Page 36 of Love of the Bladed Dove
“…Okay,” she whispered.
“Okay,” he echoed, a flicker of contentment settling across his face. He took another swig, then leaned back slowly, letting his head rest as she watched sleep soon begin to pull him under.
They waited in comfortable silence until a soft knock came. Kain raised an eyebrow, but Layla motioned that she would handle it. She opened the door to a familiar face.
“Marilla,” Layla breathed, throwing her arms around her handmaiden. “You’re safe!”
“And you!... Gods above, you need a bath,” Marilla said with a watery laugh, her voice cracking despite the teasing. She quickly wiped a tear from her cheek, trying—and failing—to collect herself. “Most of us were in the city for the festivities,” she added, her tone softening. “I suppose… the gods had a hand in that.” She offered the explanation before Layla could even ask, as if trying to fill the silence with anything but tears.
Layla nodded, dazed. The words sank in slowly, but the relief was instant and all-consuming. She drew in a shaky breath, blinking hard—willing herself not to fall apart now, not when the dearest friend she feared lost was standing right in front of her. Safe. Alive.
“I brought you a gown. Go use your mother’s tub. I’ll sit with her.” Marilla’s voice was brisk, familiar—already slipping back into business as usual like she hadn’t just been blinking back tears. Composed, capable, unshakable. It made Layla chuckle. Of course Marilla would be the one to think of a bath and fresh clothes when the world had nearly ended. Gods, she was so happy she was okay.
But then Marilla’s posture stiffened, her eyes catching on something just past Layla’s shoulder. Kain. She said nothing, but the tension was unmistakable.
Layla stepped in quickly, her voice low but steady. “He helped me. Helped the Queen. He’s not the enemy, Marilla.”
Marilla gave a reluctant nod before cautiously passing by Kain to sit beside the queen. Layla didn’t doubt Kain’s loyalty—not after today—but Marilla was different. Familiar. Gentle. The queen wouldn’t startle awake at the sight of her. Kain, on the other hand… Layla nearly laughed at the image, then exhaled a quiet sigh of relief and slipped into the bathing chamber.
She shed her leathers with aching efficiency, the fabric peeling away like a second skin. Turning to the mirror, she took herself in—bruised, bloodstained, too thin. A body carved by war, not court. Her fingers brushed a cut on her collarbone, her reflection both foreign and familiar.
Princess by blood. Warrior by fire. And now, undeniably both.
Layla bathed quickly, scrubbing herself raw as she used her mother’s oils—lavender and vanilla. She couldn’t help but smile because they smelled like home. The gown Marilla brought was sage green, soft and flowing with an open neckline. It didn’t feel like armor, but somehow, it gave her strength.
She stepped out, hair still damp, but Marilla didn’t dally and took her leave. Reassuring she would be back often to check on both her and the queen.
Layla offered a quiet, sincere thanks before returning to her mother’s side. She took her hand gently, eyes searching her face.
“Please wake up,” she whispered.
“So, this is the Princess of Graystonia. I see it now.” Kain teased from across the room. More awake now than before. Layla rolled her eyes at him.
“Don’t get me wrong. You looked great in the whole warrior woman thing and this… thing.” He waved his hand at her attire, “But my favorite so far is the little white dress.” He winked at her with that taunting smirk. Layla just glared back at him.Asshole.
Shut up, Kain,” Layla muttered, then straightened her tone. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to use the washroom while we wait.” It was a clumsy attempt to change the subject, and they both knew it. But thankfully, Kain stood and stretched with lazy ease anyways.
“I’ll be quick, try not to get into too much trouble while I’m in there.” Kain didn’t even look at her before shutting the washroom door. Layla just shook her head in frustration at him.
Before her mind could begin to wander once again, a knock at the door caused her to start to stand. Sir Edwin again, she assumed. But just as she turned away from her mother, gently removing her hand, the tips of her fingers were squeezed and Layla’s entire body went rigid with shock.
"Mother!" Layla's voice cracked, breathless with joy. “You’re awake!” Queen Raynera’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, her face pale and worn. She blinked slowly, confusion giving way to recognition.
“Layla?” she rasped, her voice barely audible. “You’re alive… Thank the gods.” Her gaze softened for just a moment before her lids fluttered shut again from the weight of exhaustion.
Layla grasped her mother’s hand tighter, the warmth of it anchoring her in the chaos of everything she’d endured. “I’m here, Mother. We’ve taken the castle back. You’re safe now.” But the words faltered on her tongue slightly as she took in her mother’s injuries again—how broken she looked lying there, beaten, pale, so unlike the woman who had ruled at her father’s side with iron resolve. The woman who had taught her that tears were wasted energy, that emotion was for the behind closed doors.
“You were hurt badly…” Layla’s voice dropped to a whisper, ashamed she couldn't say it outright. Ashamed that she hadn’t been there in time to stop it.
Queen Raynera’s fingers twitched in Layla’s hand, her brow furrowed slightly. “I know,” she whispered. “But I’m alive… I’ll heal.” Her eyes opened once more, glassy and tired, and fixed on her daughter’s with sudden intensity. “Ciana? Aerilynn?” urgency piercing the weakness in her voice. The question stabbed through Layla like a dagger. Her throat tightened. She looked away for the briefest moment, forcing herself to hold it together. When she looked back, her voice shook.
“They were taken, Mother. Bartorian soldiers, before we got here. I’m so sorry… But I swear to you, I’m going after them. Iwillbring them back.” Raynera’s jaw tensed, her eyes closing briefly in pain, more emotional than physical. Then she pushed against the bed, trying to sit up. “No,” Layla said firmly, placing her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Please. You’re too hurt. You need to rest. Let me do this for you. For them.”
Raynera’s breath caught in her chest, but she stopped fighting. Her eyes met Layla’s again, fierce despite the exhaustion in them. For a heartbeat, Layla saw her mother, the warrior behind the crown, the strategist who’d stood beside her father as his right hand. The woman who had never told her she was proud, but had always expected her to be worthy of pride.
“I see your father in you,” Raynera murmured. “So skilled. So brave. And stubborn, gods help us.”” Her lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile.
A sob choked in Layla’s throat as tears streamed freely down her cheeks. “I’ll bring them back,” she vowed again, the words raw and sacred. “Whatever it takes. I’ll bring them back to you.”
