Page 20 of Bound In Shadow

My lips curl in a half-smile. “And you disapprove?”

His features tighten. “I merely question your… motives. You’re risking a direct confrontation with powerful nobles who still hold grudges against you. If Lysandra fails to deliver on controlling her people, or if she betrays you, we could be left more vulnerable than ever.”

I let silence stretch between us. Rhazien has served me for years—long enough to speak his mind, albeit carefully. “You doubt my ability to handle a single human woman?” I ask lightly.

He shakes his head. “No. But you seem… fascinated by her. It’s affecting your judgment.”

A flicker of annoyance sparks in me. I keep my voice level. “We’ve come this far, Rhazien. I have no intention of letting her slip through my fingers or unravel my plans. Rest assured, my fascination, as you call it, remains secondary to my goal.”

Rhazien sighs, though he inclines his head. “Very well. But tread carefully.”

I dismiss him with a nod, turning away. As his footsteps fade, I push open the door leading to a side corridor that connects to Lysandra’s chamber. I pass under softly glowing wards that recognize my magical signature. The runes etched into the wallsripple, parting like invisible veils. Another day, another series of games with Lysandra.

In the small foyer outside her room, I find Eiroren awaiting me. She stands tall, clad in fitted robes of charcoal gray with silver trim. Her pale hair is braided in an ornate style that suggests she expects an important event. Or she’s simply preening, as lesser nobles often do. She offers a shallow bow.

“My prince,” Eiroren says, eyes flicking to the closed door ahead. “I hear you plan to escort our human guest through the city.”

I nod curtly. “It’s time she sees how Pyrthos truly functions—and how precarious her position is here.” I pause, noting the glint in Eiroren’s eyes. “You disapprove as well?”

She feigns a polite smile. “It’s not my place to disapprove, my prince. Merely to observe. But you should know, some in the fortress whisper that you’ve grown… soft.”

“Soft.” I repeat the word, tasting its absurdity. “Because I see value where they see a corpse?”

“Precisely,” she murmurs, fiddling with the silver chain at her throat. “And we both know this city worships the Hunter—an unyielding deity who respects cunning and ruthlessness. If the rumor spreads that you’re coddling a rebel…”

I let out a short laugh. “Then let them see what my version of ‘soft’ looks like.” My tone edges toward danger. Eiroren lowers her gaze, understanding the warning.

She steps aside as I approach Lysandra’s door. I give one firm knock before pushing it open. Inside, sunlight spills through tall windows, falling upon Lysandra as she stands by a small table. She’s dressed in plain black breeches and a fitted tunic, hair braided loosely over her shoulder, exposing the bruises still fading along her neck. The sight sends a subtle jolt of satisfaction—and some unwanted warmth—through me. She looks strongertoday, more herself, though still glaring with that fierce brand of defiance.

“Good morning,” I say. “I trust you slept better than you did in the dungeons.”

Her gray eyes glint. “Better is relative.” She glances at Eiroren, whose presence stiffens the air, then back at me. “What do you want?”

I ignore her impertinent tone. “We’re going for a walk.” I tilt my head toward the corridor. “You need to see Pyrthos beyond these walls.”

Suspicion flares in her expression. “And if I refuse?”

I shrug. “I’ll have you escorted by armed guards who relish the chance to remind you of your status. Your choice.”

She sets her jaw, something like resignation flickering across her features. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

I hold out an arm toward the hall, a mockery of chivalry. She sweeps past me without a second glance, and I catch a whiff of soap and something faintly floral that wasn’t there yesterday. I don’t let myself dwell on it, though a flicker of appreciation stirs in my chest.

Eiroren lingers outside, offering Lysandra a cold, measuring look. “I’ll remain here, my prince,” she says softly. “There are… administrative matters to attend to.”

“Of course,” I reply. There’s no mistaking her subtext: she’s giving us space, but she’ll be watching for any misstep. Good. She can whisper her observations to the lesser nobles—let them see how I handle Lysandra.

I lead Lysandra down the corridor, the wards parting again at our approach. She tenses every time the runes spark to life, as if expecting them to attack. The corners of my mouth twitch with amusement.She doesn’t yet grasp how precisely I control these wards.We descend a short flight of steps, arriving at a side doorthat opens onto a balcony overlooking the main thoroughfare of Pyrthos.

I push open the heavy door and gesture for her to step outside. She does so slowly, her gaze sweeping over the cityscape unfolding below. White sunlight illuminates rows of slate rooftops, decorative spires, and the bustling crowds that fill the streets. Far beyond, the farmland spreads, a patchwork of green and gold dotted with scattered huts.

Her posture stiffens at the sight. Perhaps she’s recalling her failed rebellion, how close she came to toppling the wards. Or maybe she’s thinking of the humans still out there, waiting for her return. I stay silent for a moment, letting her absorb the view.

She turns to me. “Why show me this?”

I rest my hands on the balcony rail. “Perspective. Pyrthos is more than a fortress—it’s a thriving city with commerce, families, religious devotions. You tried to burn it down, but you never truly saw the people who live here, did you?”

Her lips curl. “Are you trying to humanize them for me?”

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