Page 3 of Love of the Bladed Dove
“I’ve had the privilege of meeting many wonderful members of our kingdom,” she replied, voice poised, polished. Not a lie, but far from the truth.
He laughed softly. “Ah, yes. I’ve seen the line forming. Many men chasing the favor of a very beautiful lady.” She turned away, feeling the blush rise again. Compliments were common in her life, but this one felt... different. Less performance. More intent.
“I’m surprised to see you here tonight,” she said, surprising herself with her directness. “Last I knew, you were training to be an officer of the guard.” He looked at her, something like surprise flashing in his eyes. She wasn’t supposed to know that. Daughters weren’t told about armies, or war, or how close the danger truly was. She was meant to smile, to wait, and remain blissfully unaware of it all.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “I should be sworn by year’s end.” There was pride in his voice, earned pride. She admired that and she appreciated that he didn’t ask how she knew. He simply continued, “My father requested I take leave for Lammas so I could attend with my family.” Layla offered a soft smile.How nice,she thought.Time with his family, in the middle of such a demanding year. That must mean something.But Ryker wasn’t finished. “My father also wished for me to officially meet you, Lady Layla.” Their eyes met again, and the warmth she’d been holding at bay threatened to rise once more. Then it hit her. Thiswasn’t coincidence. This was strategy. A setup.Of course.Of course, his father had arranged it. Of course, Ryker was here not simply to enjoy the festival, but to court her—to be seen with her, to make an impression, to offer himself up for the crown. Evenhehad been pulled from officer training just for this opportunity. To be the future king.
The warmth that had begun to thaw her quickly turned cold. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, only that it did. The very idea of being chosen, not for love, not for who she was, but for what she represented… it made her feel small. Powerless. Layla smiled through it. Mask back on. Chin lifted.
They danced, and though the conversation continued, the spark did not return. Something inside her had shuttered again. By the time the song ended, she gave Ryker a polite curtsy and retreated to her mother’s side. She took a large gulp of wine, letting it burn its way down her throat. She had known tonight would be difficult, but she hadn’t expectedpanic. And she hadn’t expected this—how final it would feel. Whatever last threads of hope she’d held onto—for choice, for a love match, for something more than duty—were gone. That much was clear now.
As Layla moved the food around on her plate without eating, her mind swirled. She thought of each man.Alexander. Elric. Ryker.And all the others. None of them stirred the deep thing inside her. The quiet part that wanted more than duty. More than alliances. Ryker made the most sense. She could see it. She told herself she should be grateful. He waskind. He was handsome. He had let her knowledge of his training slide. He hadn’t mocked her. Perhaps, in time, he would even allow her to learn more.He would make a strong king.
But really, none of what was expected of her tonight should have come as a surprise. She’d known this was coming for weeks—ever since the war council began, ever since the guest list for Lammas had shifted—from the joy of old friends to a lineup of eligible sons and power-hungry lords, all eager to stake their claim. But still, she couldn’t quite believe it. That this was truly her fate. That by night’s end, she would be expected to report her choice to her parents. And if they approved, the engagement would be set, her future sealed beside a man she barely knew, all for the good of the kingdom. What she couldn’t fully accept was the possibility that her heart may forever remain still. That duty would be all she’d ever know. And sadness settled in her stomach like a stone.
Across the room, she spotted Ryker in conversation. He laughed at something. Then he glanced her way and smiled, a smile that reached his eyes. She returned it, softly, as she begged the miniscule spark to return, but it was ash and her shoulders slumped. She tried to convince herself:There could be worse men. He is strong. Loyal. He might even let me be part of more than just the crown.This could be enough.But the hollowness inside her deepened. A quiet ache she couldn’t ignore.
Still staring at him while deep in her thoughts, she watched as Ryker’s smile faded. His body stiffened in alarm. His eyes shifted, not toward her, but toward the opposite direction. Layla sat up straighter, her chest tightening.What does he see?she wondered. She craned her neck, eyes scanning the crowd. But something in her bones had already begun to whisper. Something was wrong.
Layla watched as Ryker's head whipped back toward her, his eyes wide, wild. A flicker of terror sparked in his face the moment his gaze connected with hers once again. Then, without hesitation, he ran. He ran like a man possessed, shoving bodies aside with a seemingly singular intent: reaching her. She stood frozen for a breath, her pulse roaring in her ears, then the room erupted into shrieks. Shrieks of fear. Of chaos. Of death.
Around her, the impossible unfolded: bodies dropping, thudding onto the marble floor. Pools of red spread like ink through the ballroom. And not just any bodies, Graystonian Guards. Her guards. Their throats were slit, clean and fast. Layla's breath caught in her chest. Then instinct overtook her. She grabbed the knife from her plate, the familiar weight grounding her for a moment, and bolted from her seat. Her eyes frantically scanned the sea of panic. Where was her family?
There. Her mother stood some distance away, dangerously close to the heart of the mayhem still erupting across the ballroom. With both arms wrapped tightly around her youngest daughters, anchoring them behind a marble pillar, using her own body as the only barrier between them and the violence. But no guards. No steel. No shields.Where the hell are their damn guards!?Layla’s mind screamed as she tore across the chaos toward them. Two Graystonian bodies lay in her path, their eyes were still open, but lifeless. Blood pooled beneath their necks in wide, glistening circles. Her stomach twisted, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her eyes stayed locked on her mother and sisters— alive, for now.
Then she saw him. A man, someone she didn’t recognize, was closing in on them. His attire mimicked Graystonian nobility, but Laylaknew. She had spent her life memorizing faces, families, bloodlines. Thisman wasn’t one of them. He wasn’ttheirs. A predator among lambs. Layla skidded to a halt and centered herself. Her grip tightened. The knife hummed in her hand—an extension of her will. Then she released it. The blade sliced the air like a whisper of justice and struck. Right in the outstretched arm of the stranger. He staggered back with a roar of pain, blood spurting from his wound. Layla was already in motion, closing the distance to her family before he could, but he turned and lunged for her before she could reach them. His hand closed around her forearms with bruising force. Even with blood pouring from his gash, he was strong. Too strong. He wrenched her around and yanked her against his chest.
“Stop fighting, you little bitch. You’re coming with me!” he hissed, hot and foul against her ear. Like hell I am!She slammed her elbow back hard into his ribs. He yelped, his grip faltering just enough. Layla twisted free and dropped low, her eyes locking on a serving tray nearby. She snatched it, and without pause, swung. It cracked against his skull with a sickeningthudand she watched him collapse.
Layla stood panting, heart hammering. There was no time to process what she’d done. She had tomove. She looked toward the pillar again, her family was gone. Panic surged through her veins. She spun in frantic circles, scanning the pandemonium. What remained of the ballroom was a hellscape. The gilded elegance of the evening had shattered- replaced by screams, blood, and the clang of steel. The guards—what few remained—were fighting at the ballroom doors. Her father among them, sword flashing as he battled to protect his people’s escape. Ryker was nearby, fists flying, fighting off two enemies with raw fury.
Finally, her eyes found them. Her mother. Her sisters. Farther across the ballroom now, heading toward the east wall. Her mother wastrying to lift Ciana off the floor but seemed to be struggling. Aerilynn stood beside them, seemingly paralyzed in shock. Tears streamed down her face as she watched the horror unfold. Layla ran.
“It’s my ankle!” Ciana cried as Layla closed the distance, her face twisted in pain. Layla dropped to her side, a rush of relief flooding her as her hands moved instinctively to help. Together, she and their mother pulled Ciana upright, her weight sagging heavily between them, arms looped over their shoulders for support. Ciana turned her head, her tear-filled eyes locking onto Layla’s, wide and terrified. Layla met them with a firm nod, fierce and steady. They were going to get out.
“Mom! Who is this? Who is attacking us?” Layla demanded as they stumbled toward the northeast exit, the only escape untouched by blood. Her mother’s face was stone and shoulders rigid, tight as a bowstring.
“Bartoria,” she spat. Layla’s blood went cold but before she could react, a hand landed on her shoulder. She spun, ready to kill, ready to die before she let them harm her family.
“Princess—it’s just me!” Sir Charles said quickly, hands raised. Relief cracked through her like a lightning bolt. “Please let me help.” He moved in without hesitation, slipping one arm beneath Ciana’s knees and the other behind her back. With practiced strength, he scooped Ciana into his arms. She sucked in a breath, clinging to his shoulders as her injured ankle finally hung free, no longer bearing weight.
“Sir Charles!” her mother demanded. “Where is the King?”
“He’s with the last of the guards, Your Majesty. I’ll get you out, then go back for him.” Layla nodded. Then turned to Aerilynn.
Her sister still stood frozen, shoulders rigid, tears tracking silently down her cheeks. She stared ahead, unmoving—eyes wide and unblinking,as if her mind couldn’t catch up to what was happening around them.
Layla stepped in close and grabbed her arms. “Aerilynn,” she said, her voice unsteady but unwavering. “You have to move.” Aerilynn didn’t respond. “We need you. I need you.”
Layla seized Aerilynn’s face with shaking hands. Forcing their eyes to meet, refusing to let her sister drift further into shock. “Move. Now,” she pleaded, much more forcefully this time. Finally, Aerilynn blinked. Her lips parted in a soundless breath as she gave a small nod, allowing Layla to quickly pull her into a tight embrace. The embrace lasted only a second before Layla shoved Aerilynn forward- away from the chaos and towards the others.
Then Layla turned. She couldn’t bring herself to leave without a final glimpse of the only home she'd ever loved. the only place she'd ever known. But the ballroom held no trace of her home now, only the echo of carnage. Blood slicked the marble floors. The scent of blood and scorched stone burned her nose, the air thick with the clash of steel and screams of the wounded. And now she saw them—truly saw them. Bartorian soldiers, their noble finery a disguise, their blades already dripping red. They had hidden in plain sight.
Her gaze found her father—fighting, relentless, surrounded. His back pressed to the last standing guard as they held the line with nothing but fury and steel. That sight caused her instincts to flare. Layla swiftly spotted a nearby table.Knives.Not proper weapons, but enough.
“Stay with Sir Charles!” She said, as she turned to dart away. “He’ll keep you safe. I love you!”
“What?! No! What the hell are you doing?!” Aerilynn shrieked, reaching for her. Layla slipped free of her sister’s grasp, snatched the knives, and surged forward before Aerilynn could stop her.These aren’t daggers, but they’ll have to do.She moved like a shadow, weaving through pillars and bodies, heart pounding, breath shallow. The crowd was distracted enough that no one saw her coming.
