Page 11 of Love of the Bladed Dove
“Good luck, little dove.” He said casually over his shoulder with a wink.
Dove?she almost gagged at the name. She also attempted to ignore the chuckle from the repulsive blonde man as he swaggered way. But it caused Layla's rage to flare—pure and hot—driving out the remainder of her fear and focusing on steaming anger. But she knew in this moment, anger was good, and she could use it.
Layla turned her attention back toward her opponent in the Circle. Tynan was already waiting, sword in hand, grinning like this was going to be fun. Layla focused on adjusting her stance, daggers poised, the burn in her ribs now a dull background roar behind the pounding of her blood. She could do this.She had to.
“Begin!” Queen Okteria’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.
The command hadn’t finished echoing when Tynan lunged forward, sword raised high, teeth bared in something between a grin and a snarl. Layla didn’t think. Shemoved.
With a flick of her wrist, she released one of her daggers in a desperate throw, straight at his face. The blade sang through the air, silver against sunlight, and missed. Barely. It shot past his temple and buried itself in the ground somewhere behind him.Shit!He was on her now.
She dove to the side, heart racing like a war drum. His sword slammed into the ground where she’d been, the impact jarring the earth beneath her ribs. Adrenaline tore through her, pushing the pain down, stuffing it into a box she’d deal with later, if she lived long enough to have alater.She scrambled up, barely on her feet again when the blade camefor her. Another sweeping arc. This time, it kissed her left bicep. The searing pain of it lit her nerves on fire.
“Holy fuck!” Her arm went numb instantly from the deep gash. She stumbled back, her breath ragged and sharp. Blood poured down her arm, soaking the fabric of her shift. Her hand spasmed, the dagger it held slipping from her grip and clattering to the ground.Not now. Please, not now.Tynan saw it. Saw her eyes flick down toward the fallen blade. And he smirked right before he charged again. Layla didn’t wait to think. Instinct screamed. Shedropped, flat to the dirt, just as his sword came down. The blade passed so close she felt the air shift above her spine.Keep moving.She rolled, her arm shrieking as she pushed herself toward the blade she’d dropped. His feet thundered after her. She spun onto one knee and grabbed the dagger. Tynan roared behind her, his sword rising again for the final blow…but she was quicker.
She drove the daggerup.Right into his throat. The world instantly went still. He stopped. His eyes went wide. A single, choking breath gurgled from his mouth as blood began to spill down his chest, splattering across her. His blade slipped from his grasp and landed with a softthunkbeside her. Layla didn’t breathe. She couldn’t. He fell to his knees. And then forward, face-first into the dirt beside her. Dead.
Her breath came in short, uneven bursts. Her ears rang. It was over. She hadwon.
The pain in her bicep roared back with a vengeance, snapping her out of the daze. Her gaze lifted slowly to the queen. Okteria’s expression was thunderous. Her lips were tight, her fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes sparked with unspoken vengeance..No. This isn’t over.Layla’s guttwisted. She didn’t know what to expect—vengeance? A second fighter? An arrow to the heart?Time moved strangely.
She saw him,her captor, step forward and lean toward the queen. Whisper something in her ear. Something quiet. Measured. The queen’s mouth tightened. Her gaze flicked between them. Then, she nodded. He jumped from the stone, landing with the grace of a god, and began walking toward her. Layla’s eyes found his. She couldn’t read them. Not warmth. Not cruelty. Just… intensity. Something cold slipped down her spine. She turned back to the queen, throat dry, heart pounding.
“Congratulations, Princess,” Queen Okteria said, the words spat like acid. “Your freedom is yours. You no longer will stay in our prison.” Layla let out a breath she hadn’t realize she’d been holding. She’d done it.She’d actually done it.Her legs buckled slightly as she tried to rise, the world tilting. Blood loss on top of everything else was stealing her balance. But she stood. Somehow. Then—
“Oh, but Princess,” the queen added, almost purring now. Layla froze. Her gaze snapped up. “Don’t think you’re leaving.” Her stomach dropped.
“But you said—” Layla began, voice hoarse, but Okteria raised a single hand and silenced her.
“I said,” she repeated, eyes narrowing, “you could have your freedom…from our prison.” The words landed like a blade in her chest. “That’s it.”
The finality of it was worse than any cut. Layla’s knees gave out. She collapsed back to the ground, shattered. Her arm screamed in agony. Her vision swam. Her ribs ached with every shallow breath. She wasn’t going home. She had won the fight—and lost the war. Still a prisoner. Just notin a pit. The sour tang of vomit burned the back of her throat as despair clawed its way back in. Her head sagged forward, resting on her arm as blood dripped onto the dirt.I’m not getting out of here.But even as the tears threatened, they didn’t fall. Because one thought came louder than the others.You’re still alive.And as long as she was breathing, she would fight.
Theron.
Theron knelt without hesitation, slipping his arms beneath the woman who had no business still being alive and lifted her with care that surprised even him. Her frame was light, far too light. Blood clung to her skin, soaked into what was left of the shift she wore. Her head fell against his chest, cheek pressing into the bare skin above his leathers. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. But he felt the tremors beneath his hands—constant, violent shivers wracking her from within. Her one open eye stared blankly forward, glazed with pain and something dangerously close to hopelessness. Tear tracks streaked the grime on her face.She should be dead. Gods, by every measure, she should be.And yet—she wasn’t. She had fought, and by some miracle, won. The shock of it clung to him, fierce and quiet, surrounded by a warmth that could only be described as relief.
When Tynan had crumpled in the dirt, her blade buried deep in his throat and blood spilling across the sacred Circle, Theron had known exactly what would follow. He saw it in his mother’s face—the shift from stunned silence to something far more volatile. A vein pulsed in her temple. Her eyes burned with pure hatred as one hand curled at herside like she might draw her own blade. So he leaned in and said the first thing that came to him.
“Let me get her out of your sight.” It wasn’t a solution, just a temporary diversion. But Okteria gave him a nod. Not forgiveness—just a reprieve. A sliver of time. How much, he didn’t know.
The crowd parted as he passed, their stares a mix of stunned silence and thinly veiled contempt. He was still carrying a captive, after all. But no one dared stop him. Still, he held her tighter. She wasn’t in chains. She wasn’t rotting in that pit. And whatever she was now… he wasn’t sure. He only knew she needed mending, if only until the queen passed her judgment.
He strode through the village, jaw tight, steps unwavering, until he reached the mending hut—the one place no one would question him. A space where she could sleep, undisturbed, for a few stolen hours. It was the only thing he could offer her. He didn’t pause. Just shoved aside the woven hide flap and stepped into the warmth inside. Eir turned at the sound. Her sharp eyes widened at the sight of what he carried—but only for a breath. Then her hands were already in motion. Years of service had trained her well: tend first, question later.
She gestured to the larger of the two cots. “There.” Theron laid Layla down with gentle precision. Her body tensed as he lowered her, a faint whimper of pain slipping from her cracked lips.She still didn’t look at him. Didn’t have the strength to, maybe? Or maybe she didn’t want to... He let his thoughts fade as he straightened, deciding at that moment he wasn't going to step outside. He folded his arms, boots rooted to the floor, eyes never leaving her as Eir got to work. Eir didn’t ask him to go. She simply moved around him. He appreciated that.
The elder worked methodically cleaning away the bloodied mess across her skin, dabbing salves into open wounds, wrapping her arm tight to stop the bleeding. Layla’s body winced beneath every touch, but she didn’t cry out. Not once. It was only when Eir asked her to drink that she reacted. Theron saw it. That flicker of fear in her eye.Distrust.And he didn’t blame her. Still, she took the medicine. Seconds later, her body slackened, and her breathing deepened.
The potion had done its job, drawing her under and Theron finally exhaled. He hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath. She looked… different like this. Her face softened. The furrow in her brow melted. Her lips, parted slightly, trembling no longer. For the first time since she’d stumbled into their territory, she looked at peace. He hated how much he liked seeing her this way. And when Eir finished, she stepped back and washed her hands in the bucket near the door. Then, silently, she gathered two small bowls and handed them to Theron.
“She’ll sleep most of the next day,” she said quietly. “Salve for the bruises. This”—she nodded toward the darker bowl—“for the pain. When she wakes, you’ll need to help her apply it.” Theron dipped his head in acknowledgment. “She’s yours now,” Eir added softly. Not as a declaration of possession—but as a burden. As a responsibility. Then she turned and left, giving them privacy.
The moment the door flapped shut behind her, Theron sank to the floor beside Layla’s cot, back resting against the hut’s wooden wall. The weight of the day- the blood, the defiance, the impossible victory- pressed in from all sides. He let his head fall back, eyes closing for just a moment.What now, Theron?His mother would not let this go. He knew her too well. Layla may have survived the Circle, but she hadn’tescaped the queen’s wrath. Not by a long shot. And yet—he’d bought her time.
He opened his eyes and looked at the woman sleeping beside him. Bruised,broken, and bloody… but still alive. Stillfighting. He’d let her sleep here until night fell, then slip her past curious eyes and unspoken questions. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could rest, maybe even begin to heal—if only for a while. Just until the weight of his mother’s judgment came down like an axe. He wasn’t even sure if he was doing it for her… or for himself.
Chapter eight
