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 hersteel. 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.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
The gates loomed closer with every step, torchlight spilling across the stone. Then the shouts came from above—urgent, panicked.
His shadows rose, curling around his boots, whispering warnings only he could hear.
Someone is coming.
He stilled, senses sharpening. Not from the city. From the plains. Many presences. Orcs.
Betrayal. The realization struck like a blade to the gut. Who had moved against him? His father? Kardoc?
No time to think.
He swept Eliza into his arms in one motion, ignoring her startled cry, her fists pressing against his chest. “Put me down?—”
“Quiet,” he snapped, already sprinting toward the gates. Her warmth seared against him, but his focus was unbroken.
“Take position!” he roared back to Shazi. “Attack oncoming!”
At once, her unit shifted, steel gleaming, formation snapping into readiness. Loyal. Efficient. Fierce.
Above, human guards bristled, crossbows trained on him. His every step brought more shouts, more tension. But they wouldn’t shoot. Not with the queen in his arms.
He reached the soldiers massed just inside the gates. Lowering Eliza to her feet, he barked: “Take her.”
