Page 33 of Love of the Bladed Dove
"You bitch!" He yelled, stepping towards her. But Kain was quicker, He stepped closer, positioning the arrow only a foot front of his face now.
"Don't move another fucking inch, or this next arrow is in your eye and the following one in your dick." Kain seethed. Menace flaring from his eyes. The guard glared at him and then turned back to look towards Layla.
"They're gone, and you'll never see them again." He smirked at her.
Layla instantly lunged forward, driving her blade into his abdomen and twisting. The guard let out a loud and pained groan.
“WHERE ARE THEY!?”
“Bartoria,” he groaned. “Your own Sir Charles sold them. The king made him rich.” Layla’s vision narrowed, not believing this.It couldn’t be true.“We couldn't find you, so they finally sent the other two princesses off last night. Better two than zero.…” The guard slurred before he collapsed.
She turned to Kain, shaking. Still not wanting to believe it. But in her gut, she didn't know how, but knew the man was telling the truth. “They’re gone. My sisters—they’re…”
“One thing at a time,” Kain said, voice steady. “Let’s get your mother. Then we find them… I promise Dove.” She nodded. Layla somehow knew he meant every word. Quickly turning on her heels she showed Kain where her mom was lying in the filth at the back cell. Kain ran in and scooped her up with a deep groan.
“Kain, are you sure—?” he cut her off before she could continue.
“I’ve got her. Let’s move.”
They didn’t take the garden way back—too dangerous. Instead, Layla led him to the maid’s kitchen. Two Bartorians turned to face them as they entered. Her blades were flying before they could even draw their weapons. Both bodies dropped in unison.
“Come on,” she whispered as she grabbed more blades off her belt and held the door open for Kain and her mother to enter. As they crossed the kitchen, they could hear commotion echoing on the other side of the far door. Layla held up a hand for them to wait.
As the silence fell beyond the door. She looked at Kain and nodded.Time to get out. Time to survive. Time to fight for everything that was hers.
She threw the door open with a sharp breath, blades at the ready, prepared to kill whatever enemy stood in her way. But just as her eyes swept the room and she raised her arm to strike, she halted. Not because there wasn’t a target, but because of who the target was.
Theron stood alone in the center of the room, towering over three Bartorian corpses bleeding at his feet. He was soaked in blood, some of it his, most of it not. The shadows under his eyes made him look almost feral. For a terrifying second, he looked like something conjured from nightmare—a war god sculpted from stone and rage. Then he saw her. His sword dipped half an inch, and confusion shattered his hardened expression.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” he bellowed, voice sharp and stunned.
Layla’s own shock fumbled her words. “What do you mean? You sent Kain to help me get my mother—we’ve got her, she just—”
“Kain?!” Theron snarled, stepping forward. His dark eyes snapped behind her.
Kain appeared in the dim threshold next to her, her unconscious mother wrapped protectively in his arms.
“Hey there, brother,” he said casually, grinning like he hadn’t just betrayed a war order.
Layla’s breath caught. Her heart plummeted. “So, you didn’t send him.” Theron didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Her jaw tightened, heartbreak hardening into venom-laced wrath. “Of course you didn't,” she spat. “I don’t even know why I expected anything different.” Before Theron could respond, the door behind him flew open.
Xaden burst into the room, urgency crackling off him like a spark.
“They’re at the gate,” he said. “Graystonian soldiers. Dozens at first, now more keep coming. We don’t know how many.”
Theron turned sharply. “And our men?”
“Poised to meet them,” Xaden replied. “They’ve taken position just inside the entrance. Orders are to strike the moment they breach the threshold.”
The words hit Layla like ice. She shoved past the others, boots skidding on the stone as she made for the nearest window. In the distance, beyond the courtyard walls, she saw it—the gleam of armor under the rising sun. Her breath caught—Graystonia’s banners rose through the trees, her army thundering forward at last. Relief swelled in her chest. They’d come. They were here. But the joy barely formed before it twisted, sharp and breathless, as her gaze snapped to the entrance—Antonin blades drawn, ready to strike. Her people were walking straight into an ambush.
She turned toward Theron, urgency surging in her veins, and closed the space between them. Her hand pressed lightly to his chest—steadying herself as her burning anger was momentarily ebbed by the sheer panic of what was about to happen to her men.
“Theron,” she said, voice low, breathless. “Don’t.”She searched his face, desperate for the man she’d once glimpsed beneath all the armor andorders. “Please,” she said, voice trembling. “You’ve already done what you came here to do. The Bartorians are dead. You’ve sent the message your mother wanted. Don’t reignite a war between our kingdoms—a war that ended generations ago. Please, Theron.”
His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck pulsing, barely restrained. She could feel the tension rolling off his chest beneath her hand like a thunderstorm waiting to break.
“Take the win,” she begged. “Don’t lose everything for nothing. Not today..”
