Chapter 10 – A Dance with Shadows

Elara moved like a whisper through the dimly lit corridors of the Wraith King’s stronghold. Every flickering torch on the stone walls cast twisted shadows, making the entire fortress feel like it was alive—watching her, waiting for her next move.

She could still feel the ghost of Vesper’s touch on her skin from their last encounter, his deep voice curling through her mind like a spell she couldn’t shake.

“Good girl,” he had said. Mocking her. Testing her.

But tonight, she wasn’t here to play the obedient prisoner. Tonight, she was hunting for the truth.

She pressed a hand against the cold stone, steadying her breath. Every part of this place reeked of power—dark, ancient magic woven into the very foundation of the walls. If she wasn’t careful, she would trigger something she couldn’t control.

A shadow moved at the far end of the hall. Elara froze.

For a moment, she thought it was him.

Vesper.

But no—this figure was smaller, hooded, slipping through a hidden passage behind the tapestry. Not a guard. Not one of his men.

Her pulse quickened.

Who else is moving in the shadows of the Wraith King’s home?

Elara followed without hesitation.

She ducked through the same passage, her steps soundless. The corridor narrowed, and the air grew colder. Whispers of magic licked at her skin, urging her back—a warning.

She ignored it.

Then—a hand shot out, gripping her wrist.

She gasped, instinctively reaching for a blade she no longer had. But before she could react, the hooded figure yanked her deeper into the passage, slamming her against the wall.

Elara’s breath caught. Not from fear.

From recognition.

The hood fell back, revealing a face she hadn’t seen in years.

“You shouldn’t be here, Elara.”

Her heart stopped.

Lorien.

The boy she had once trusted more than anyone—the boy she had mourned as dead—was standing before her, alive. And the look in his eyes?

Pure, cold betrayal.

Elara’s breath hitched as she stared into Lorien’s piercing silver eyes—the same eyes that had once looked at her with unwavering devotion. Now, they were clouded with something sharper. Distrust. Cold calculation.

“You shouldn’t be here, Elara.”

His grip on her wrist was firm but not painful. A warning. A test.

“Neither should you,” she shot back, forcing steel into her voice. “You’re dead.”

Lorien’s lips curled, but there was no amusement in it. “So were you, last I heard.”

Her chest tightened. How much does he know?

She wrenched her wrist free, stepping back to create space between them. The passage was narrow, forcing them close. Shadows flickered along the damp stone walls, the torches barely cutting through the darkness.

For years, she had mourned him. For years, she had hated herself for failing him. Now he stood before her, alive, but something about him felt… off.

His stance was too rigid, his gaze too sharp. Not the Lorien she remembered.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.

Lorien tilted his head, studying her as if deciding whether she was worth answering. Then, finally, he sighed. “Surviving.”

It wasn’t enough.

Elara took a step closer, lowering her voice. “Why are you here, Lorien? This place—this stronghold—it’s Vesper’s domain. Do you work for him?”

Something dark flickered in his expression.

“And if I do?”

Her stomach dropped.

No. That wasn’t possible.

The Lorien she had known would have never aligned himself with a monster like Vesper Moretti.

Her silence must have amused him, because his smirk widened. “Don’t look so surprised, Elara. You’re in his bed, aren’t you?”

She slapped him before she could think.

The sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoed through the stone corridor. Lorien barely flinched. If anything, his smirk grew sharper.

“Touched a nerve, did I?”

Elara’s hand trembled at her side, but she refused to let him see it. “I don’t belong to him.”

“No?” Lorien leaned in, voice dropping. “Then why do you smell like him?”

Heat rushed to her face. Anger. Shame. A twisted, undeniable truth.

She had spent the last few nights tangled in Vesper’s sheets, his hands branding her, his lips stealing what little resolve she had left. But that didn’t mean she was his.

She shoved past Lorien, desperate to put space between them, but his voice stopped her cold.

“Tell me, Princess—” his voice was softer now, almost… pained. “If I had never disappeared, would you have let him touch you?”

Elara froze.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, and for the first time since seeing him, she didn’t have an answer.

Lorien waited, his breath uneven. But when she didn’t speak, he exhaled harshly and took a step back. “It doesn’t matter now.”****“Go back to your king, Elara. Leave the past buried where it belongs.”

And then—before she could stop him—he disappeared into the shadows.

Elara stood there, pulse roaring in her ears.

The past wasn’t buried.

It had just come back to haunt her.