Page 40 of Blood and Thorns

My strides take me to a smaller corner of the courtyard. Here, an ancient statue stands—a representation of some long-forgotten deity. Its features are worn down, but the spread wings hint at an ancestor of the Vrakken race. I place a hand on the cold stone, feeling the centuries pressed into its surface.

A memory surfaces: my mother guiding me here as a child, telling me how House Draeven overcame impossible odds by never showing weakness. “You must be impenetrable,” she’d said. “Emotions are vulnerabilities that the dark elves will exploit.”

I grit my teeth.She was right.Look how quickly I’ve lost my edge by letting Valeria under my skin. Now I’m consumed by worry, an emotion I rarely indulged before.

I step back from the statue, raking a hand on my hair. The courtyard’s emptiness mirrors my sense of isolation. At times, I wonder if all immortals feel this brand of loneliness, forging alliances out of necessity while keeping everyone at arm’s length.

My thoughts drift back to that moment—Valeria in my bed, warmth in her eyes, the shape of her parted lips as she breathed my name. A pang twists low in my belly. Her presence offered a taste of something genuine, not fueled by manipulation or fear.

But forging genuine bonds is a luxury I can’t afford. If she’s discovered, if the dark elves trace her infiltration back to me, it could spark a conflict House Draeven isn’t prepared to manage. The precarious balance we hold in the region would shatter. Brinda would see it as my failure, possibly strip me of authority.

And worse, Valeria might pay the price in blood. If I’d kept my distance from the start, perhaps I’d feel no such fear.

A hiss escapes me.Enough.Dwelling on mistakes or might-have-beens won’t change the present.

I force myself to conduct a final inspection of the fortress before retreating to my chambers. In the corridors, servants scurry with oil lamps, while pairs of Vrakken soldiers make their rounds. I keep a stoic mask, acknowledging them with curt nods. None speak of Valeria’s departure, though a few might suspect something unusual. Humans seldom leave House Draeven as part of official retinues.

I reach my room. Inside, I light a single lamp, letting the faint glow reveal a large bed, an armoire, and a desk stacked with missives. My gaze skitters to the bed—where memories of countless nights, spent cold and alone, loom. Now I have a fresh recollection of last night’s hunger, though it happened in her suite.

I grit my teeth. A brush with passion, and see how it’s crippled my focus? That can’t continue.

Peeling off my coat, I toss it onto a nearby chair. My wings stretch in the confined space, and I massage the tension in my neck. Sleep might be elusive, but I need to at least try. Darkness beyond these walls heralds another day of waiting for word on Valeria.

I cross to the window, staring out at the star-drenched night. The reflection in the glass shows me an expression I scarcely recognize—tight-lipped, haunted.I never realized how swiftly one moment of vulnerability could undo years of discipline.

For a heartbeat, I imagine her safe in some hideout, or returning triumphant after gleaning vital intel. Then an uglier vision surfaces: her cornered by dark elf enforcers, illusions shredding her mind until she confesses everything. The sting of that possibility makes my stomach churn.

I slam the window shutters closed, plunging the room into gloom. My heart thuds with an intensity that shames me.She’ll succeed,I tell myself. She has the training, the cunning, the fire needed to navigate that viper’s nest.

Raking my hair back, I strip down to my loose trousers and collapse onto the bed. The mattress feels cold and unwelcoming, a far cry from the heat of her body.This is how it should be,I remind myself.Separate, unencumbered.

Yet sleep refuses to come. I toss and turn, mind replaying every detail of her infiltration plan, every flaw that could unravel it. Hours might pass—time loses meaning in the silent fortress. Each shift of the night, each distant footstep in the corridor, jolts me into fresh waves of worry.

Eventually, exhaustion claims me in a fitful doze. My dreams are riddled with half-formed images: Valeria stepping through a grand banquet hall, masked figures whispering behind columns, the swirl of deadly illusions. In one fleeting vision, I see her pinned by a dark elf lord, fear etched on her face, calling my name—and I can’t reach her.

I jerk awake, sweat clinging to my skin.It was just a dream.But the echoes linger, driving home the reality that I’ve let her matter too much.

Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling. My throat feels tight.She’s gone now, and I can’t protect her.That knowledge, more than anything, threatens to erode my composure.

Dawn breaks again, pale sunlight slipping through the shutters. I sit up, rubbing my temples. The day’s duties loom—meetings, strategic briefings, a thousand small tasks. It’s a ceaseless cycle, one I used to handle with ease.

But now I feel heavier, like my mind can’t quite align with my body. A final surge of stubborn resolve stirs in my chest.She won’t be gone forever. She’ll return, or I’ll see to it personally.The thought glimmers with an edge of defiance I usually reserve for external threats.

I dress in measured silence, choosing black leathers trimmed with the faintest silver sigils. My reflection in the metal mirrorreveals tension in my jaw, but my eyes remain unreadable. If nothing else, I can maintain that facade for House Draeven.

Leaving my chambers, I stride through the fortress, greeting various subordinates with impassive politeness. The routine suffocates. I yearn for news of Valeria but know it’s far too soon. Instead, I bury myself in negotiations with the quartermasters, ensuring they have an updated roster for training new recruits. Next, I meet with the stewards, finalizing resource allocation. All mechanical tasks, dull enough to keep my mind from wandering too deep.

When midday arrives, I stand on a terrace overlooking the training grounds. Soldiers spar below, Helrath among them. He meets my gaze momentarily, as though measuring my mood, then returns to instructing.

She should be near the banquet’s province by now,I estimate. Another spike of worry. The harsh truth is that if things go awry, she’s on her own. She can’t send for help without blowing her cover, and the dark elves won’t show mercy.

I grip the terrace railing, forcing my breathing to steady. A part of me hates the helplessness.If you can’t handle this, you never should have let her become more than a tool.

That’s the core of my conflict: she’s no longer just a tool. She’s a person with fire in her veins, someone who’s matched me in determination, someone I…No.I clamp down on that line of thought. Love isn’t a word I can even entertain.

Time drags. By late afternoon, I retreat to the fortress’s library, hoping a deep dive into ancient texts on dark elf illusions will distract me. The library is quiet, dust motes swirling in golden sunbeams that pierce the high windows. I settle at a long table, scanning aged pages about wards and counterspells.

But my focus remains elusive. Each passage about illusions makes me envision Valeria confronted with those illusions in some lavish banquet hall. Would she recall the training, themental exercises I hammered into her? Could she keep her mind clear if the dark elves attempt to enthrall her?

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