Page 15 of Bound In Shadow

Silence settles, weighted by the reality of our new accord. She’s no longer chained, but she’s still within these walls, still at my mercy. For my part, I’m no longer free to claim ignorance if she stirs trouble. The risk is ours to share now.

Her expression shifts, a trace of confusion mingling with her usual hostility. “Why go this far?” she asks. “You could’ve left me cuffed and avoided extra trouble with the council.”

A thousand half-formed answers swirl in my mind: Because I’m entranced by your defiance. Because I sense an untapped power that might rival the entire fortress. Because I’m tired of playing by the rules of a court that despises me anyway. I settle for a simpler response.

“I believe your rage can be harnessed. But not if you feel like a caged animal.”

She blinks, and for the first time, something like gratitude sparks in her eyes. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. “Thank you,” she says quietly, though the words sound strange on her tongue.

I give a curt nod, ignoring the unsteady rhythm of my own pulse. “Rest. I’ll bring you more details soon. The council demands answers by tomorrow night. We’ll need to present a united front.”

Her lips part, as if she wants to protest, but she just sighs. “I suppose I’ll be here, either way.”

I glance around the cramped room. It’s hardly fitting for someone who might become my ally—my co-conspirator. “If you prove trustworthy, I’ll move you to better quarters.”

She snorts softly. “I’ll try not to get too comfortable.”

A faint wry grin tugs at my mouth. “Of course.”

Without further ceremony, I turn and walk to the door, quietly letting myself out. The guards outside stand at attention, startled to see me alone without the chain in hand.

I wave off their questions. “She remains in my custody, unshackled. If she leaves that room without my express permission, you know the consequences—both for her and for yourselves.”

They nod, eyes flicking warily toward the shut door.

I stride away, boots tapping on the stone floor, my thoughts a tumult of possibility and risk. I’ve chosen: I will keep Lysandra Riven alive, at least for now. In doing so, I might earn the full wrath of the council. Yet the alternative—wasting her potential—feels wrong, or at least unprofitable.

Passing a torchlit alcove, I brush my fingertips across the carved depiction of a serpent devouring its prey. My reflection in the polished stone stares back, reminding me that I, too, am a predator in this fortress. But who exactly is devouring whom in this arrangement?

Smothering a sardonic laugh, I continue down the corridor. Tomorrow, I’ll face the council again, bearing a flimsy explanation for why I haven’t delivered Lysandra’s head. That’s a battle I’m prepared to wage. For the first time since my exile, I sense a spark of genuine anticipation thrumming through my veins.

Yes, it’s dangerous. But the path to regaining power—or forging a new kind of rule—was never going to be safe. Lysandrahas that same hunger, that fire. If we manage to align our separate drives for freedom and authority, we might tear down the stagnant structures around us. Or we might tear each other apart in the process.

Either way, the game has truly begun and I’m determined not to lose.

5

LYSANDRA

Iwake to a sudden jolt when a guard grips my shoulder, shaking me out of a shallow, uneasy sleep. My eyes fly open, heart thudding, and my first thought is that I’ve overslept—though overslept forwhat, I can’t say. Time feels distorted in this fortress, ruled by shadows and flickering torchlight. The guard doesn’t offer an explanation. He just yanks me upright, manacles rattling at my wrists.

“Get up,” he snaps, and I swallow a surge of anger. No point in lashing out blindly. I learned that lesson the hard way on the day they slaughtered my rebellion in Pyrthos’s courtyard.

I force myself to stand without toppling. My ribs ache, but at least I’m no longer losing blood by the hour. Thanks to Halren’s bandages, I might actually keep going for another day or two—long enough, I hope, to find a way to escape. Or a way to use the exiled prince’s twisted interest in me.

Through the haze of my half-conscious mind, I recall Xelith’s last words:If you want to keep breathing… you’ll answer to me.He didn’t sound particularly gentle or kind, yet I’m still alive. For now.

The guard gestures to another soldier, who unlocks the door to my cramped suite. They push me into the corridor. Unlike before, there’s no public parade through the fortress halls. Two guards flank me, each with a hand on my arms, guiding me through winding passages I haven’t seen yet.

A prickle of apprehension makes the hair on my neck rise. We’re descending deeper into the fortress, away from the well-trod main corridors. The air grows cooler, and the smell of damp stone and old spells hits my nose. My heart pounds with every step, uncertain what fresh nightmare awaits.

This is the moment they take me to some hidden dungeon,I think grimly. But the guard on my right mutters something about “the prince’s quarters.” His partner snorts an acknowledgment, and I realize we’re not heading to another dank cell. This route, if memory serves, leads toward a series of restricted wings that only high-ranking Dark Elves (or exiled ones with secret influence, apparently) can access.

Eventually, the corridor widens, torches lighting a path that splits in two directions. The guards steer me left. Dark wood doors with intricate runes line the hall, each giving off faint pulses of magic. I can almost feel the wards hum beneath my skin. My captors halt at the third door on the left, and one raises his hand. An amethyst glow flares across the carvings, and the door eases open.

“In,” the guard says, shoving me forward. I stumble into what appears to be a large antechamber—opulent, by fortress standards. A plush rug in swirling black-and-crimson patterns covers the stone floor. Matching chairs flank a low table carved from dark wood. Shelves line the walls, holding books, peculiar sculptures, and small caged lights that shimmer with contained mana.

The door slams behind me, and my senses roar with awareness. This place reeks of power. Not just the storedmagical artifacts, but Xelith’s presence. I can’t see him yet, but it feels as if the room breathes his essence—cool, controlled, and vaguely predatory.

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