Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
The humans on the wall bristled with hostility, their bows straining, magefire flickering in their hands.
Behind him, his own warriors shifted, tense and ready to strike at the first sign of aggression.
They did not understand this game he played.
They only knew the old language of war—blood for blood.
Rakhal's gaze flicked to Commander Shazi, his most trusted officer, standing a little apart, her broad shoulders squared, her face hard and unreadable. Her hand never strayed far from the axe at her hip, the weapon gleaming faintly in the firelight. Ready to spring. Ready to kill.
That was why he had chosen her. Shazi followed orders.
She was loyal, fierce, and unrelenting. Strait-laced, not deceptive, not vainglorious.
He had explained the plan to her before they set out.
She had cursed him, called him mad a dozen times over.
But she had listened. She had understood.
And though skepticism sharpened her eyes, she had seen the logic.
From her, he tolerated the oaths. Because he knew she would have his back when it mattered.
They had fought side by side before, on the open plains—Shazi's unit carving swathes through the humans while he moved unseen in the shadows, the invisible death that gutted their enemy before they even knew where he stood.
She was steel and storm. He was silence and shadow. Together, they had broken armies.
And now here he stood, with her watching, the humans above trembling with both fear and rage, and Eliza beside him—her bearing unbroken, her voice ringing out like a queen despite the impossible ground she stood on.
His gaze lingered on her. Composure like tempered steel, authority sharp enough to command men who should have turned on her. She carried herself as though this had always been her place—barefoot, draped in orc velvet, braids marking his claim.
He raised his arms slowly, palms open, letting the firelight lick across him.
Then he turned his face to her, letting the faintest edge of softness temper the mask he wore for the others.
"Come, Eliza," he said, his voice carrying, steady and deep. "We will go. Together."
Her expression shifted, just slightly—surprise flickering across her face. As though she hadn't expected him to truly follow her command, to walk alone into Istrial.
But Rakhal wasn't daunted.
The Maidan had their soldiers, their mages, their towers of stone and fire. He had the shadows. He had the ability to vanish, to slip through their ranks unseen, to carve out their throats before they even knew he was there.
Besides…
He was starting to find his way with her.
And seducing her was not such a bad option at all. He could almost begin to enjoy it—the challenge, the fire in her eyes, the way she tried to command him and could not help but reveal her steel. Once or twice, he had sensed it—a flicker of interest, faint as a candle flame but there all the same.
Perhaps, when she was back inside her own walls, wrapped in the illusion of safety her city would give her, that was when he would take this further.
He moved to the palanquin, reaching up for her. She hesitated only a heartbeat before stepping into his grasp.
The moment her weight settled against him, he noticed it—the way she leaned into him ever so slightly.
Her scent enveloped him, warm and sharp, a trace of steel beneath something softer, something that cut straight through his discipline.
Her warmth seeped into his bare hands, sinking deeper than it should.
Slowly, deliberately, he lowered her to the ground, his touch gentler than he intended.
Her feet found the soil of her homeland once more.
Without releasing her entirely, he took her hand in his, their fingers tightening just enough to be felt.
Together, they began to walk toward the gates.
Above, the soldiers of Istrial leaned over the battlements, eyes wide, every bowstring drawn tight, every tongue stilled. They watched as their queen and the shadow prince approached side by side, their every step a defiance, a declaration, a gamble that could end in peace—or slaughter.