Page 6 of Love of the Bladed Dove
When he’d returned the night before, the rage still burned in his blood. But rage had no place in his report. He gave it plainly, without flourish, each brutal detail sharpening the lines of the queen’s face. She had ruled their territory for five years with a blade’s edge—cold, precise, and unyielding. From her, Theron had learned the long game. The patience of a predator. How to wait, watch, and strike only when the outcome was certain. Not because it was easy, but because it was necessary. And necessity always came before desire. Even when every part of him had wanted to paint Bartoria’s streets red, he hadn’t. Because he was a warrior. Because he was her son. Because duty came first. Always.
After his conversation with the queen had ended, sleep abandoned him. Slipping through his grasp like smoke no matter how still he lay. Theron had tossed and turned on the rough cot, its bear hide stretched tight over bundled branches, every movement stiff with unresolved outrage.
His hut—simple but solid, its walls packed with mud and timber, its seams lined with hide—offered warmth but no solace. The thick bison fur folded neatly in the corner waited for the frost of winter, and all Theron could do was stare at it aimlessly as he waited for the sleep that never came. By morning, the fire inside him still crackled, banked just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.
As he continued on his morning patrol, he tried to shake the memories loose, focusing on the subtle movements in the underbrush and the calls of waking birds. Hoping the brisk walk of duty, the simple act of doing something, would simmer that anger. But it didn’t. And all he knew was that if Bartoria brought war to Antonin, Theron would be ready. And this time, he wouldn’t be observing.
As Theron refocused on the rhythmic stillness around him, a sudden rustle broke through the serenity, a sharp disturbance in a nearby chestnut tree. Instinct surged through him. In one fluid motion, he stepped silently behind a pine, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. Every muscle in his body coiled with readiness, his senses honed to a razor’s edge.
Peering around the tree’s rough bark, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dappled light piercing the forest canopy. What he saw next was not what he expected. A woman, clad in a deep emerald gown, was descending the tree’s wide limbs with the grace of someone desperate, not practiced. Confusion flickered in Theron’s sharp gaze. No one should have been this deep into their territory, especially not alone. Not unarmed.Not dressed like that.
As she reached for a lower branch, her dress caught, and in an instant of unintentional exposure, the hem pulled upward- far too far- until the fabric was tangled above her hips. The sight it revealed was... distracting. Impossibly so. Theron blinked once, then again, trying, andfailing, to ignore the view: porcelain skin kissed by morning dew, the perfect curve of her ass silhouetted by sunlight. The moment hovered between obscene and divine. He dragged in a breath through his teeth.Gods, what a view.
Then—thud.She fell hard, gracelessly, into the mud below with a muffled grunt. Theron winced in reflexive sympathy. He took a step forward, but she sprang to her feet faster than expected. He immediately melted back into the covers of tree and brush, swift and silent. She began stripping off the soiled gown with a frustrated efficiency, revealing a white shift clinging to her curves. It was soaked, nearly transparent from dew and sweat. Revealing perfectly large and inviting breasts that he couldn’t look away from. Her long, curling chestnut hair sticking to damp skin. She looked both wild and regal- like a forest spirit caught between fleeing and fighting.
Theron bit down, his jaw tense as desire warred with duty. His body reacted before his mind could wrestle back control, the heat rising, unmistakable and unwanted. This woman was trouble- an outsider, possibly a spy, or worse. And yet his thoughts betrayed him, imagining her curves pressed against him, his hands spanning her waist, her thighs clenched around him like a vice. He forced the fantasy away, furious with himself.Focus, warrior. This isn’t some tavern seduction—this is a breach of the border. She is a threat.He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his damp hair, realigning his thoughts. It’s time to act.
Without a sound, Theron advanced, gliding through the underbrush with predatory ease. She hadn’t noticed. He closed the distance- one step, then another- until he was just behind her. She turned, not seeing him before it was too late as she promptly collided with the wallof his chest. She staggered back with a startled gasp, her eyes lifting slowly to meet his. Wide, hazel eyes framed in panic. And something else.
“You don’t belong here,” Theron growled, voice low and edged with authority. He stepped forward deliberately, letting his towering presence loom over her like a stormfront. Her lips parted, but no words came. She tried to look past him, scanning the trees, searching.For allies? Or an escape route?
“Is someone with you?” His tone sharpened, demanding. Yet she remained silent. “Tell me now,” he warned, menace curling around every syllable. “This is your only chance.” Then he saw it before it happened—the tightening of her shoulders, the flicker of rebellion in her gaze. She swung, but he caught her wrist easily. She gasped, surprised. He swiftly seized her other arm before she could react further, holding her in place with firm, unshakable control. “Stop,” he commanded, his voice a growl of restraint. He brought her closer, his face inches from hers now. Her breath hitched, but her eyes met his with defiance rather than fear.She’s got fire,he thought, not without a thread of admiration.
“Who. Is. With. You?” he demanded again, drawing each word like a blade. She didn’t answer. Instead, she tried to headbutt him. He pulled back just in time, the attempted strike missing him by inches. He chuckled, the sound dry and unexpected. “Spirited,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. Her stubborn silence made it clear, he would get no answers here.Fine.He spun her around, seizing her by the shoulder. With precise force, he propelled her forward, back in the direction of the village. Fortunately, he hadn’t made it too deep into the borderlands yet. Still, the fact that she’d gotten this far without detection disturbed him. He’d need to interrogate the guards and possibly himself, later. To nosurprise, she resisted, planting her feet in the dirt and pounding against his grip.
“Unhand me now!” she cried.
“Come. Or die.” He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. His voice, calm as steel and just as cold, held all the threat in the world. She paused, staring at him, weighing her options.Good. She wasn’t a fool.Her fists stopped flying, though her eyes burned with resentment as he resumed the march. Theron glanced down at the woman beside him- barefoot, mud-splattered, fierce-eyed. He wondered, for the first time in many moons, just what the gods were playing at.
As Theron marched steadily back toward the heart of the Antonin stronghold, he noted with faint relief that the woman, though clearly reluctant, did her best to keep pace. Occasionally, he glanced down, observing the tension etched across her features. Her expression was not one of panic, but calculation. She was thinking- possibly strategizing her next futile escape attempt.
She was tall for a woman, he guessed around five-foot-seven, but her frame was slender, almost fragile when compared to his broad, battle-hardened form. If she tried to fight him again, he wasn’t sure whether he’d laugh aloud or simply shake his head. Still, he gave her credit- she had the fire to try.
Theron kept his thoughts to himself as they traveled, but unease began to stir in the back of his mind.What would his mother do with her?Queen Okteria Drakaren was no brute, not to her own people. But when it came to outsiders? Trespassers? Theron had seen firsthand what her wrath looked like. And it wasn’t loud. It was quiet, sharp, and absolute. He cast another sidelong glance at the woman just as her bodyshifted. Her fingers curled into a tight fist, and she began to draw her arm back.Not this time. In a single, seamless movement, he swept his left arm around her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. With his right, he secured her legs against his chest, iron-willed and immovable. She wriggled, fists beating weakly against his back, but her strikes were wasted against the wall of muscle that bore her weight.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest before he could stop it. Her persistence was—if nothing else—admirable. He paused only to remove the blades sheathed at his back and repositioned them along his front, safely out of reach. She may not have landed a punch, but he wasn’t about to underestimate her a second time.
As he carried her, his senses sharpened. At this proximity, her scent enveloped him-delicate, intoxicating: lavender and vanilla. It caught him off guard. Some of his favorite herbs—ones he'd ground with his own hands to treat the wounded. Lavender reminded him of summer in the wilds, of peace before battle, of simplicity.Get your head straight,he told himself again.She is not a damned flower. She is a trespasser.
The forest path gave way to a more worn trail. The edge of the Antonin tribe’s settlement rose ahead of them like a fortress carved from nature itself. The trees thinned slightly, revealing the woven structures and open-circle training grounds that marked their home. Two warriors stood watch at the threshold, where wild gave way to worn earth and structure. Theron gave them a curt nod. They didn’t move to stop him. None ever would.
“Inform the queen. An immediate gathering is required,” he ordered without slowing. One of the young guards took off at a sprint, disappearing into the heart of the settlement. As Theron pressed deeperinto the village, all eyes turned to him and the woman hanging over his shoulder. A ripple moved through the people like wind through leaves: curiosity, concern... and something darker. It had been years since an outsider crossed into Antonin land and lived to speak of it. Longer still since one had been carried into the tribe by its head warrior.
The Antonin people were born of the forest. Men and women alike were taught from their earliest days to survive, to fight, and to honor the land that gave them breath. They worshipped Varyn, the God of Blood and Valor, in all things. they bled for him in battle, whispered to him before every hunt, and taught their children that valor was sacred. They took only what they needed and wasted nothing. Their way was simple, ancient, and unyielding. “Antonin” meantone with the trees, and it was a name earned through discipline. Though every member was trained for combat, few women joined the ranks of the active warriors. Those who did were forces of nature. Chief among them was Queen Okteria.
As they neared the central gathering ground, known simply asthe Circle, the crowd thickened. Word had spread fast. Warriors from every division emerged to see what had drawn their commander from his patrol. Then Theron’s instincts tensed. The men weren’t looking at the woman over his shoulder with suspicion. They were looking with hunger. His jaw locked as he realized the thin white shift she wore was still damp from her fall, clinging to every curve with an unintentional allure. She was virtually bared to the eyes of men who had not seen a stranger in years.
A surge of something feral had torn through him the moment that she had slammed into his chest and looked up at him—bruised, trembling, yet still burning with defiance. Now, with her in his arms and hismen raking their eyes over, it hadn’t faded. If anything, it burned hotter. His grip tightened on her thighs, fighting for control, and he shifted her subtly, shielding more of her from view without even thinking.
Antonin women never needed his protection—they were warriors born. Even the broken women of Bartoria hadn’t stirred this instinct in him. But she had. A fragile outsider with fire in her gaze and no strength in her bones.She wasn’t his. She wasn’t his to protect. And yet the need to shield her clawed at the core of him, loud and unruly.For Fucks sake,he needed to get his head on straight.
As they reached the Circle’s core, Theron promptly bent and released her. She hit the ground before him with a soft grunt and a thud. He winced, just slightly. He hadn’t meant to drop her that hard. Not really. But he hadmeantto get her off his shoulder and out of sight.
Every muscle in his jaw tensed as he stood over her, watching as she scrambled to push herself upright. Then, instinctively, he lifted his gaze. His eyes swept over the warriors assembled—men who were still staring too long, too openly. Theron’s expression darkened as his gaze swept the warriors. Most had the sense to look away. The few who didn’t, met a stare sharp as flint. His fists clenched at his sides, tension still thrumming in his blood as he forced it down. There wasn’t room for whatever this was. Not now. Not here.
Queen Okteria ascended the stone platform at the head of the Circle, her commanding presence needing no introduction. She was flanked by the tribe’s fiercest warriors, save for one—her eldest son, Theron himself, who stood below, shoulders square and blade ready. As head warrior of the Antonin tribe, his place in their hierarchy was unquestioned. Noone matched his skill in hand-to-hand combat or his ruthless precision with a sword. He had never tasted defeat—and he never intended to.
Beside the queen stood Kain, Theron’s younger brother. Though he shared the same sharp jawline and chiseled features, Kain stood slightly taller, his long, sun-bleached hair brushing past his shoulders, green eyes glinting with mischief. His build was leaner, his body a weapon of agility rather than brute strength. And though Theron could easily overpower him in a close fight, he couldn’t deny that Kain’s bow was deadly—his arrows landing silent and precise from distances most warriors wouldn’t dare attempt. But for all his talent, Kain's loyalty was... flexible. While Theron lived by discipline and duty, Kain indulged in defiance. He questioned their mother’s every decree, contributed only when it suited him, and spent most of his time bedding women or loosing arrows at trees out of boredom. Theron didn’t bother hiding the disdain in his glance but looked away before it turned into a glare.
