Page 38 of Love of the Bladed Dove
Kain took another bite, chewing slowly. “You always did love speeches.”
Theron’s fists clenched, but he looked closer. Beneath the sarcasm, beneath the lazy defiance, was something steady. Certain. Familiar. And Theron—who had spent his life honoring law and silence, who had been forged by his father into a weapon of obedience—recognized what he saw in his brother’s eyes:choice.
Kain defying orders was nothing new. He’d done it his entire life—reckless, unruly, impossible to contain. But this… this was different. He hadn’t just ignored a command. He’d gone against their queen. Against their tribe. For her. An enemy princess. A girl who should’ve meant nothing to him. And yet—he’d chosen her.
Theron didn’t understand it. Couldn’t.What was it about her that made Kain turn his back on everything? Fascination? Rebellion? Boredom?It had to be one of those. It had to be. Because if itwasn’t… If it was something deeper…something real…Theron wasn’t sure which truth cut deeper.
Theron exhaled, silently shaking those thoughts from his mind. He knew Kain wouldn’t give him a straight answer. He never did. And honestly, it wasn’t worth the fight, the guessing, the anger—not now. Not after everything. So instead, he did what he knew he should. What he’d known in his gut since the moment he saw Kain carrying Layla’s mother through the smoke and blood, defying everything to do what was right, no matter the reason behind it. What he hadn’t dared to do himself.
“Thank you Kain,” he said, the words rough in his throat. “For protecting her. For doing what I…” His jaw flexed. “What I should have.”
Kain blinked, surprised. But then his smirk softened into something unreadable. He nodded once. Solid. No gloating. Just understanding. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was an unspoken truce. A shared truth. And for the first time, Theron let it stand.
Theron looked around the grand hall as he waited. Gold-trimmed columns, rich tapestries, the scent of lavender and burning oils, it was another world compared to the open, rugged lands of the Antonin. Yet despite the luxury, his only thought was of Layla. He had lost her trust, maybe permanently. The weight of that betrayal sat in his chest like stone. If he had simply stood up to Okteria, if he hadacted, none ofthis would have happened. She would still look at him with those bright, questioning eyes. Not as if he were the enemy.
A short time later, Layla returned. Cloaked in dark green, she was once more the warrior. A belt of blades strapped across her chest, the same ones he had given her. And Kain’s daggers at her side. Jealousy twisted in his gut again, but he pushed it away.
“We’re ready,” she said. “You can have your weapons back now.”
She barely looked at him, but the flicker of her voice lingered in his ears. A guard approached with armfuls of Antonin steel. The warriors quickly rearmed, strapping on their familiar instruments of death. Theron breathed easier the moment his sword settled against his hip. Its weight was reassuring, solid.
“You girls ready yet? Or need more time to keep getting dressed?” Kain’s voice called out. Theron didn’t dignify the comment with a response. But by the gods, he was going to punch him before this trip was over.
They rode out as a group of twenty, cloaks snapping in the wind as they cut through the outer walls. Theron was given a massive black stallion.The horse huffed at him suspiciously but warmed to him quickly, nudging Theron’s hand for affection.
He mounted the beast smoothly, watching from the corner of his eye as Xaden struggled to do the same. Kain and Sparrow laughed, and even Layla cracked the smallest smile. But when her eyes met Theron’s, the smile vanished. Replaced by a wall of pain so thick he felt it in his bones. He looked away, jaw clenched, breath shallow. He had shattered something in her. Maybe something in himself too. He would ride into hell to fix it. He would bring her sisters back if it was the last thing he did. And maybe… maybe she’d see him again, not as the man who betrayed her, but the one who would die to protect her.
Layla.
Layla tried her best not to laugh as she watched the Antonin warriors struggle miserably on horseback. Between the sheer panic in Xaden’s wide eyes and Kain’s constant, subtle grimacing, it was far too entertaining for a day that had held so much pain. If she didn't know better, she might have thought they'd never ridden before.
Xaden caught her amused glance and dramatically clutched the saddle horn. “If I fall off and die, promise me you'll tell people it was during something epic, like slaying a bear or saving a village. Not from being thrown off a damned horse.”
Layla stifled a laugh, her lips twitching. “Noted.”
He groaned. “Gods, give me a sword and twenty enemies over this four-legged demon any day.”
She shook her head smiling then reluctantly shot a glance at Theron. Unlike the others, he looked at ease in the saddle, too at ease.Ofcourse he would be the one Antonin to move like he was born on horseback.That fact irritated her more than it should have.
The air had grown noticeably cooler with the sun’s retreat, and as they pressed forward, Layla realized the last day of summer had passed them by. Fall was here. Normally, it was her favorite time of year, when the leaves turned to fire and gold, when laughter filled the streets during Graystonia’s harvest festivals. But now those thoughts soured instantly. She could only picture her sisters dancing barefoot in the city square, ribbons in their hair. She desperately prayed that they were still in Bartoria. That the gods had slowed the enemy’s journey somehow. She whispered Feyric’s name under her breath.
They rode hard until twilight bled through the trees. Layla finally tugged the reins, slowing her horse when her men signaled that the time had come to stop. Together, they veered off the dirt path into the dense forest. Soon after, the group dismounted, and the warriors tied their horses near a small creek trickling through the clearing. Water for the animals. Stealth for the warriors.
“Don’t shoot, I swear I’m only planning to murder a rabbit or two,” Kain quipped as he stepped toward the trees waving his bow. His voice echoed to the Graystonian soldiers who bristled at the movement. Layla gave her men a small shake of her head. “Let him go,” she muttered. Ironically, she trusted him now more than anyone else from the Antonin camp.
She watched a few of her men break off to hunt while others started a fire or took up guard positions. Theron and Xaden settled by a growing flame. Xaden rubbed his sore thighs and muttered something about walking the rest of the way. Sparrow had been told to immediately rest. She didn’t remember the last time she had seen him sleep.
Layla wandered toward Sir Edwin, who straightened the moment he noticed her approaching. She motioned for him to remain seated and lowered herself beside him, grateful to rest her aching body.
“Sir Edwin,” she began casually, “how did you become head of the guard?”
The young man blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “I… trained under Sir Charles, My Lady. But please believe me, I had no idea what he was planning. I would never betray the crown. Never betray you.”
“I know.” Layla leaned back slightly, watching the flames flicker between them. “If we can’t trust our own guard, we have no hope of rebuilding. I’m choosing to believe Sir Charles acted alone. If I’m wrong, you’ll inform me.”
“Of course, My Lady,” Edwin nodded firmly. “And we will find your sisters. I swear it.” Layla studied him more closely. So young, yet chosen by his peers to lead. That had to mean something. She decided she would let his actions speak for him in Bartoria. A quiet beat passed before she lowered her voice.
“Sir Edwin… should I be concerned about the men here obeying my orders?” He looked confused at first—then realization dawned, and his expression sobered.
