Page 23

One of the guards tries to rise, defiance twisting his muzzle. Saru silences him with a crushing blow from his elbow, sending him sprawling again. “Enough,” he snaps, voice echoing off the stone walls. The corridor is quiet aside from ragged breathing.

I scramble upright, pressing a hand to my side where bruises bloom.

My lungs ache from the assault. The small blade lies on the floor, kicked aside in the chaos.

I retrieve it, swallowing a surge of gratitude and anger all at once.

If Saru hadn’t intervened... I push that thought away, refusing to dwell on my near end.

Saru shifts his attention to me. “You’re hurt?”

My limbs shake, adrenaline coursing. “Bruised. Not broken.” My voice trembles, more from shock than fear. I look around at the three guards lying incapacitated, blood trickling from cuts, the stench of sweat and rage thick in the corridor.

He exhales, dropping to one knee beside the guard pinned under his hoof. “Who ordered this?” No response. The guard spits, refusing to speak. Saru’s jaw sets, muscles in his neck taut. “You serve Thakur, don’t you?”

A flicker of defiance in the guard’s eyes is answer enough. Saru glances at the others. “All of you. Sen. Thakur promised you something, didn’t he? A reward if you removed the brand from existence?”

Silence. The prone minotaurs glare, hatred evident. Saru’s hoof presses more firmly on the leader’s chest, drawing a strained groan. “I could end you,” he says softly. “But I won’t. The Bastion has laws.”

He gestures for me to step back, then calls out. Moments later, a pair of actual loyal guards appear, alarmed by the commotion. Their eyes widen at the scene. Saru orders them to seize the attackers. The battered men resist weakly, but the loyal guards subdue them, snapping manacles into place.

I lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing. My entire body throbs, fresh bruises aching. Saru finishes giving orders. He strides over, gaze flicking to the smear of blood on my temple. “You need the infirmary.”

I grit my teeth, wincing. “I’ll live. Just...help me find a bench or something.”

He scans my injuries. His anger hasn’t fully subsided; tension vibrates under his fur. With surprising gentleness, he sets a hand on my uninjured shoulder, guiding me down the corridor to a bench near a side alcove. Each step echoes in my ears.

When we reach the bench, he lowers me onto it carefully, crouching beside me.

“Breathe,” he says, voice controlled. I meet his eyes, caught off guard by the concern I see there.

He used to view me with distant calculation, but now his brow furrows with genuine worry.

“Can you walk to the infirmary, or do I carry you?”

I almost scoff, but the throbbing in my ribs cuts me short. “I can walk.”

He inclines his head. “Then we’ll go, but slowly.” He stares at my battered form, jaw clenched, as though blaming himself for not foreseeing the attack. “I shouldn’t have let you wander without more guards. Thakur’s men wait for moments like this.”

My gaze drops to my brand, a bitter laugh welling up. “You think a bigger escort would matter if they’re from Thakur’s ranks? They were uniformed Bastion guards. Anyone can be an enemy.” The memory of being pinned surges again, fear mingling with rage.

His expression darkens. “No. They won’t try again. I’ll see to that.”

I nod, attempting to stand. Pain lances my side, and I bite back a gasp.

Saru instantly offers an arm for support.

I hesitate, then grip it, letting him bear some of my weight.

He’s warm, solid. This is the minotaur who forcibly branded me.

The same one who helped me forge a blade in secret.

And now, the one who saved my life, possibly at the cost of inciting more fury from Thakur. My emotions whirl in confusion.

We set off toward the infirmary. The corridors blur, echoes of passing staff and curious glances.

Whispers spring up behind us, rumors already forming.

A few onlookers catch sight of Saru helping me limp along, the scarring on my arm in plain view.

The Warden escorting his “human bride,” they’ll whisper.

My cheeks burn—not from shame, but the wild, tangled ache of gratitude and exposure.

I loathe dependence. Still... I’m glad he came.

The infirmary stands at the Bastion’s southern wing, a vaulted space lined with cots.

A stern-faced minotaur healer bustles over, taking one look at my bruises and barking for bandages.

I sink onto a low cot, hissing as I clutch my side with a wince.

The healer instructs me to breathe, pressing carefully to check for breaks. Pain flares, but it’s manageable.

Saru steps aside, crossing his arms, watchful as the healer examines me. The old minotaur snorts. “Your brand is intact, but you’ll have bruised ribs. No break. Lucky.”

I stifle a grimace. “Yes. Lucky.”

The healer slathers a pungent salve on my bruises and lightly wraps my midsection with linen strips. I swallow the discomfort, refusing to cry out. Saru lingers, silent, tension etched in every line of his posture. The entire time, I feel his gaze like a physical weight.

When the healer finishes, I attempt to stand. He waves me down. “Rest. Another hour at least. The Warden can come back for you.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Saru’s low voice cuts in. “Listen to him.” He steps closer, arms still folded but voice gentler. “You need to recover.”

I sigh, sinking into the cot. “Fine.”

The healer fusses a bit more, then returns to checking other patients.

Saru moves to a quieter corner, beckoning me to follow if I can walk a few steps.

He leans against a stone pillar near the back of the infirmary, where the cots are fewer and the hum of wounded murmurs dims. With caution, I rise and shuffle over, ignoring the jabs of pain.

Once we’re relatively alone, he faces me. My gaze sweeps over him—blood spatters on his bracer from the fight, the tension in his horns. “You risked a lot,” I say softly, surprising even myself.

He exhales, eyes flicking to the linen bandages around my torso. “I swore you’d remain unharmed under my crest. Letting Thakur’s men kill you would make me a liar.”

A twisted laugh slips free. “You don’t owe me that.”

He shakes his head, voice low. “It’s not just about owing. I won’t watch another person die when I can prevent it.”

Another reference to his brother, I guess.

My anger toward him wavers, overshadowed by the memory of how he tore through those attackers without hesitation.

He could have killed them, but he chose restraint.

Instead of seeing him as my captor for a heartbeat, I see him as a shield—someone who’ll break bones to protect me.

I shift, wincing. “I didn’t expect you so quickly.”

He meets my eyes, that quiet intensity returning. “I felt something was off. Heard rumors of certain guards moving suspiciously. I followed them.”

A swirl of emotions floods me: relief, gratitude, and a flicker of guilt that I can’t hold onto pure hatred of him. He might have forced this brand on me, but he’s also the reason I’m breathing right now. “Thank you,” I manage, voice hushed.

He nods once, as if unsettled by sincerity. “You’re welcome.” Then he shifts, glancing down at the dried blood staining his armguard. “I’ll have them face trial for attacking you. No Senate directive can pardon them from this treachery.”

My stomach clenches. “Trial might not matter if Thakur twists everything. He probably has allies in the Senate who’d call it an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

Saru’s jaw sets. “Then I’ll push harder. The Bastion’s law stands. That brand outranks any senator’s personal vendetta. If Thakur tries to save them, he’ll reveal his hand.”

A grim satisfaction stirs in me, though I also fear how Thakur might retaliate. “He’ll be furious.”

“Let him rage.” He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve faced worse.”

I study his face, noticing the lines of stress.

He’s exhausted, emotionally or physically, but he stands tall for my benefit.

Something cracks in my chest, seeing him like this—fierce, stoic, protective.

A sliver of genuine respect worms its way past my defenses.

I loathe feeling indebted, but I can’t pretend his actions are meaningless.

He glances at my bandages. “Rest. The Bastion can run a day without you. Don’t push your luck.”

I force a wry smile. “I have tasks. Quartermaster duties can’t wait.”

His brow creases. “They can. You nearly died.”

My reply catches in my throat. Another wave of shock hits me—the realization that minutes ago, I was pinned under a guard’s arm, a spear poised to end me. The memory sends a shudder through my battered body. I clench my fists. “I hate relying on you,” I admit softly. “But I’m glad you showed up.”

He nods, acknowledging the conflict in my words. “I understand.” His expression darkens, a swirl of guilt or regret lurking. “I gave you that brand. It’s my duty to uphold it.”

I lean against the pillar, fatigue sinking in. “Duty,” I echo, voice brittle. “One day, maybe I won’t need that brand to stay alive. But for now…”

“Yes,” he says quietly. For a moment, we’re both silent, letting the reality settle. The day’s chaos has underscored how precarious my position is. Even the Bastion’s uniform doesn’t guarantee loyalty if Thakur’s gold or threats sway them.

The healer passes by, casting a disapproving look at me for standing. I shift awkwardly. “I should lie back before he scolds me again.”

Saru dips his head. “I’ll handle the formalities. Keep your blade close. The one we forged.”

My eyes widen slightly. He’s acknowledging that hidden weapon openly. “You’re not confiscating it?”

He shakes his head, a faint spark in his gaze. “No. Just be smart.”

My throat tightens with unexpected gratitude. “I will.”