Page 22 of Bound In Shadow

I let out a slow breath. “I want to ensure they don’t walk into a council ambush. If we move quickly, we can offer them refuge—under my terms—before the council initiates a purge. It’s that, or watch them die.”

She clenches her fists. “Your terms. Which means more chains.”

Rhazien shifts, impatience etched on his face. “The alternative is the council’s method—public executions.”

For a moment, Lysandra looks as though she might explode in fury. Then her shoulders sag. She turns away, staring at the intricate patterns on the ground—mosaics depicting the Hunter’s eternal pursuit of prey. The symbolism isn’t lost on me.

I step close, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “This is the game I spoke of. You don’t have to like it. But if we do nothing, your people will be lost.”

Her chest rises and falls in rapid breaths. Finally, she swallows, turning those stormy eyes on me. “I need time to think.”

I nod. “You have until nightfall. After that, I must present a proposal to the council. I can’t stall them longer.”

She glares, then gives a curt nod. “Fine.”

A tense silence follows. I take the lead, guiding us back toward the fortress gates. The short walk is fraught, every step weighed down by the stares of passersby, the glances from guards, the faint murmurs that I’m escorting a human rebel around like a favored pet. My blood simmers at their insolence, but I keep my expression composed.

As we near the fortress courtyard, Lysandra slows. She looks at me with a mix of anger and something more vulnerable. “Why are you so intent on using me to shape policy here? You claim to hate the council, but you’re still dancing to their tune.”

I stiffen, irritated by her perceptiveness. “I’m dancing to no one’s tune but my own. This city reveres the Hunter—a god who hunts from the shadows, always controlling the outcome of the chase. Let the council think they hold the upper hand; I’d rather strike from an unseen angle.”

She tilts her head. “So you’re comparing yourself to a god?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Hardly. But I understand the necessity of patience and cunning better than most. Do you?”

She doesn’t answer, but her jaw tightens. I lead her through a side entrance back into the fortress, where the corridors hushany further conversation. Near the base of a spiral staircase, Rhazien peels away with a polite bow, leaving us alone in the flicker of wall torches.

Now we linger in a narrow hall that leads to my private wing—her new domain of captivity, ironically more comfortable than the rest of the fortress. She crosses her arms, gaze fixed on me. “That’s it, then? Show me the city, remind me how hopeless things are, then demand I betray my people to you?”

I arch a brow. “I’m not demanding you hand them over on a silver platter. I’m giving you a chance to save them from worse. But yes, you must either trust me or face the consequences.”

Her throat works as she swallows. I sense the turmoil roiling inside her—loyalty to her cause, revulsion for me, and a grim acceptance that my path might be the only one left. A pang of something too close to pity nudges me, but I push the thought away.

She steps closer, the shift of her body stirring the air. I catch a faint adrenaline-laced scent. “I hate how you keep cornering me.”

“Yet here you stand.”

Her chest lifts with a measured inhale. “Because I want them safe. Even if it means dealing with you.” The line of her mouth trembles for a heartbeat, then hardens.

I nod. “Then we have an understanding.”

She shakes her head. “That’s too strong a word.”

A wry smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Fair enough.” Silence stretches between us, tension coiling like a taut bowstring. I can’t deny the spark that flickers in my veins whenever we clash. It’s dangerous, addictive—seeing her spirit flare despite everything.

A single step closes the distance between us. I can almost taste her anger on the air. “You realize,” she murmurs, voice low, “that if I ever find a chance to take you down, I will.”

My pulse spikes. I should threaten her in return, remind her of her vulnerable position. Yet the challenge in her eyes enflames me more than any compliance could. “You’re welcome to try.”

She exhales, a trembling sound that might be a laugh. Then she turns abruptly, striding away toward her chamber. I watch her go, the sway of her braid against her back, the tension in her posture. When she disappears behind a corner, I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The cloying quiet that follows feels oppressive. For a moment, I linger in the hall, running a hand over my jaw. My carefully maintained distance is slipping each time I see that fierce glare, each time I hear her voice steeped in defiance and desperation. It’s a precarious line—I need her focused on saving her people, on forging alliances that further my goals, not on feeding whatever sparks between us.

That spark burns in me too, an ember I can’t entirely quench. With Lysandra so close, every conversation is laced with an undercurrent of possibility—of violence, betrayal, or something far more carnal. I shake my head, forcing myself to return to the antechamber. I have a meeting with Eiroren soon, and I must maintain composure. The game demands it.

On my way, I consider how the city’s devotion to the Hunter parallels my own approach. The Hunter is revered for patience, for cunning pursuit rather than reckless aggression. That’s the role I aim to fill: the unseen force orchestrating events so that, in the end, I emerge victorious. Let the council bicker. Let Lysandra’s rebels cower. Let Lysandra herself think she can fight me or despise me. I’ll corral all these moving pieces until they form the perfect tapestry to end my exile once and for all.

But as I climb the stairs to my private rooms, a niggling thought persists:She is not just another piece on the board.She’s something else. Something that could unravel me if I’m not careful. Her will is as relentless as my own, and that enticesme in ways I can’t afford to indulge. Not when I teeter on the precipice of regaining everything.

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