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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The Valdris Negotiation

Duskfall Keep rose from the borderlands like an accusation against the darkening sky—ancient stone towers that had witnessed centuries of failed negotiations, broken treaties, and the kind of diplomatic promises that crumbled the moment they became inconvenient. Lord Elaric Nox guided his shadowmare through the keep's outer gates, shadow magic automatically assessing defensive positions, escape routes, and potential tactical advantages with the efficiency that had earned him his reputation.

Twenty years of territorial politics have taught me that neutral ground is simply a more elegant way of saying 'equally dangerous to all parties.'

But it wasn't the keep's defensive capabilities that held his attention as they approached the main courtyard—it was the woman riding beside him with the kind of perfect composure that felt like watching someone slowly disappear.

Xalara sat her mount with fluid grace that spoke of months of intensive training,