Page 37 of Love of the Bladed Dove
A soft knock echoed at the chamber door. Layla knew what it meant— it was time. She leaned forward, brushing her lips against her mother’s temple. “I love you,” she whispered. The words were fragile, spoken from the deepest part of her. Words she had always wanted to say—and hear—but had learned not to expect. Queen Raynera didn’t say it back. She never had. But her hand squeezed Layla’s once more,stronger this time, and her eyes—though tired—held an unspoken truth:I love you too. I’m proud of you.Then, with a final look, she gave a slight nod and let her eyes close again, surrendering to sleep.
Layla rose slowly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. The warrior in her hardened once more. She crossed the room with steady strides just as Kain emerged from the washroom, steam trailing behind him like mist from battle. His damp hair hung limp around his face, briefly touching his collarbones. His pants hung low on his hips as he padded barefoot across the stone floor. He made no comment, offered no smirk, just grabbed for the door with quiet purpose. Clearly pretending he hadn’t overheard anything, she was grateful for it.
He opened the door, posture relaxed but alert, and Sir Edwin stood waiting on the other side.
“Is it time?” Layla asked, her voice low but ready.
“Not yet, My Lady,” Sir Edwin replied, shifting awkwardly. “There are… Antonin warriors at the front gate requesting an audience with you. We’ve disarmed them and held position, but we weren’t sure how you’d want to proceed, especially with, uh…” His eyes flicked briefly to Kain, clearly unsure what lines were being drawn anymore. Layla’s brow furrowed.Antonin warriors? Here?Her gaze cut to Kain, but he only gave a shrug, equally in the dark.
“I’ll handle it,” she said, her voice firm with command. “Thank you, Sir Edwin. And please alert me the moment your men are prepared to ride for Bartoria.”
Sir Edwin gave a sharp bow. “Of course, My Lady.” Then he turned and strode off, armor clinking softly with each step.
Without a word, Kain gathered his leather armor and bloodied shirt, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he pulled them on over his bare chest, wincing slightly. One by one, he slung each piece into place—his bow over his shoulder, the soft thump of the arrow satchel settling at his back. Ready.
They exited the chamber together, their steps synchronized in silent understanding. Down the grand hall they moved, past shattered vases and blood-streaked marble, and out through the towering front doors of the castle. Beyond the gate, three Antonin warriors stood waiting, their armor dulled by travel and bloodshed. They kept their distance, clearly respecting the boundary laid before them. But Layla’s breath caught in her chest as her eyes locked on the tall silhouette in the center. Even through the distance, she knew. It was Theron.
Chapter eighteen
Theron.
Theron stood behind the towering iron gate of the Graystonian castle, flanked by Sparrow and Xaden. Their weapons had been stripped, and Graystonian guards surrounded them in a tight circle, blades drawn, eyes wary and unwelcoming. Theron didn’t flinch. If it came to bloodshed, the three of them could cut their way through the lot of them with brutal efficiency. But it wasn’t the swords or the glares that had his heart pounding. It was the woman on the other side of that gate.Layla.
She emerged from the castle like the very embodiment of royalty. Gone were her warrior leathers, replaced now with a green gown that shimmered softly in the sunlight. Her hair was still damp, cascading over her shoulders like burnished silk, and every inch of her posture radiatedpower. Kain walked at her side, an unexpected loyalty that hit like a blow, but it was her eyes that arrested Theron. Eyes that once looked at him with fire and curiosity, now burned with pure hatred.
“Why are you here?” Her voice sharp and steady, cutting through the air like a blade.
Theron swallowed hard. Her anger smoldered just beneath the surface- controlled, but unmistakable. Still, he stepped forward, suppressing the instinct to bow his head like a guilty child. “May we come in and speak?”
Layla hesitated for only a moment before motioning to one of her men. The iron gate groaned as it slid open. Theron, Sparrow, and Xaden stepped forward, their boots crunching on the stone path. The guards closed in behind them, blades still drawn.
“Speak,” she commanded, her voice like steel wrapped in velvet.
“We’ve come to help you rescue your sisters,” Theron said evenly. Layla’s brows lifted, then a sharp laugh burst from her lips—mocking and bitter.
“You?You’re here tohelpmy family?Now?” Her voice was incredulous, almost feral with smoldering resentment.
Theron didn’t respond right away. The weight of her disbelief was crushing. She had every right to spit those words at him. He deserved far worse. “May we speak privately?” he asked, quieter now.
“No,” she snapped. Her chin lifted in defiance. “Not hours ago, I asked you to do exactly this and you refused. You chose your queen’s command over the lives of my innocent family. Overme.” Her voice faltered just slightly on the last word. “The same queen who ordered their massacre. So tell me, Theron—what changed?”
His throat tightened. “Queen Okteria doesn’t know we’re here,” he admitted. “We came on our own…I came on my own.” He paused, searching her eyes for any trace of the woman who once stared up at him under the stars. “I was wrong. I see that now. When I realized what she planned for your family… I should’ve spoken. I should’ve fought for you—for them. I knew it wasn’t right, and still… I said nothing, did nothing. I see that now. And I’m… I’m sorry, Layla. Truly.” The words were foreign on his tongue—heavy and raw. But true.
Layla’s expression remained unreadable. Her silence screamed louder than any accusation. Theron continued, needing her to understand. “We know Bartoria. Its terrain. Its soldiers. We’ve scouted their lands more recently than your men. Let us help you bring your sisters home.” He could feel her gaze strip him bare. Then, slowly, she stepped forward until she stood directly before him. Despite the height difference, she looked up at him with nothing but ice and authority.
“You and your men may help,” she said, voice dangerously low. “But if you disobey me once, I’ll have my guards gut you where you stand.” Theron couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward at the notion. She saw it and her jaw hardened like stone. “You may help me, Theron,” she added coldly. “But I will never forgive you.”
Those words hit harder than any blade ever could. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay composed as she turned and walked away. She moved like a royal angel—elegant, untouchable, impossibly far from him now. Her gown whispered over the stone with each step, hair catching the light like flame and silk. She was fire, she was grace, and she was no longer his to protect.
Kain stepped beside him, biting into a peach like they were on a leisurely stroll through a market square. Theron didn’t look at him—not yet—but the weight of Kain’s hand settled on his shoulder.
“Welcome to Graystonia, brother,” Kain said, voice light and taunting, but laced with something quieter. Respect, maybe even empathy. But Theron wasn’t in the mood for peace offerings.
“You defied orders,” he said flatly, his voice low. “You helped her. Why?”
Kain’s grin barely faltered. “Figured she’d be more fun alive.”
Theron turned, eyes hard. “Why, Kain? Why choose her over the tribe? Over your orders? Over our Queen?
