Page 8 of Love of the Bladed Dove
But what good had any of it done?No one cared how she smiled or how poised she was at the bottom of this pit. And her training?Clearly useless.Useless against hunger. Against silence. Against the dark. None of it had prepared her for this.
And yet… something in her spine refused to bend. Refused to let her wilt like the polished princess all of those instructors had so badly wanted her to be. She wouldn’t give up. She would get out. She would find her family. She would save her kingdom.
A shuffle of boots overhead snapped her back to stillness, to the present. Voices. Two of them.
“Tynan, who forced you on such a miserable position?” One asked, smooth and rich, his tone wrapping around the words like silk over steel. The sound of it made her eyes flutter open. Something about that voice feltdangerous—not cruel, but quiet and deliberate. Almost amused.
“Who do you think?” Tynan’s harsh voice answered with a sneer she could practically hear.
“Ahh, yes. How is our little prisoner?” the velvet voice asked, tone light but weighted with curiosity. Layla stayed still. Wanting to see who the voice belonged to, but knew she couldn’t see anyone or anything from down here. All she could do was listen.Velvet Voice.Was this her captor?The man who had carried her like she weighed nothing, while her traitorous body had burned with confused desire and resentment at his touch. She hated him. She hated all of them. But she still remembered the heat of him. The restraint. The way he had tried, however subtly, to shield her from the gazes of the tribe.
“She hasn’t tried shit with me here. Wish she would, so I could be the one to slit her throat,” Tynan laughed sharply. A cold coil of dread wrapped around Layla’s spine.
Then Velvet Voice responded, his words a whisper barely louder than breath: “You know… you could alwayssayshe tried something. No one would question it. And you'd be remembered for it.” Layla’s breath caught. Her heart slammed against her ribs.No. No, no, no.
“You’re a good man,” Tynan replied with a sick grin in his tone. He was going to do it. He was going to kill her—and no one would stop him. “When did you get back?” Tynan asked after a moment.
“Just now,” the man replied, casually. “She was right. They took the castle.”
They took the castle.Layla’s eyes snapped open and pulse surged. She pressed herself up weakly against the wall.My home...Tynan just grunted in response. Her mind spun, the dry haze of hunger momentarily cleared by adrenaline.Someone else knew. Someone else believed me.But was that what this was? Confirmation? Or the prelude to her execution? Then, something hit the dirt beside her. She jerked back as her eyes strained… An apple. It rolled slightly across the ground before settling in the dust. Dirt clung to its bruised skin. Layla stared at it like it might vanish. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t trust it.Why would they feed me now?She squinted upward, expecting Tynan’s ugly face to leer down at her. Waiting for the joke. The cruelty. But nothing came. No gloating. No mockery. Just the soft sound of footsteps retreating. Still, she waited. Then finally crawled.
She dragged herself to the corner, her body shuddered from the effort. The apple waited for her like some impossible miracle. She picked it up with shaking fingers, turned it slowly in her hand, checking for cuts, for poison, for anything that might reveal the trick. Just a bruise. Just fruit. Just... hope?Her hunger shattered every doubt and she bit into it. Sweetness exploded in her mouth. Her entire body shuddered with relief. The apple’s juice ran down her chin as her eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed. It wasn’t much. But it was enough. Enough to survive a little longer. Enough to believe she might still find a way out. And deepin her gut, Layla knew—whoeverVelvet Voicetruly was… this was not over between them.
Theron.
“Are you sure starving her to death is the best plan?” Theron asked, sharper than he intended. The words left him too quickly, they were urgent, almost reckless. He cursed himself the moment they echoed off the wooden walls of the queen’s hut. Queen Okteria turned from the table at the center of the room and leveled a slow, appraising gaze at her son. Her expression was unreadable, but her silence was never idle. She was measuring him.
“This isn’t like you,” she said, her tone smooth and quiet. Dangerous. “Do you know something, Theron?” He straightened immediately, shifting his posture into neutral discipline. His expression closed off like a fortress gate.
“No,” he replied with calm precision. “I just feel it’s… wasteful. Our people are eager. They hunger for retribution.” The words tasted bitter, even as he spoke them. What he didn’t say was that the image of the Graystonian princess-alone, starving, half-conscious in that pit-was clawing at him more than it should. He’d seen death. Dished it out by the blade. He’d never flinched before. But this… this wasn’t death. This was something slower, crueler. And for the first time, it felt like it was rotting something inside him.
From across the room, Kain leaned lazily against a timber beam, arms crossed, eyes glittering with amusement. Theron didn’t even have to look to know the smirk was there. “Well,Inever thought I’d seethe day,” Kain drawled. “Big brother's questioning the queen herself.” Theron ignored him. Okteria turned her attention back to the map, fingers tracing lines and borders that had long since ceased to be diplomatic. Now they marked bloodlines. Graves.
“I’m just saying,” Kain continued, clearly bored. “If the idea is to kill her, at least let the warriors have a little fun with it. A trial by fire, maybe. Let her bleed in the Circle. Starving her is so… quiet.”
Theron saw the way their mother’s eyes flicked upward, how a smile ghosted across her lips.Damn it.Kain knew exactly how to play to her appetite for public spectacle. And worst of all, it worked. Theron’s stomach twisted. Something in him recoiled at the image. Layla-no, theprisoner- brought out into the Circle for sport, for public humiliation, for execution. That wasn't justice. That was theater. And he couldn’t let it happen. Not because she was noble or because she was beautiful. Because something in her—delicate yet unyielding—spoke to something buried inhim.
“If she lives,” Theron said, forcing his voice into neutrality, “we can use her as leverage. A bargaining chip.” Okteria’s gaze snapped to his. There was nothing hidden in her face now, just annoyance and the slow flicker of suspicion. She never hid what she felt. Shewieldedit.
“Why would we need leverage?” She snapped. “Graystonia has already fallen. The Bartorians have done what we should’ve done years ago.” She stalked toward him, the full weight of her queenly authority coiled in her stride. “And thank Feyric that they brought her right into our hands. The last spoiled relic of a dying house. We can kill her slow or fast. That ismydecision. Unless…” Her smile widened, smug and sharp. “Unless you’rechallenging me, Theron?”
Her words hit like a thrown spear. Silence fell. Even Kain’s lazy smirk froze at the edges. Theron didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He stared back at her with steel in his jaw but nothing in his face. This wasn’t a challenge. He knew the line, and he hadn’t crossed it. But he hadapproachedit, and they both knew it. He didn't speak. He wouldn't justify himself. But the heat in his chest, the one he couldn’t quite name, was alive and pulsing.
Okteria’s nostrils flared before she turned away, brushing the conversation aside like it was beneath her. “That’s what I thought.” She waved her hand, dismissing them both like a final decree. “Get out.”
Theron dipped his head, controlled and formal. He pivoted and walked out into the moonlit clearing without a word. Kain followed, boots crunching on the hardened earth behind him.
“I like this side of you brother,” Kain teased, practically humming. “Never seen you push back before. Was she a good lay before you dragged her in?” Theron stopped cold. A slow, dangerous turn brought him face-to-face with his brother. Kain grinned. “There it is. Knew you cared.”
Theron’s fists clenched, wrath coiling beneath his skin. Kain clapped a hand on Theron’s shoulder, voice low and triumphant. “Interesting.” Was all he said before Kain turned and walked off into the dark, leaving Theron standing alone beneath the stars. He breathed slowly. Deeply. He wanted to hit something. Or scream. Or march back into the pit and drag her out himself. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at nothing, the forest trees seemingly whispering around him.Why her? Why now?He had no answers. Only a growing, burning certainty thatwhat they were doing was wrong. And that if he didn’t act soon… it would be too late. Yet he knew he couldn’t. He must obey.
Layla.
Night crept in, pressing against the iron grate above her like a weight. The stars were barely visible, just slivers of distant light, but Layla hardly noticed. Her mind spun endlessly, tangled in the threads of whatVelvet Voicehad said that morning."They took the castle."Not the city. Just the castle. That meant the Bartorians hadn’t charged through the gates with fire and war, they’d slipped in. From the inside. Which could only mean one thing.There’s a traitor in Graystonia.
Layla clenched her jaw as a dull heat flickered in her chest, chasing away some of the chill. Someone from her court had betrayed them.Herfamily.Herpeople. And they would pay. But vengeance required survival. And right now, she wasn’t sure she would make it through another day.
Her limbs were weak, her head light. The apple she’d devoured earlier that morning had kept her going, but every joint in her body ached, not from injury—but from thirst. A cruel, wringing dryness that left her tongue thick and her vision hazy. She had enough strength left to think, but barely. Her thoughts spiraled between questions and survival plans, none of which gave her any comfort.
