Page 104 of Dalla's Royal Guards

He knew his brother-in-law was worried about him and Nasser. They had both taken far too many risks over the past few days, but he just didn’t care. The only things keeping him moving forward was Mario, his sister, Lissa, and Cianna. He wanted them to have their home back. After that?—

After that, he didn’t know what would happen. He had tried to keep his hope alive. The hope that Dalla would return. But with each passing day, that hope grew dimmer and dimmer until there was barely a spark left.

He looked over his right shoulder as Nasser emerged out of the smoke and debris. His brother looked as bad as he did. He returned his attention to Mario when his brother-in-law spoke in a harsh, terse tone.

“Hellman? Crosse?” Mario asked.

Nasser shook his head. “Haven’t seen either.”

“Crosse is dead. He tried to retreat through the north wing. I found what was left of him,” he replied.

“Hellman’s still out there?” Nasser asked.

The sharp report of a rifle and the whistle of a bullet less than a foot over their heads had him and Nasser scrambling to cover Mario.

A second sound, this one different—ancient—swooshed through the air before it hit something with a solid, horrific thud. He looked up, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief as General Hellman, bloodied, wild-eyed, a rifle trembling in his grasp, stumbled onto an upper-level platform.

Hellman stood frozen, his fingers scrabbling at the long shaft embedded in him.

Then—

He fell.

Musad’s breath caught in his throat. He spun around. His heart pounded. His eyes scanned the wreckage and shadows.

He froze.

A lone figure emerged from behind a collapsed wall, a scarf wrapped around her head and a longbow in her hand, her silhouette framed by smoke and the orange glow of scattered fires.

His mind rebelled against what he was seeing even as his body started forward.

“Dalla.”

His voice sounded strange. Thick. Hoarse. Brittle.

His lips parted in a ragged breath when she stepped forward, her hand rising to pull away the scarf. Her long golden braid spilled out like sunlight breaking through a storm.

She was real.

She was here.

Her eyes found his. Burning. Alive. And full of the love he had thought lost forever.

Something inside him shattered when she whispered his name.

“Oh, Musad. I love you so.”

“You’d better be real. You’d better fucking be real,” Nasser hoarsely cursed as he broke into a long, determined stride.

His eyes were glued on the miracle emerging from the shadows. He didn’t quite believe what he was seeing even when Musad stumbled forward too, hands out, heart in pieces, and they were both close enough to hear her whisper, “Oh, Musad. I love you so.”

Then Dalla turned to Nasser, and they needed no words, they simply collided in a blur of arms and sobs. He swept her off her feet, spinning her around, his shoulders shaking with emotion.

“Never again. You are never leaving us again,” he ordered, his voice shaking with emotion.

Nasser lowered her to her feet so Musad could pick her up, held flush against his body, and he shifted so she was cradled safely between them, his hands still touching her shoulders.

She released a sobbing laugh as Musad set her on her feet and slid his hands into her hair, across her cheeks, down to her shoulders. Nasser’s hands had moved her waist, and he kissed her neck.