"The circumstances are somewhat different, and you know it."
Silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bow. His eyes bore into hers, hard, unreadable. She refused to look away,her chin tilting upward, every muscle in her body screaming to stand her ground.
And then... he sighed. A low, quiet sound, unexpected in its weariness.
"It was an order given at a point of desperation," he admitted at last, his voice low, gravel roughened but steady. "Your attrition tactics were working to grind us down. My father thought your death would break Maidan's will."
His gaze softened—not much, but enough that she saw it.
"But I have no desire to kill you, Eliza. Especially now."
The words lingered in the stillness between them, heavier than steel, more dangerous than any blade.
"If you want to end this war for good," he said, his voice deep and deliberate, "then work with me."
Her pulse kicked at the calm certainty in his tone.
"As for the prospect of marriage..." His gaze swept her face, lingering, assessing. Then the hard line of his mouth shifted, the faintest curve breaking through—devilish behind his tusks, wry in a way that unsettled her more than his threats ever had.
"I don't find you repulsive."
"I'm so glad you feel that way," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Her chin lifted, her eyes hard, daring him to push further. She wasn't about to admit—ever—that there had been moments when she'd found him striking. Regal. Even handsome. That thought was hers alone, and she buried it quickly, smothering it beneath the memory of cold steel at her throat, the gag stuffed between her teeth, the rope biting into her wrists.
Appearances didn't excuse threats.
Or kidnapping.
Or coercion.
Her sarcasm still lingered in the air when his expression changed—shadows giving way to something sharper, heavier.
"I will do everything in my power to make this succeed," he said, and the words carried no mockery, no jest. Only certainty.
It startled her more than any threat.
And then he let the mask slip further. His voice dropped, rough with something she hadn't expected to hear from him.
"I'm weary of it, Eliza. The bloodshed. The killing. I've had enough."
The admission hung between them, raw and unguarded, like a secret that had escaped him without permission.
She didn't know if she could take him at face value. His words might have been truth, or they might have been a carefully crafted trick, another layer of manipulation.
But shewanted—desperately, achingly—to believe him.
And yet she couldn't afford to. Not entirely. Not when the lives of her people hung in the balance. She needed to be strong, clever, patient. If she was to survive this... if Maidan was to survive this... she had to lure him back to Istrial. Back to where she would have the upper hand.
So she softened her voice, tilting her head just enough to suggest acquiescence. "You said we are going to Istrial tonight?"
"We will return," he said, the cold mask sliding back into place, his voice sharp and final. "Under guard and ready to bargain. Your people will meet my terms. No exceptions, Eliza. No tricks or subterfuge. The deal is exactly as I say."
The reminder hit like iron: she was still his captive. Still his hostage.
But how, she wondered bitterly, did he expect this mad plan to work? Did he truly think she would be paraded before her own council as a bargaining piece, a pawn to be maneuvered under his command?
Her spine straightened, steel rising in her chest.
