Elle forced herself upright, folding her legs beneath her in the wet sand. The recently freed muscles in her arms screamed in protest, but she paid them no mind, gingerly tracing her fingers over the raw burns and blistered skin near her wrists. The rope’s enchantment was gone now, and her mana was stirring at full strength once more. A faint shimmer danced at the edges of her vision, bringing an awareness of the arcane energies that had been cut off from her until moments ago.

Out of the corner of her eye, he sat on his haunches, expertly handling a large blue fish he’d dragged from the surf. The fish’s scales gleamed even in the muted light; he used the back of the dagger to remove them swiftly. The blade glinted with leftover gore, which he rinsed away by conjuring thin rivulets of water from the air. An effortless display of magic that set her on edge.

Not a mere cutthroat, then, she thought. He knew spells, and he was good with that blade. She’d have to be careful.

Her mind whirred with possibilities. Could she launch an immediate attack, trusting her newly restored mana to overwhelm him? The truth was, she lacked any real knowledge of his power—if he had more spells at his disposal or if he was faster than her even with her full strength. She couldn’t risk it. Not yet, she decided, drawing in a slow breath.

An idea soon formed in her mind. Carefully, she affected a softer expression, letting her posture slump in a display of submission that she did not truly feel. The gritty sensation of wet sand between her toes made her cringe, but she pressed on.

“I need…to use the restroom,” Elle murmured, her voice quiet, almost shy.

His dagger paused mid-scrape. He didn’t look up, but the hesitation was enough of an answer. She took that as tacit permission. Rising on shaky, pinpricked legs, she turned her back to him. Cold drops drummed on the tarp, rain pouring outside the makeshift shelter. Just as she was about to step beyond its cover, his voice came, quiet and taut with a warning, “Don’t get careless, princess.”

A flicker of annoyance flickered in her chest. He didn’t see her as a threat at all. Keep him believing she was no threat. Rolling her eyes when she was sure he couldn’t see, she forced her anger down and moved into the downpour.

She ventured no more than a short distance from the shelter, enough to maintain the appearance of privacy without giving him cause for suspicion. The rainfall drenched her hair anew, rivulets of cool water slithering down her arms and neck. She crouched behind a modest thicket, its broad leaves offering meager cover. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she confirmed he was still in sight, still busy with the fish. Perfect.

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Kneeling in the mud, she cupped her hands around her wrists. The faint glow of her healing magic coalesced in her palms, a gentle hum reverberating in her ears. She tried to channel the smallest thread of mana, making sure not to produce any bright bursts of light that could alert him. Slowly, warmth radiated through her abused skin. The burns and raw wounds began to mend, soothed by her arcane gift. She swallowed back a sigh of relief as the pain ebbed, the ugly blisters and reddened flesh fading into smooth, unblemished skin.

That was better. The sharp throb of agony eased into a mild sting, and she allowed herself a single trembling exhale. Not perfect, but enough. She would need more thorough healing later. Perhaps a real bath, balm, or rest, but for now, this would do. The princess clenched and unclenched her fists, testing the renewed mobility. No more rope, no more crippling pain. Just the cold rain and the knowledge that she could do something, anything, to regain her strength.

Thunder rumbled low in the distance, and she peered through the brush, watching Ashra’s silhouette. He swung down his dagger, decapitating the fish easily, then set the head aside. Water still streamed from his fingertips, washing away the blood in a swirling, pinkish puddle from the safety of his makeshift tarp. Even from this distance, she sensed his calm, controlled presence. There was nothing frantic or random about his movements. Every inch of a dangerous foe.

Quietly, she splashed a bit of rainwater onto her face, washing away the salt from her tears. A small measure of composure returned. Elle wouldn’t die here, she vowed, clenching her jaw. Not on some forgotten beach at the mercy of a half-dark elf.

Steadying herself, the woman rose to her feet, adopting the posture of someone who’d merely used the bathroom. The rain continued to slide down her body, saturating her clothing, but she paid it no mind. Each step back to the makeshift camp made her heart flutter with adrenaline, uncertain of how he might respond to her short absence. But as she drew closer, she saw he hadn’t moved from his spot. The fish lay in segments, impaled on a thin skewer over the modest fire, sizzling faintly.

He glanced up once in an unreadable flicker in his jade eyes. She schooled her features into polite neutrality, stepping carefully under the tarp’s flimsy protection again. She knew better than to meet his stare directly, but every nerve in her body remained on alert.

Their uneasy peace held for now. Each moment of calm was on borrowed time, a fragile truce that could snap at the slightest provocation. But at least she had her magic back, and the raw wounds on her wrists had healed as she twirled with the mess her hair had become. Her eyes flickered up at him once more, a thought coming to mind. She tested his boundaries, making a show of wandering back to the brush. He didn’t stir. He underestimated her. The thought sent a thrill of determination through the elf. Crouching down, she spied a stout, broken branch in the wet sand. Its end was blunt and heavy, more a makeshift club than anything else. She wrapped her fingers around it, heart hammering. If she was going to seize her freedom, she had to strike first and fast.