fortress gates remain open, but the enthralled guards are in no shape to chase us.

“We’ll be hunted,” I rasp, leaning against Xelith’s chest. Every fiber of my being aches from overextending my magic.

He nods, arms wrapping around me. “We will,” he agrees softly. “But so long as we stand together, they won’t find easy prey.”

That flicker of reassurance warms me. My eyelids droop, exhaustion claiming me. But I force them open long enough to see the fortress walls receding, the council’s vantage slipping away.We proved our point.

As our force regroups on the road, Takar relays instructions for a southern march. The orchard enclaves rally around us, cheering Lysandra Riven and Prince Xelith, the two who defied the invincible fortress. I’m too drained to do more than offer a weak smile in return.

Xelith presses a gentle kiss to my temple, voice thick with relief. “You were brilliant,” he murmurs, “and terrifying.”

I let out a shaky laugh, hardly believing what we accomplished. The courtyard confrontation might be over, but I know the war is far from done.Still, we live. We hold our freedom. We’ve shattered the council’s illusion of untouchable might.

Night will come, and with it, the first steps of a new era—for humans, for Dark Elves, for anyone who stands outside the council’s grip. We’ll be branded fugitives, traitors. But as I settle against Xelith, allowing him to support my weight, I feel a fierce spark of hope in my chest.

Because we confronted them. We revealed my siren power to the world, and Xelith stood with me, brandishing his shadow magic in open defiance. We gave them a taste of what united forces—human and Dark Elf—can achieve. If they want to hunt us, let them. We’ll carve our path across Protheka, forging new alliances, protecting the enclaves still shackled by fear.

One battered band of outcasts we may be, but we hold a victory that resonates: that no tyranny is absolute, that illusions, enthrallment, and conviction can unseat even the mightiest fortress. And though the council may mount a grand pursuit, I won’t face it alone. I have Xelith, and he has me.

The orchard illusions fade, the fortress shrinking behind us as our ragged army presses onward. My eyes slide shut in exhaustion, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s gait and Xelith’s steady heartbeat against my back. The final battle is yet to come, but for now, we’ve seized a foothold in a war that once seemed hopeless.

And I realize, with a surge of fierce gratitude, that in my darkest hour, I found a partner who’d tear down an empire to keep me free—and I’d do the same for him.

16

XELITH

Itaste blood in the air—hot, metallic, and far too familiar. My lungs burn from the exertion of channeling shadows, illusions swirl at my peripheral vision, and the Great Hall’s marble floor is slick with spilled gore. I can’t tell how many council guards or orchard rebels are wounded. All I know is that we stand in the heart of Pyrthos’s stronghold, trapped between towering columns and broken candelabras, and the final blow has yet to land.

Beside me, Lysandra sags against a cracked pillar, sweat beading her forehead. Her illusions and siren voice have disoriented half the courtyard, but we haven’t won yet. Arrows still clatter around us, fired from the upper balconies. If I close my eyes, I can hear the trembling hush of archers uncertain whether to shoot again—one misstep, and they might be enthralled by Lysandra’s voice or snared in my shadows.

Around us, orchard rebels rally, supporting their wounded, while the last pockets of the council’s guard cling to their positions. My stomach twists as I recall how bravely they fought to protect Lysandra and me from the council’s worst. We’reoutnumbered. If the council’s reinforcements converge, we’ll be buried in a tide of steel.

But we came here for a purpose: to break the council’s grip on the farmland, to prove we are no longer pawns. Most of all, to ensure Lysandra never again faces their execution orders. My father’s old seat of power has become a cage for both humans and Dark Elves, and we’re here to tear open that cage once and for all.

A ragged cough draws my attention. I see Takar, my second-in-command, staggering beneath a dented breastplate. Blood trickles down his temple, but he still clutches his sword, unwavering. He jerks his chin, pointing toward the dais at the far side of the hall. “We have to end it, my prince.” His voice echoes in the battered space.

I nod, drawing in a steadying breath. If we keep skirmishing with the guard, we’ll drown in reinforcements eventually. The orchard rebels can’t last long in a pitched fight. We need to strike at the council’s heart—Sharavel, Kalthos, Nyrus—the ones who orchestrated this entire fiasco. They’re the reason Lysandra bled under these very stones, the reason we’re forced to defy everything we once knew. If they fall or concede, the fortress might stand down.

“Form on me!” I bellow, forcing my voice to carry despite the chaos. Around a dozen orchard fighters and a few loyal Dark Elf soldiers pivot toward me. We still have some measure of strength. Lysandra limps to my side, illusions sputtering at her fingertips. We exchange a wordless look—exhaustion in her eyes, but a fierce determination overshadowing it.

“Let’s finish this,” she whispers, voice trembling with adrenaline. Even now, a faint echo of enthrallment hums in her tone, a subtle resonance that makes the hair on my neck prickle. She wields it carefully, not wanting to enthrall our own people by mistake.

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