Page 67 of Bound In Shadow

We leave Pyrthos behind, official traitors to the entire Dark Elf establishment. No illusions remain about returning to any normal life. The farmland enclaves look to us for leadership. The orchard rebels see Lysandra as a queen reborn, sirenblood awakened. My loyal soldiers regard me as their exiled prince, forging a new destiny.

And so we ride, battered but unbroken. The council might muster forces to hunt us across Protheka, brand us enemies to all Dark Elves. But we carry a spark of hope that outweighs that fear. We tore down the fortress door, enthralled their guards, killed the worst of their tyrants—and walked away with our heads held high.

Somewhere beyond these fields, we’ll find a place to regroup, build alliances, and stand against whatever vengeance the remaining council members unleash. My jaw sets with grim resolve: let them come. I glance at Lysandra, whose eyes flutter open, meeting my gaze with quiet determination.

She lifts a hand to my cheek, expression full of fierce tenderness. “We’ll face them,” she murmurs, reading my thoughts. “We’ve done the impossible once. We’ll do it again if we must.”

I nod, guiding her horse forward. My chest aches, not just from bruises but from an overwhelming mix of relief andresponsibility. “Yes,” I answer, voice low. “We stand together—forever.”

A faint smile curves her lips. “Forever,” she echoes, and for a heartbeat, I believe it wholeheartedly.

Dawn breaks fully, casting gold over the farmland as we vanish into rolling hills. The orchard rebels flank us, Takar and the loyal Dark Elves guard our rear. Pyrthos is behind us, the final confrontation done. The council lies shattered or subdued for now. And Lysandra and I ride onward—victorious, hunted, unyielding.

The horizon stretches with new possibilities. Our story is far from over, but in this moment, with her warmth at my side and the orchard enclaves rallying behind us, I finally feel that we’ve seized our fate. Let the council brand us monsters, traitors, or exiles. We’ll shape Protheka’s future in the orchard’s name, forging a realm where illusions, enthrallment, and dark shadows serve not tyranny but freedom.

And so we ride, hearts pounding in unison, forging a new life on the run—unafraid, because we have each other, and that bond is stronger than any fortress’s walls.

17

LYSANDRA

Inever imagined that victory could taste so bittersweet. We’ve fled Pyrthos under the rosy flush of dawn, the walls and ramparts shrinking behind us with every hoofbeat. Though the Great Hall confrontation shattered the Dark Elf council’s immediate power, it hasn’t freed me from the ghosts whispering in my mind. My illusions have faded, and my siren voice slumbers again, yet their echoes linger, reminding me what I did in that final stand—and how, with a few words, I warped the will of living beings to keep us safe.

We ride across rolling farmland, a swath of orchard enclaves and scattered homesteads. The orchard rebels follow in uneven lines behind us. Some limp, wounded from the skirmish. A few carry stretchers, carefully transporting those who fell victim to the council’s last onslaught. Dark Elf loyalists—Xelith’s men—remain at the rear, eyes peeled for any sign of pursuit. The friction between orchard fighters and exiled Dark Elves simmers, though they no longer glare at each other with open hostility. We’ve proven we need one another to stand against the council’s tyranny. Our blood, spilled on Pyrthos’s marble floors, cements that fragile unity.

I clutch my mare’s reins, shoulders stiff with fatigue. My illusions earlier drained every reserve I had. My enthrallment left me with a throbbing headache, one that pulses at the base of my skull. Perhaps it’s the cost of channeling that raw, forbidden sirenblood so fiercely. Each time I recall the blank stares of those enthralled guards, a chill crawls down my spine.I forced them to surrender, to drop their weapons, or they would have killed us. But do I dare accept that moral compromise so easily?

A breeze ruffles my hair. Overhead, the sun climbs, warming the fields but offering no comfort to my tangled thoughts. I exhale slowly, trying to push aside the guilt that gnaws at my conscience. We had no choice. The council forced my hand. If we had hesitated or balked at the final step, none of us would be alive right now.

A rider appears at my side—Tali, an orchard rebel with a bandage across her arm. She and I first crossed paths in a farmland skirmish months ago. Her expression brims with cautious respect. “Lysandra,” she begins, voice subdued by exhaustion. “How far do we go before we rest? Some are near collapse.”

I ease my mare closer, scanning the lines of battered fighters behind us. “A few miles more,” I answer quietly. “We can’t risk halting too close to Pyrthos. If the council regroups, we need enough distance to either defend ourselves or vanish.”

She nods, glancing at the horizon. “All right. I’ll pass the word, but hurry if we can.” She taps her horse into a trot, heading back along the column to relay instructions. I watch her leave, chest heavy.It’s always a balancing act: push too hard, we lose the wounded. Stop too soon, the council’s outriders might catch us unprepared.

I guide my horse forward, drifting in the direction where Xelith rides. He’s speaking with Takar, his second-in-command, while half a dozen loyal Dark Elves keep a perimeter. A panghits my chest at the sight of him. The memory of our last stand in the Great Hall flickers across my mind: him unleashing lethal shadows, me shaping illusions that turned the tide of battle. He’s given up everything—his birthright, his people’s favor—just to stand by me.He could have surrendered me to them at any point and reclaimed his throne. Instead, he carved his own path, choosing me over all else.

I slow as I approach, letting him finish conferring with Takar. The older soldier salutes, then steers his mount back to the rearguard. Xelith notices me, mouth curving in the faintest smile. There’s fatigue in the set of his shoulders, bruises marring his obsidian skin, but a fierce glow lingers in his silver eyes.

He falls in step beside me, guiding his stallion to match my mare’s pace. “How do you feel?” he asks softly, flicking his gaze over my form. “You haven’t spoken much since we left the fortress.”

I release a shaky breath, trying to find words for the tempest roiling in me. “I… I’m tired,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “But that’s not all. I keep replaying what I did—enthralling those soldiers, forcing them to kneel. I know it saved us, yet it feels… wrong to use that power so freely.”

His expression softens, and he reaches across the narrow gap to briefly squeeze my wrist. “We had no choice. They would have killed you, Lysandra. Your illusions and enthrallment were the only things that kept them from overwhelming us.” A bitter note weaves into his tone. “The council left no room for mercy, so we claimed the upper hand. Don’t let guilt consume you.”

I swallow hard. He’s right, in a way, but the shame still clings. “I just… I never wanted to become what they accuse me of being. A monster who wields power to break minds.” My chest tightens. “I worry if I keep using enthrallment, I’ll forget the line between necessity and cruelty.”

He nods, brow furrowing. “Your conscience is exactly what keeps you from crossing that line. You did only what was needed to protect all of us—human or Dark Elf.” For a moment, vulnerability flickers in his gaze. “And I’m grateful.”

A wave of warmth surges through my chest, battling the lingering guilt. I nod, letting out a shaky exhale. “Thank you.”

We ride in companionable silence for a while, the farmland rolling past us in soft greens and browns. Occasional orchard trees break up the horizon, their twisted branches reaching skyward. The orchard rebels and exiled Dark Elves form two uneven columns that merge when the road narrows. Over time, the tension that once crackled between them has eased into mutual wariness. Even so, none of us forget that we’re fugitives now, wanted by the fortress for daring to stand against the council.

“Xelith,” I murmur after a long pause, voice soft. “You gave up everything for me. Your status, your people’s acceptance?—”

He cuts me off with a quiet laugh. “Not everything.” His tone gentles. “I have you. I have Takar and those men who remain loyal to what my house once stood for, before the council twisted it into something vile. That’s more than I had under the council’s thumb.”

Emotion constricts my throat. “But your father’s legacy?—”

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