My jaw clenches. Fear wars with fury in my chest, the helplessness of captivity battling against the part of me that has never accepted defeat gracefully. They think I’m just a tool to be used against him, a weakness to exploit. They don’t understand what I really am.
What we’ve become together.
I spit in his face with all the accuracy I can muster.
Hadrun jerks back, surprise and anger flashing across his features as he wipes saliva from his cheek. “Spirited to the end. I can see why he finds you amusing. But spirit won’t save you from steel.”
The moment of distraction is all I need. I’ve been observing his stance, his balance, the way he holds himself while crouchedbeside me. Years of watching my brother practice with the village fighters taught me to recognize moments of vulnerability.
I feign a collapse, letting my body go limp as if terror has finally overwhelmed me. Hadrun leans closer, perhaps to check if I’ve actually fainted, and I snap upright with every ounce of strength I possess.
My knee drives into his groin with the force of desperation and fury combined. He doubles over with a sound between a curse and a scream, and I scramble to my feet, bolting for the door before he can recover.
Freedom beckons just steps away—the corridor beyond, the chance to carry warning to those who can act on it. But the enemy scouts are faster than their captain, more disciplined in their response to unexpected developments.
Two figures in dark cloaks intercept me before I reach the threshold, hands grabbing my arms and hauling me back into the chamber. I fight with desperate fury, kicking and clawing at anything I can reach, but they handle me with the clinical efficiency of people who capture prisoners for a living.
No unnecessary force, no angry retaliation for my resistance. Just the minimum violence required to control me, applied with surgical precision.
They shove me back against the pillar, and I land hard enough to see stars dancing across my vision. But I keep my chin raised, keep defiance burning in my eyes despite the hopelessness of my situation.
“He’ll know you betrayed him,” I gasp, struggling to catch my breath. “When you can’t explain where I am, when your story doesn’t match the evidence he finds?—”
“What evidence?” Hadrun straightens slowly, his face flushed with pain and rage but his voice remains steady. “A seamstress wandered into areas she shouldn’t explore duringa battle. Tragic accidents happen during sieges, especially to humans who don’t understand their place.”
The indifferent way he discusses my murder sends fresh ice through my veins, but underneath the fear burns fury. Not just for myself, but for Vlorn. For the way this betrayal will devastate him, the guilt he’ll carry thinking he failed to protect me.
“You’re wrong about one thing,” I tell Hadrun, forcing my voice to stay steady despite everything. “I’m not his weakness. I’m his strength.”
He laughs—a sound of grinding stone mixed with bitter amusement. “Delusion. Pretty sentiment, but ultimately useless. You’ve made him vulnerable in ways he’s never been before. That vulnerability will be his downfall.”
“Then you don’t understand him at all.” I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to show the fear that claws at my throat. “You think love makes people weak. But it’s what makes them fight hardest. What makes them willing to die for someone else.”
“Pretty words from someone about to?—”
That’s when the air in the chamber changes. Grows heavy and electric, charged with the promise of violence that makes every hair on my arms stand at attention. The temperature seems to drop, though the lamps continue burning with steady flames.
A familiar presence approaches through the corridors beyond, moving with purpose that promises destruction for anyone who stands in its way. I sense him through the fortress magic—not his exact location, but the aura of controlled fury that surrounds him.
He’s coming. And he’s angry.
The door doesn’t just open—it explodes inward with force that sends wood splinters flying across the chamber. The heavy planks, reinforced with iron bands and built to withstand siegeequipment, disintegrate under the impact as if they’re made of parchment.
Vlorn fills the doorway, massive frame silhouetted against the torchlight from the corridor beyond. His great-sword leads the way, steel gleaming with promise of pain for anyone who threatens what he protects. But it’s his eyes that steal my breath—molten gold blazing with fury that makes the stones themselves seem to tremble.
He takes in the scene with warrior’s speed and tactical precision—me pressed against the pillar, Hadrun’s blade, the enemy scouts frozen in the act of restraint. His gaze lingers for a heartbeat on the thin cut under my chin where blood has beaded against pale skin.
When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of mountains grinding together, the sound of avalanches and earthquakes given human form.
“Release her.”
Two words that contain the promise of destruction for anyone foolish enough to ignore them. The temperature in the chamber seems to drop another ten degrees, frost forming on the stone walls despite the lamplight’s warmth.
But Hadrun is too committed to his course to retreat now, too invested in years of planning to abandon it at the crucial moment. Instead of stepping away from me, he presses the blade closer to my throat, using my body as a partial shield while he faces his former lord.
“Vlorn.” His voice carries false warmth, the tone of a friend offering reasonable counsel despite circumstances that suggest otherwise. “You arrive just in time to see how your obsession with this human has compromised everything you’ve built.”
The words are calculated to sting, designed to make Vlorn doubt himself even in this moment of crisis. But if Hadrunexpects hesitation or self-recrimination, he’s badly misjudged the man he’s betrayed.
