Caged By the Lich

8. Olvaar

8

OLVAAR

I stride through the halls of my fortress, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls. My mind races with plans and strategies, but one thought keeps pushing its way to the forefront: Astrid.

The human girl continues to surprise me. I'd expected her to crumble under the weight of captivity, to become a broken shell I could mold to my will. Instead, she's adapting, evolving. It's... intriguing.

I pause outside her chamber, listening. The guards report she's been quiet today, engrossed in some books from the library. My lips twitch. Of course she'd found her way there. I've practically run out of chores to throw at her.

And maybe I should allow her more movement around the castle. Just to see what she does. I'd have to speak with the staff about monitoring her access more closely.

Entering without knocking – this is my domain, after all – I find her curled up in a chair, nose buried in a hefty tome on demon law. She doesn't even look up.

"Light reading?" I drawl, crossing my arms.

Her eyes flick to me, a flash of emerald fire. "Just brushing up on my rights as a political hostage. Did you know there are seventeen different clauses regarding the treatment of human captives?"

I can't help but smirk. "Sixteen, actually. The seventeenth was struck down two decades ago."

She snaps the book shut, a triumphant gleam in her eye. "I know. I was testing you."

For a moment, I'm caught off guard. She'd baited me, and I'd fallen for it. A grudging respect blooms in my chest, quickly quashed by irritation. I won't be outsmarted by a human, no matter how clever.

"Your grasp of our laws is impressive," I concede, moving closer. "Tell me, what other insights have you gleaned from your... studies?"

Astrid rises, meeting my gaze without flinching. "Enough to know that you don't need my father's payment. You needed him out of the way to get to the southern territories." She watches me with assessing eyes. "There's something there more valuable than money he could scrape together. Something you want before the Vex'nar clan finds out."

My jaw clenches. How had she pieced that together? I'd been careful. Yet here she stands, laying out my vulnerabilities as if reading from an open book.

"You're playing a dangerous game, little human," I growl, closing the distance between us.

She doesn't back down. "I'm not playing. I'm surviving. And right now, survival means understanding the political landscape I've been thrust into."

I study her face, searching for weakness, for fear. I find none. Instead, I see a keen intelligence, a fire that refuses to be extinguished. It's getting harder and harder to remember she is supposed to be a little pawn I've chosen to keep.

Especially when she bites down on her lower lip and all I want is her tied to my bed.

"Perhaps," I say slowly, "we've been underestimating each other."

I thought about Astrid the rest of the day yesterday. I couldn't stop myself, wondering what else she noticed that no one else had. And then, I decided to test the clever girl.

I arrange the documents carefully on my desk, ensuring they appear casually strewn rather than deliberately placed. Intelligence reports, troop movements, financial ledgers - all meticulously crafted to paint a specific picture. Let's see how our little rebel interprets the breadcrumbs I'm leaving.

Settling into my study's hidden alcove, I activate the scrying orb. The crystalline sphere flickers to life, revealing Astrid as she enters my office, feather duster in hand. Her movements are deliberate, efficient. She's learned the routines well.

At first, she barely glances at the desk. Smart girl. But as she works her way around the room, I notice her eyes darting back to the papers. Curiosity wars with caution on her face.

Finally, she approaches the desk. Her fingers hover over the documents, hesitating. I lean forward, intrigued by her internal struggle. Will she take the bait?

Astrid bites her lip, a habit I've come to recognize as a sign of her deep concentration. Then, with a quick glance at the door, she begins to read.

Her eyes widen as she scans the first page. It's a report detailing the southern territory's defenses - or rather, the fabricated weaknesses I want her to see. She moves to the next document, a financial statement showing massive expenditures on mercenaries.

I watch her brow furrow, her clever mind no doubt piecing together the implications. She's quick, I'll give her that. But can she see beyond the surface?

Astrid pauses, glancing at the door again. She's weighing the risk of lingering too long. But her thirst for knowledge wins out. She delves deeper into the papers, her fingers tracing lines of text as if to absorb the information through her skin.

I find myself leaning closer to the orb, captivated by the play of emotions across her face. Shock, concern, then a flash of something else - determination? She's formulating a plan, I realize. But for what? To escape? To sabotage?

Then, she does something unexpected. Astrid reaches for a quill and begins to write.

My breath catches. This wasn't part of the plan. I lean closer to the scrying orb, heart pounding with a mixture of anger and curiosity. How dare she deface my documents? Yet... what insights could this clever little human possibly offer?

I watch as she scribbles furiously in the margins, her handwriting neat despite her haste. She pauses occasionally, brow furrowed in concentration, before diving back in. It's clear she's not just making random notes – there's a method to her madness.

When she finally finishes and slips out of the room, I waste no time. I stride into my study, barely remembering to deactivate the scrying spell in my eagerness to see what she's written.

The first note catches me off guard.

Troop movements leave eastern flank exposed. Redirect cavalry?

It's a valid point, one I'd overlooked in my focus on the southern push. I frown, reassessing my strategy — well, it's fake. I have to remind myself that. I couldn't give her real details.

I keep reading until I find another comment.

Financial strain evident. Consider local resource acquisition to offset mercenary costs?

Again, astute. She's picked up on the economic pressure this campaign is causing, and it's actually…something I could consider.

As I pore over her notes, a grudging respect begins to bloom. Astrid hasn't just regurgitated information – she's synthesized it, offering fresh perspectives I hadn't considered. Her outsider status, which I'd previously seen as a weakness, has become an asset. She's spotting patterns and connections that my advisors, steeped in demon politics, have missed.

One particular comment makes me pause.

Vex'nar clan's influence in southern region underestimated? Potential for local alliances to undermine their power base.

It's bold, insightful, and frustratingly accurate. It's also a very real solution to a fake problem I posed her, and I wonder if she saw past some of the false information. I've been so focused on brute force that I've neglected the subtler aspects of conquest.

I find myself pacing, mind racing with new possibilities. Astrid's notes have forced me to reevaluate my entire approach. It's both exhilarating and infuriating. How has this human girl, with her limited exposure to our world, managed to cut through to the heart of matters that have been plaguing me for months?

A part of me wants to dismiss her ideas out of hand. She's a prisoner, a pawn – she shouldn't have this kind of influence. But I can't deny the value of her insights. Implementing even a few of her suggestions could tip the scales decisively in my favor.

I sink into my chair, fingers steepled as I contemplate my next move. Astrid has proven herself to be more than just a pretty face or a political hostage. She's a strategic asset, one I'd be a fool to ignore.

But I don't know what to do with that information. Especially with the attraction that I feel, that I can't ignore. Or the way that her thoughts are filling my mind day after day, muffling everything else until all I think or see or hear is her.

What the fuck am I supposed to do.

I find myself pacing the halls of my fortress more frequently these days, my footsteps inevitably leading me to Astrid's chambers. It's become a routine, one I tell myself is purely for security purposes. But deep down, I know the truth - I'm drawn to her sharp tongue and even sharper mind.

Today, I push open her door without knocking, as usual. She's curled up in a chair by the window, a book forgotten in her lap as she gazes out at the crimson sky. For a moment, I'm struck by how the light catches her raven hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow.

"Plotting your escape again?" I drawl, leaning against the doorframe.

Astrid turns, her green-gold eyes sparking with that familiar defiance. "Why bother? Your security is as impenetrable as your skull."

I can't help the smirk that tugs at my lips. "Careful, little rebel. Some might mistake that for a compliment."

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the ghost of a smile. "Don't flatter yourself, V. I was merely stating a fact."

A frown graces my lips at her use of my nickname. I'm not sure why, but I haven't enjoyed hearing it. Not on her lips.

I move further into the room, circling her chair like a predator. But Astrid doesn't flinch. She never does. "And what other facts have you deduced during your... extended stay?"

"That your taste in literature is abysmal," she quips, gesturing to the bookshelf. "Seriously, Conquests of the Third Age ? It reads like propaganda written by a lovesick imp."

I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself. "I'll have you know that's considered a classic."

"By whom? Delusional warlords with ego problems?"

Her retort is so quick, so biting, that I find myself genuinely impressed. Most demons would cower at the mere thought of insulting me. But not Astrid. Never Astrid.

"You wound me, little rebel," I say, placing a hand over my heart in mock hurt. "And here I thought we were developing such a rapport."

Astrid's eyes narrow, but there's a glimmer of amusement in their depths. "The only thing developing here is my contempt for demon interior design. Seriously, would it kill you to add some color?"

I glance around the room, seeing it through her eyes. The dark stone walls, the heavy black furnishings - it is rather... oppressive. "What would you suggest? Pink frills and lace?"

She snorts. "Please. Give me some credit. But maybe a tapestry that isn't depicting wholesale slaughter? Just a thought."

I find myself chuckling again, surprised by how easily she draws it out of me. When was the last time I laughed like this? Genuinely, without malice or cruelty behind it?

"I'll take it under advisement," I say, surprising us both.

But I'm starting to realize one very dangerous thing…

I'd do just about anything for this little human. I'm not even sure when it happened, but just the word please — even used sarcastically — is enough for my blood to start pumping, to do whatever it takes for her to say that word in a different manner.

Preferably underneath me next time.