Page 52 of Secrets of Avalon

I’m not sure I deserve to feel that way, but I like it.

Lydia scurries across the room and returns with a stool that survived the onslaught of my magic. "Please sit, I need to braid your hair." I comply and she begins to work, her fingers deft as she brushes and braids my hair up, down, small braids woven into larger ones. The repetitive motions are grounding, allowing me to simply be present rather than trapped in the turmoil of my mind. A serenity settles over me that I didn't expect after such chaos.

"You look beautiful, Domina.” Lydia pins up the last braid.

I stand, feeling like an ancient queen. The clothing, the jewelry, the hairstyle—it’s all so different from what I’m used to, but there’s a certain power in it, too. I feel a renewed sense of inner strength and composure rising from the ashes. I am more than what tried to destroy me.

I straighten my shoulders and stand taller. "Thank you," I reply, my voice steady again. "Both of you."

They bow quickly then gesture toward the open door. "Master Kellan will be waiting with the knights."

"Well then, we should head that way, I guess."

Lydia and Elen both nod and give me small, encouraging smiles. They clear a path through the rubble for me, and follow respectfully behind as I make my way to the spiral staircase.

With each step downward, the weight of what I did re-settles onto my shoulders like a heavy cloak. What will they think of me? What will Hawke think when he hears I killed someone?

Kellan is standing sentry at the base of the stairs when I arrive. He gives a subtle nod of approval as his gaze roams over my regally adorned form. "You look lovely, Domina."

"Not like someone who fought off an assassin?" I whisper up at him, my voice tinged with fragile bravado masking the guilt that still gnaws at me for taking a life yet again.

His mouth flattens into a grim line and a low, rumbling growl emerges from his chest—my words clearly striking a displeased chord.

Uh oh.

"She fought off a what?" Ares demands, suddenly looming closer with the other knights in tow. Alarm and confusion are at war on his chiseled features.

"I'm quite sure the woman said assassin.” Anger drips from Fen’s every syllable.

I turn my gaze back to Kellan, my shoulders crumpling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tell them. I wasn’t thinking, I–"

"Domina, no." He grasps my shoulders firmly, holding my attention. "You did nothing but speak the truth. Nothing wrong."

“Except you hadn’t told them what happened. You didn’t want me to and I just blurted it out anyway.”

He presses a fatherly kiss to the top of my head. “I was waiting until we got you back to Prince Stormblood. All is well, Domina.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Wraith, the big man with onyx black skin and scary red eyes steps closer. “Hawke will be furious. Who tried to hurt her?”

“Calm yourself, Wraith, you’re scaring the poor woman.” Fen slaps at Wraith’s arm. “Fix your eyes at least so you don’t look like a damned devil.”

The only one that doesn’t speak is a very handsome tall blonde man leaning against the wall furthest from Kellan and I. He’s dressed in leathers and a long green cloak. His ears are pointed and he reminds me of Legolas from the Lord of the Rings. His gaze flicks from man to man to man, back to me, and then over to Kellan. His arms are crossed over his massive chest and he just stares.

“The broody one on the wall, Lady Melinda, is Boaz,” Ares says, approaching with a smile. He reaches out for my hand and I give it to him. He bows and kisses the top of my hand, looks up at me, and winks. “Starting your day slaughtering assassins. I like it. Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping.”

"I–she–" The words stick in my throat. I see flashes of the assassin's angry face. The surge of power ripping through me to save my life. The horrible sight of her dead... It all comes crashing back in vivid detail.

I look up at Kellan, not knowing whether I should share or not.

Kellan's expression softens with understanding. "It is alright, Domina," he rumbles in that deep, calming timbre of his. "Tell them what you told me. It will not be hidden now."

I swallow in a fortifying breath and turn back to face the knights, straightening my shoulders. Ares meets my gaze steadily, his dark eyes reflecting a swirl of anger, confusion, and concern.

"She said Darkwood sent her," I manage in a voice made raspy by the knot of fear still lodged in my throat. "That they knew I wasn't really your... whore." The demeaning word tastes like ash on my tongue. "They saw Hawke come to my rooms yesterday."

A collective “Fuck,” whispers through the small entry.

The weight of the situation–the violation, the hateful accusation behind the assassin's boasts–presses in from all sides, nearly suffocating me.

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