Page 68 of Bound In Shadow

His jaw tightens, eyes clouding with an old hurt. “His legacy was built on subjugation and cruelty. I believed in it once, blindly. Yet the day I saw what they did to humans—treating them like chattel—I couldn’t remain that man. Meeting you only hastened the break. I realized there’s no honor in ruling if you’re no better than the oppressor you despise.”

I blink, a tear escaping despite my attempts to stay composed. “Thank you,” I say again, softer this time. “I don’t deserve it, but I… I’m so glad you didn’t hand me over, even when the council demanded my head.”

He reaches out, palm brushing my cheek to wipe away that lone tear. “You deserve a life free from chains—both literal and figurative. I want that for you. For us.” The sincerity in his gaze almost cracks me open.I can’t leave him behind, not ever.

Eventually, we crest a low hill, spotting a shallow ravine that cuts across the farmland. Takar signals for the column to halt in the ravine’s shelter. We can break for water, maybe find a moment’s respite. The orchard rebels slip from their saddles, groaning at stiff limbs. I do the same, nearly stumbling as my feet hit solid ground. My body screams for rest, illusions still flickering in the periphery of my vision whenever I blink.

Xelith dismounts beside me. The moment we’re both on the ground, he slides an arm around my waist, steadying me. It’s more intimacy than some orchard fighters are used to seeing from a Dark Elf and a human, but they politely avert their eyes. His closeness washes a wave of relief over me.He’s here, unashamed, letting all witness that we stand together. If there was ever doubt about how far we’ve come, it’s banished now.

We lead the horses into the ravine, helping the wounded find shade. Our meager supplies run low, but a small stream trickles nearby, enough to fill waterskins. While Takar organizes a watch, Xelith and I help distribute rations. The orchard rebels accept the tasks quietly, some offering shy smiles in my direction. I guess enthralling an entire fortress can earn a certain awe, though it makes me uneasy.

“Here,” Xelith murmurs, pressing a half loaf of stale bread into my hands. “Eat something.”

I manage a faint smile, nibbling at the bread. The dryness sticks in my throat, but hunger gnaws at my belly, so I force it down. Once finished, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, then sink onto a rock by the stream’s edge. My reflection shimmers in the water—a gaunt face, hair unkempt, eyes shadowed with fatigue.I can scarcely believe I once thought captivity was my worst fate.

A presence settles beside me. I glance over. Xelith lowers himself onto the rock, wincing at the motion. He clasps his hands between his knees, studying me with quiet concern. “We have to keep moving soon,” he says, voice low so only I hear. “Takar spotted fresh tracks north of here—likely outriders from Pyrthos. They might be scouting or preparing an ambush.”

I nod, tracing a pattern in the stream with my fingertips. “No rest for the wicked?” My attempt at humor falls flat.

He offers a weary smirk. “We’ll rest eventually. For now, we survive.”

Silence envelops us, broken by the soft murmur of orchard fighters tending their animals. I watch the water swirl around my hand. So much has changed in such a short time—less than a moon cycle ago, I was a rebel with a battered band, fleeing into the orchard wilderness. Now I lead orchard enclaves side by side and accompanied by a Dark Elf prince, forging a fragile alliance built on illusions and enthrallment.It’s terrifying how quickly life can twist.

I realize something in that reflection:I can’t leave Xelith behind.He’s sacrificed everything for me, not just once but again and again. If I were to slip away, thinking to spare him from the council’s wrath, it would only tear our tenuous unity apart. He staked his claim with me in the orchard stable, in the halls of Pyrthos, in every battle we fought.We’re bound by more than necessity now.

My breath shivers with emotion. “I’ve been meaning to say… I’m not going anywhere,” I blurt, turning to face him fully.

He tilts his head, a quizzical arch to his brow. “I never assumed you would.”

A shaky laugh escapes me. “No, I mean… I know I could slip away, hide among orchard enclaves, let you handle the brunt of the council’s retaliation. But I won’t. I won’t even consider it.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. He exhales, shoulders sagging with relief. “I suppose part of me worried you might vanish, thinking you’d spare me the trouble.”

I look away, cheeks warming. “The thought crossed my mind weeks ago, when we were first forging this alliance. But not now. We stand as equals. If the council hunts you, they hunt me as well.”

He shifts closer, fingers curling lightly around mine. “That means more than I can say.” Then he glances around at the orchard fighters, the battered Dark Elves conferring near the ravine’s edge. “They see it, too—that you and I are united beyond mere strategy. That bond might be the only reason they trust us to keep them safe.”

A hush falls between us. I let the tension in my spine unwind fractionally, leaning my head on his shoulder. He’s warm despite the dusty leathers and the lingering odor of battle. My pulse steadies.I’m not alone. The siren guilt, the illusions, even enthrallment—he understands, and he accepts me.

Moments later, Takar strides over, clearing his throat. We straighten, though Xelith keeps a reassuring hand on my back. Takar’s expression is grim. “My prince, we found fresh footprints. They lead south, too, but from the size of them, it might be a scout party from the fortress.”

Xelith’s jaw tightens. “We move immediately, then. We can’t let them corner us here.” He glances at me. “Can you ride?”

I manage a curt nod, though my limbs protest. We’ve no choice. Takar departs, relaying the order to break camp. Within minutes, orchard rebels gather their wounded, loyal Dark Elves mount up, and we file out of the ravine, forging a winding path deeper into farmland territory.

The day blurs into a relentless journey. By noon, the sun beats down mercilessly, gnats swirling in the air. We pass orchard groves scorched by old council raids, fields left untended after the farmland workers fled. My chest squeezes at the sight.All this devastation, just to feed the council’s greed.

Occasionally, orchard enclaves come out of hiding, offering a handful of supplies or a place to rest, but we seldom linger. We can’t risk staying in one spot for too long, not while outriders might be tracking us. Some enclaves join our group, swelling our numbers with fresh faces—tired farmers who pick up scythes as makeshift weapons. The sense of unity humbles me.We truly are forging a new future, a ragtag army of those refusing to bow.

Evening approaches, and a hush settles. The orchard rebels exchange worried glances, likely recalling the horrors of the Great Hall. My illusions and enthrallment saved many lives, but they also highlight how precarious our victory was. We can’t rely on that alone for every fight. My magic is limited, my siren voice exacts a terrible toll.We need something more sustainable—organization, strategy, hope.

Eventually, Xelith halts the column near a cluster of ancient oaks. Nightfall creeps in, painting the sky a bruised purple. Guards set watch, orchard rebels scrounge for kindling, and we make a small, discreet fire in a hollow between root tangles. Flickering flames illuminate the exhausted faces around me: Tali tending a battered orchard fighter, Takar polishing his blade, and a pair of Dark Elves dividing rations.

Xelith stands a short distance away, speaking quietly with a group of orchard elders. I watch him from my spot by the fire, something warm fluttering in my chest. He’s orchestrating how best to distribute supplies, ensuring orchard families get enough to eat, that the wounded are not neglected.This man, once anexiled noble prince scornful of humans, is now championing them.

My chest tightens with gratitude and a pang of longing. I push to my feet, ignoring the throb in my legs. The orchard elders disperse, leaving Xelith alone. He notices me approaching, a faint, tired smile lighting his features.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, tone laced with concern.

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