Page 22 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

It feels like my skin is hanging off my bones. My mind is reeling from our battle, and I just want to forget the look of horror on that poor woman’s face. So when Isaac suggests we stop at a pub, I don’t decline the offer.

The pub stands nestled on a quiet corner of the town, its weathered, wooden exterior giving it a rustic charm that beckons passersby inside. As I push open the creaking door, the warm glow of lanterns greets me, casting a soft, inviting light over the cozy interior. The air is thick with the rich scent of ale and hearty meals, mingling with the lively chatter of patrons gathered around rough-hewn tables.

The room is filled with a motley crew of locals and travelers alike, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight as they engage in animated conversation and share raucous laughter. Some sit huddled together, engaged in a game of cards or dice, while others lean against the worn, wooden bar, their tankards of ale held aloft as they regale each other with tales of their day’s adventures.

As we settle ourselves around an empty table, I take stock of my squad members, their weary faces illuminated by the warm glow of the hearth. Their uniforms are stained with sweat and dirt, evidence of the day’s exertions, butthere is a sense of camaraderie amongst them, a shared bond forged through countless battles and trials. Mylo orders a round of ale, and it’s only a matter of moments before we raise our tankards and begin to drown our tension.

I sit between Mylo and Aila, with Isaac and Giorgi across from us. Mylo’s broad shoulders practically take up two seats, and he leans back, looking relaxed. Aila is perched on the edge of her chair, her petite frame nearly vibrating with leftover energy. Isaac is nursing a mug of ale, his expression alternating between amused and disgruntled, while Giorgi’s calm demeanor provides a steadying influence for all of us.

Mylo raises his tankard, a grin splitting his face. “To a successful mission and the return of our beloved commander!”

We all raise our drinks in unison, the clinking of mugs punctuating his toast. “To the Royal Regiment!”

Aila, ever the firecracker, sets her mug down with a flourish. “I still can’t believe you managed to lift that fallen beam on your own, Mylo. I swear, you’re part giant.”

Mylo hangs an arm over the back of her chair, but I can tell he’s flexing his bicep exaggeratedly to show off. “That was nothing. It’s all in a day’s work.”

Isaac rolls his eyes, leaning forward. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re strong. Now, if only you had the brains to match.”

Mylo’s grin doesn’t waver. “Brains and brawn, Isaac. It’s a deadly combination only rare few are blessed with. And you’re looking at one.”

“Oh, I’m looking at something, all right.”

Giorgi chuckles, their eyes twinkling. “Let’s not start a brawl in here, okay? I’ve had enough exercise for one day.”

I smile, watching the playful banter unfold. “Isaac, don’t act like you didn’t have a moment too. That move you pulled with the crossbow was impressive.”

Isaac grins for a second before trying to mask it with a scowl. “Yeah, well, someone had to cover your backs while you were playing hero.”

Aila laughs and slams her tankard on the table. “Admit it, you loved every second of it. You’re just mad because you can’t figure out how to accept a compliment without looking grumpy.”

Isaac opens his mouth to retort but then snaps it shut, crossing his arms instead. “Whatever.” He raises a brow, and there’s a glint of humor in his eyes.

Giorgi raises their mug, their expression serene. “Here’s to more successful missions and fewer bumps on the head for Isaac.”

We laugh, and even Isaac can’t help but crack a smile. The tension of the day melts away as we share stories, teasing each other, and reveling in the simple joy of being together.

Mylo leans over to me, his voice low but playful. “We miss having you around, Commander.”

I take a sip of my drink, meeting his gaze with a smile. “I feel the same, my friend.”

Aila raises her mug again, her eyes sparkling. “Hear, hear! To Celeste, our fearless leader!”

I feel a flush of pride and gratitude as we clink our mugs once more. No matter the challenges we face, moments like this remind me why I fight and whom I fight for. These people are not just my squad; they’re my family.

I sit back and take it all in. My squad’s voices blend together in a chorus of cheerful banter, which shifts the weight of the day’s mission away until it’s momentarily forgotten. An hour passes, and we lose ourselves in the simple pleasures of good company and hearty drink. In this humble pub, amidst the laughter of my fellow soldiers, I find a fleeting sense of peace, a welcome respite from the chaos of the world beyond its walls. The camaraderie of my squad feels like a comforting blanket, wrapping me in familiarity after a month without them.

Something in my mind buzzes. It’s like my senses are trying to tell me something.

Someone is watching me.

I turn my head, meticulously checking every face as my eyes sweep the room, searching for someone who might be studying me. What do they want from me? Are they just curious? Do they recognize me as the princess? Or do they have a more malicious reason for scoping me out?

And then I find his eyes.

Dante.

His gaze locks with mine for only a second, but it’s so intense that I feel a surge of heat rush through me. He looks away, returning to his drink. I don’t recognize the men with whom he’s drinking, but according to the talk in the courts, Dante comes and goes and associates himself with whomever he wants whenever he pleases.

What is he doing here?

I tell myself to look away, but I somehow can’t stop staring.

A barmaid places new tankards on the table, and Dante looks up at her. She gives him a coy smile and bends slightly so that her breasts are closer to his head as she talks. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but something lights a fire inside of me.

Wait.

Why does it bother me that he’s talking to her?

My body feels hot, and I find it difficult to inhale any cool air. It must be the ale. And the mugginess in the pub.

“I’m going to step outside for a minute.” I stand, my legs pushing my chair back.

My squadmates look up at me with concern.

“Everything okay?” Aila asks.

“I just need some air.” I force a small laugh. “Guess I’ve been away too long; my resistance to the ale has grown a bit weak.”

“Only one way to fix that,” Isaac states as he lifts his tankard to drink.

“I’ll be right back.” I pull at the hem of my jacket.

“Want me to come with you, Commander?” Mylo asks, his brows pulled down.

“No. I’m fine, really. Just need to cool off. Enjoy the ale. You deserve it.”

They nod and return to their banter, and I turn to slip outside.

The air outside the crowded pub feels like a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat and raucous noise within. I step out onto the cobblestone street, my lungs eagerly drinking in the cool, night breeze as I try to shake off the strange feeling of tension that crept into my bones at the sight of Dante.

I lean against the rough-hewn wall of the pub’s exterior, seeking solace in the quiet of the night. My respite is shattered by the sound of angry voices.

In the dimness of the streets, a group approaches, their faces contorted with righteous indignation, advancing toward me with purposeful strides.

I tense instinctively, my hand drifting to the hilt of the dagger, which I moved from my baldric to my thigh strap after the battle. These five—or remaining five, I should say—are the same townspeople who were willing to condemn an innocent woman merely because the carnoraxis targeted her unborn child.

I’m too exhausted to put up with their scorn, but the fury I keep buried inside of me starts bubbling to the surface.

“You have some nerve sticking around these parts,” one of them calls out. “After what you did.”

“What I did?” I push off the wall. “I saved your town.”

“Two of ours got killed right in front of you.”

“That’s not on me.” My jaw clenches with frustration, my voice cutting through the night air like a blade. “You are the ones who were willing to sacrifice one of your own.”

Their retorts come fast and fierce, a barrage of accusations and insults hurled in my direction. Anger surges within me, a searing tide that threatens to consume reason and restraint alike. But beneath the simmering rage, there lies a steely resolve—a soldier’s resolve—to stand firm in the face of adversity, to fight for what is right, no matter the cost.

The tension mounts, and they draw closer. When one of the women pulls out a knife, I am left with no choice but to defend myself. With a swift motion, I unsheathe my dagger, its familiar weight a comforting presence. One of the men widens his eyes at the sight of my weapon and lunges for it, trying to knock it out of my hand.

The ensuing scuffle is a blur of motion and sound—a symphony of grunts and curses, the clash of steel against steel. I fight with a ferocity born of desperation, each strike fueled by the knowledge that failure is not an option, not when so much hangs in the balance.

Their numbers shouldn’t be intimidating, but I’ve had no recovery time, and my weakened state makes me slower than usual.

As I fight them off, a figure emerges from the doorway of the pub. I almost can’t make out who it is, until he leans against the wall, watching as if this altercation is a show on a stage.

Dante.

What the hell is he doing?

I manage to slice the woman’s hand. She drops her blade and backs away. One of the men grab my arm while the other picks up the woman’s blade and thrusts it in my direction, lunging for me. He misses, and I use the opportunity to slam my head into the man grasping my arm.

The next moments are a blur. The man with the blade is yanked back, and the next second, he is on the ground, unmoving. Blood marks his side. I manage to leave a score on another man’s arm before he can touch me. And then the last of my assailants slink away into the darkness, defeated but not broken

As I stand, hunched and trying to catch my breath, my gaze locks with Dante’s.

“What the hell?” I manage to yell out.

“It’s a rough town.” He speaks so casually, as if the encounter had been nothing more than a shouting match.

“I was clearly outnumbered.”

“It looked like a fair fight to me.”

I scoff. “There were five of them, or have you never learned to count?”

He crouches down, pressing his fingers to the side of the neck of the man on the ground. “He’ll live, but he’ll be sore for a while.” He uses the man’s shirt to wipe the blood off his falchion before sheathing it. “As for you being outnumbered, perhaps I knew you could handle things on your own.”

“It was five against one. ”

“Four, actually, since I handled one.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “How insensitive of me. I should be more grateful.”

“Yes, you should.”

I let out an aggravated breath. “What would your brother think of your refusal to come to my aid?”

“Are you hurt?”

I blink, caught off guard that he would ask me that. “No. I don’t think so.”

“I should check.”

I raise my dagger in warning.

“Easy, Highness. I’m on orders from the crown prince.”

I lower the dagger, but my heart rate does not slow. “I’m beginning to wonder if Torbin even asked for your help.”

His eyes lower as he approaches me, his gaze traveling languidly up my body.

“Hmm.” His voice is deep. He reaches out, his warm hands making contact with my form. Slowly, he places his palms on my midsection and moves them to my back. “No cuts in your uniform.”

I try to ignore the way the warmth of his hands soothes me. “I told you, I’m fine.”

His hands roam over the curve of my hip. “Bruised, perhaps.”

“I’m half-fae. I heal fast.” My heart rate is out of control, but I refuse to let him notice.

His hmm sounds like a low growl. I hold back a shudder. He’s so close, I can feel his breath on my skin. The heat radiating from his body causes something inside me to tingle.

“Please back away.” I keep my voice steady, my jaw clenched to show my annoyance, but inside, I’m fighting a battle I don’t understand.

“What’s the matter, Highness? Afraid you’ll lose control?”

“Back. The fuck. Away.”

The corner of his mouth inches upward. “Have it your way, little pirate. At least I can tell the prince I kept my promise.”

He takes a step back, his eyes still locked with mine. I hold my chin high, unwilling to let him see how much he unnerves me.

“Do me a favor and stay out of trouble.” He turns away from me.

As he saunters away, I let out a long, shuddered breath. My mind is swimming, my focus blurred. This can’t all be because of Dante.

What the hell?

No. I won’t let him get to me. That’s exactly what he wants, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of having the higher ground. I stretch out my neck and shake out my arms, making a note to cut back on the ale.