Page 39 of Bound In Shadow

I huff a humorless laugh. “Everything is a challenge here.” Then I descend the steps with brisk strides, cloak sweeping behind me. I can’t allow fear to rule me. The corridor at the foot leads into the heart of my private wing, and each step pulses with tension.If an assassin has truly been hired, they’ll strike soon—tonight, maybe.There’s no time to lose.

At the threshold to my quarters, two guards stiffen. I sense the hush inside, the wards acknowledging my magical signature. With a flick of my wrist, I override the locks and push the door open.

Inside, I spot Lysandra pacing near the window. She wears a simple black tunic and fitted breeches, hair braided loosely down her back. Despite the persistent bruise along her jaw, there’s a fierce vitality in the way she moves. My chest tightens, recalling the raw surge of her voice that enthralled Nyrus just a day ago.Sirenblood.The word churns in my mind, forcing me to confront how precariously we stand.

She glances up, eyes immediately flicking over me as though assessing my mood. “Another meeting?” she asks, tone edged with tension.

I nod. “The nobles are pressing harder. They want you delivered or proven docile.” I stride closer, each footstep echoing on the polished floor. “Some might take matters into their own hands.”

She exhales, crossing her arms. “So I’m supposed to hide in here and pray they don’t send an assassin to slit my throat while I sleep?” Sarcasm laces her words, but her grip on her forearms betrays her unease.

I level my gaze on her. “You’re safe in this wing. My wards would alert me if anyone tries to breach it.” I pause, letting the gravity sink in. “But outside these chambers, yes. You’re in danger.”

A flicker of bitterness crosses her face. “And how am I to help with your farmland plan if I’m locked away like a caged bird?”

I step nearer, tension crackling between us. “You’ve seen the documents. You’ve identified enclaves that might surrender, saving them from total annihilation. We’re a day away from implementing that plan. Once we do, the council should see enough progress to back off—assuming no one else disrupts it.” I allow a grim note to enter my voice. “Still, you remain their prime target.”

She lifts her chin, defiance mingling with fear. “I won’t cower like a frightened animal, waiting for someone’s blade. I’d rather fight.”

Admiration stirs despite the peril. “I know. But if you want to stay alive, caution is paramount.”

Her posture stiffens. We stand a breath apart, the room’s air thick with unspoken tension. Over the past days, we’ve grown familiar with this closeness—an undercurrent that thrums whenever we’re alone. She’s sirenborn, I’m a disgraced prince. Logic demands we keep our distance, yet something pulls us like iron to a lodestone.

Rhazien enters, clearing his throat pointedly. His expression flicks between us, wariness in his eyes. “My prince, I’ve arranged extra patrols in the corridors leading here. If an assassin tries to approach, we’ll know.”

I force a nod, stepping back from Lysandra. “Excellent. Have them rotate unpredictably. If there’s a plot, let the conspirators see we’re prepared.”

Rhazien bows and departs, leaving the hush behind. Lysandra and I exchange a charged glance. She exhales, tension roiling. “So… you’ll lock me up and hope the council doesn’t speed things along?”

My jaw sets. “For tonight, yes, until the farmland plan is in motion. We can’t risk giving them an opening now.”

She scoffs, pacing away. “Lovely. A prisoner, as always.”

Anger flickers in me, anger at the council for forcing this, at myself for failing to keep her safer. “It’s better than dead,” I snap, voice sharper than intended.

Her eyes spark. “Am I supposed to be grateful?”

I surge forward, frustration boiling. “Grateful you aren’t a corpse? Yes, perhaps. I’m doing everything to protect you from a city that despises your kind.”

She spins, meeting my glare head-on. “You act like I owe you. I never asked for your ‘protection.’ If not for your council, we wouldn’t be in this nightmare.”

My pulse thuds. Tension ignites like a spark to kindling, our mutual tempers flaring in the face of lethal pressure. “Don’t be naive,” I growl. “Without me, the council would have paraded your severed head weeks ago.”

Her cheeks flush, but she refuses to back down. “Or maybe I’d have escaped. My illusions—my power—could’ve saved me.”

I bark a hollow laugh. “That power nearly revealed your secret to the entire fortress. You’d be hunted beyond these walls, with nowhere safe.”

She steps closer, chest heaving, eyes bright with fury. “You’re the one who demanded I bury it. Yet you fling it in my face whenever it suits you.”

The air crackles. I can almost feel her sirenblood thrumming beneath her skin, a fierce energy that calls to me. The frustration of the day, the looming threat of assassination, it all converges into a storm of heated emotion. Neither of us wants to cede ground.

She lifts her chin defiantly. “I’m not some puppet you can jerk around?—”

I seize her wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to stop her words. Our gazes lock, and everything else fades—my fear for her, my anger at the council, my desire to keep control. She’s breathing fast, pulse fluttering at her throat. Heat swells, raw and urgent. It’s a madness that’s been building for days.

“Don’t you see?” I rasp, voice low. “We’re both trapped. If we fail, we fall together.” My grip lingers on her wrist as I bask in her warmth, sliding into me like a brand.

Her eyes flick down to where I hold her, then back up, lips parting. “Then what are we fighting each other for?”

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