Page 29 of Taken By The Dark Three
He exhales, a low hiss of breath. “I brought you here so you’d grasp our strategies. If your knowledge aids us, fine. But keep your barbs in check. My officers won’t tolerate your insolence forever.”
“Says the commander who can barely hide his frustration,” I tease, stepping closer. The tension that thrummed in our sparring session flares again. The war room door is locked, no guards inside. We’re alone, the morning sun streaming through tall windows, illuminating dust motes in the air. Our stares collide like flint and steel.
“That frustration,” I continue, voice lowering, “is why you can’t ignore me. Part of you hates that you need me. Another part… enjoys the fight, doesn’t it?”
He stiffens, knuckles whitening on the table’s edge. “Don’t presume to know me, purna.”
I shrug, letting a slow smile curve my lips. “Oh, but I do see it, Vaelith. You relish testing me. Even now, your blood’s thrumming, same as mine.”
His nostrils flare. He steps away from the table, closing the distance between us in a few strides. I stand my ground, refusing to yield. My heart pounds at the sheer energy radiating from him. This dangerous dance edges close to something savage, a collision of power and desire. I sense how easily it could tip into violence or something equally intense.
He lowers his voice. “What are you trying to provoke? Are you courting punishment?”
I tilt my head, letting the moment stretch until my pulse beats hard in my ears. “I’m testing the boundaries, Commander. Isn’t that what you do with a new weapon?”
He bristles at my words. “You’re no mere weapon. You’re a volatile force that could devour us if we’re not careful.”
My smile widens. “Then treat me as such.”
Time seems to slow. I see his eyes flick to my lips, then up to meet my gaze. A flicker of doubt crosses his expression, as though he’s fighting some internal battle. He tenses, stepping back abruptly, forcing composure into his posture.
“Return to your training,” he orders, voice strained. “I have reports to finalize.”
My heart is still racing. I swallow, smoothing my expression. The intensity between us remains, thick and electric. I give a slight bow, mocking in its politeness, and turn to leave. At the door, I pause, glancing over my shoulder. He’s half-turned away, fists clenched. I can almost taste his frustration. Another small victory.
The corridor outside feels cooler, emptier. Harken stands there, suspicious as ever. He leads me back to the courtyard, where a few soldiers spar. I pretend to watch them, though my mind spins with the idea that Vaelith is no brute, no puppet. He’s disciplined and cunning, less prone to sadism than Zareth, but perhaps more dangerous because of it.
I approach a cluster of younger guards, stepping into their conversation about supply runs and schedules. With subtle psionic nudges, I sow hints that Vaelith might be biting off more than he can chew with this new southern campaign. Maybe the orcs are stronger than we think. Maybe a betrayal looms. I can’t plant deep commands, not in Orthani’s warded domain, but a scattering of whispered doubts might hamper morale over time. They barely notice the infiltration, chalking up the uncertain flickers in their thoughts to normal anxiety.
A servant scurries by, carrying a stack of parchments. I wave him over, feigning curiosity. “Those for the war council?”
He nods nervously. “Yes, the updated maps and orders. I need to bring them to the scribes for copying.”
My pulse quickens. Another chance to sabotage. “Let me see them.”
The servant hesitates, glancing at Harken, who stands guard. Harken shrugs. “She’s working under the commander’s orders. Might be relevant.”
The servant hands me a sheaf of parchments. I flip through, spotting the map Vaelith will rely on for final route planning. My sabotage from earlier is visible—subtle shifts in the lines, but they might not notice until it’s too late. I let out a thoughtful hum, half-wishing I could push it further, but the wards hamper any major manipulations. Instead, I trace a faint line with my fingertip, leaving a slight smudge that could mislead them about where a key ridge stands. That’s enough.
I pass the documents back. “Better hurry,” I say with a gracious nod, internally pleased at how seamlessly the deception continues.
Later in the day, Vaelith summons me to a smaller training yard behind the stables. He says nothing of our earlier tension, adopting a calm, instructive manner. We run drills with his archers, learning how to coordinate close-combat fighters with ranged support. I absorb every nuance while letting my presence unsettle them. My purna aura alone makes a few archers uneasy. Some stutter as they obey Vaelith’s commands. Each sign of fear tugs a slight smile from me.
After the drills, Vaelith dismisses the archers. We remain alone again, both breathing heavily from the exercise. The dusty ground and the hush of the stable yard wrap us in an intimate bubble.
“Your infiltration skills might serve Orthani in scouting,” he says, wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm. “But I need tobe sure you won’t vanish if sent out alone. Orthani’s wards can’t track you in the field.”
I cross my arms, refusing to break eye contact. “You want me to vow loyalty?”
He hesitates. “I want you to understand the consequences of disobedience. If you vanish, the council punishes Ai.”
He uses the child’s name—Ai. My chest twists, a reminder of what’s truly at stake. Rage sears me at how Orthani uses her as leverage. “I won’t abandon her,” I say, voice low.
He nods slowly. “Then we have an understanding.”
Tension simmers. I wonder if he sees the resentment coil behind my eyes. He tries to keep an aura of unflinching command, but I catch the subtle flicker in his gaze whenever I stand too close. The attraction is mutual, though unspoken. We’re bound by forced proximity and a mutual wariness that crackles on the edge of something more heated.
I inhale, stepping forward until we’re separated by a hand’s breadth. His breath hitches, a minuscule sign of the storm brewing inside him. “You’re trying to be the perfect soldier, Commander,” I murmur, letting each word bristle with undertone. “But deep down, you know this alliance is a tinderbox waiting for a spark.”
