Page 9 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)
T he morning air was crisp against my skin as I made my way to the training grounds, but it did nothing to cool the fire of anxiety burning in my chest. I'd barely slept, my mind churning over the events of the previous evening, replaying every cold word Jalend had spoken to me, every dismissive glance he'd thrown my way.
Four weeks. Four weeks since I'd told him the truth about Marcus, Septimus, and Tarshi, and he'd been pulling away from me ever since.
I understood why—the revelation that I'd been sharing my bed with three other men had clearly shattered whatever romantic notions he'd harboured about our relationship.
But understanding didn't make it hurt any less. I had been honest with him. After all the lies I was forced to live, I had given him that one piece of truth, because I thought what we were building was real. I’d thought he was different.
Now, the memory of his cold dismissal felt like a brand on my skin.
The worst part had been last night, after the formal dinner. I'd swallowed my pride and gone to his quarters, desperate to salvage something from the wreckage of what we'd had. I'd just turned onto his hallway when I’d seen her.
Valeria. Gliding down the corridor in that predatory way of hers, dressed in a gown that skimmed over her curvy body, parting between her breasts, slits that reached her hips.
She’d looked stunning. She'd paused at Jalend's door, smoothed her hair, and knocked with the confidence of someone who knew she'd be welcomed inside.
When the door opened, I'd caught a glimpse of Jalend's face—flushed with wine, eyes heavy with something that might have been desperation or desire.
The door had closed behind her with a soft click that might as well have been a death knell.
I'd stood there like a fool, staring at that closed door, until the humiliation became too much to bear. Then I'd fled back to my own quarters, where Marcus and Antonius had taken one look at my face and wisely chosen not to ask questions.
I reached the deserted training yard, the packed earth still damp with morning dew. The familiar sight of the weapon racks and battered training dummies offered a strange sort of comfort. This was my world, the one I understood. A world of steel and sweat, where pain was simple and straightforward.
The familiar weight of a practice sword in my hand was a small comfort.
I gripped the leather-wrapped hilt, the worn texture a connection to a simpler time when my only worry was surviving the next match.
Now, my enemies were ghosts and shadows, and the deepest wounds were the ones no one could see.
I moved through the opening forms of a complex drill, my muscles burning with the effort.
Thrust, parry, spin. Each movement was fuelled by a fresh wave of anger.
Anger at Jalend for his judgment, at the Emperor for taking everything, at myself for being foolish enough to think I could have a moment of happiness in this cursed world.
My feet pounded against the packed earth, a rhythm of fury and grief.
I tried to push the memory of last night aside. Jalend had every right to seek comfort elsewhere. We'd never made promises of exclusivity, never spoken of love or commitment. If anything, my honesty about my other relationships should have made it clear that I wasn't looking for monogamy.
So why did the thought of him with Valeria feel like a knife twisting in my gut?
The image of Jalend's door closing on Valeria was burned behind my eyes. I could see her triumphant smile, the way her silk gown clung to her hips. I could imagine the desire on his face—a look I’d once foolishly believed was reserved for me.
Had it all been a lie? Had I been so starved for his attention that I’d invented a connection that was never there?
The blade sliced through the air with a vicious hum, a physical manifestation of the rage coiling in my belly.
I was a gladiator. A survivor. I had faced down death in the arena, and yet this man, with his quiet smiles and gentle hands, had gutted me without a single weapon.
I hadn't cried for Septimus or Tarshi, not really—grief had been a cold, hard stone in my chest. But for Jalend, for the loss of something I hadn't even been sure I had, the tears threatened to fall.
I refused to let them. I channelled the pain into the drill, my movements growing faster, sloppier.
Sweat stung my eyes, plastering strands of hair to my temples. The ache in my muscles was a welcome distraction, a clean pain I could understand.
It wasn’t just the thought of him with another woman. It was that he’d chosen her.
It wasn’t jealousy, not really. It was the humiliation.
The cold, hard proof that the connection I had treasured, the one I had risked being honest for, was so fragile he could discard it for a night with a woman who despised me.
Valeria, with her calculated smiles and courtly poison, was everything I was not.
She was the Empire in miniature—beautiful on the surface, rotten underneath.
He had judged me. For loving men who were slaves. For loving a Talfen. He had looked at the truth of my heart and found it wanting. And then he had turned to Valeria, a woman as cruel and gilded as the Empire itself. He hadn’t just taken another lover; he had chosen a side.
And I had been a fool. A naive, trusting fool. I had offered him honesty, a rare and fragile thing in my world, and he had trampled it underfoot before running to the arms of someone who knew nothing of truth. He wanted games and lies, and I had foolishly offered him a scarred and broken heart.
The blade became an extension of my grief, each strike a cry for the men I had lost, for the friend who had died because of me, for the life that was slipping through my fingers like sand.
I didn't stop until my arms screamed in protest and my lungs burned for air.
I stumbled, the sword slipping from my numb fingers to thud onto the damp earth.
The physical exhaustion did little to quiet the storm inside me.
It had only hollowed me out further, leaving more room for the pain.
“Really, Lady Cantius, we are nobility, and you show up for training looking like that?” Valeria’s voice dripped disdainfully over me as the class filed into the training yard. “You should at least try and look presentable. You look like a filthy, beaten down slave.”
Her words, laced with the same poison she’d worn like perfume the night before, struck the raw, open wound of my humiliation.
I straightened slowly, my muscles screaming in protest, and wiped a sweat-slicked hand across my brow.
My gaze raked over her—immaculate in pristine white training leathers, her hair perfectly braided, not a single strand out of place.
She was a porcelain doll, beautiful and empty.
The insult stung, not because it was untrue, but because it was a deliberate echo of Jalend’s rejection. He had chosen this. This polished cruelty over my messy truth.
“Funny,” I said, my voice low and rough. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Her perfectly arched brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”
“You look like a slave,” I clarified, my tone flat and devoid of emotion. “One who’s spent the night on her knees earning her keep.”
The handful of other students nearby fell silent, their attention snapping between us. “Tell me, Valeria, does Lord Northreach know you don’t wash before coming to practice? Or does he prefer the lingering scent of his own poor judgment?”
It was a cheap shot, but I didn’t care. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. Valeria’s carefully constructed smile faltered, her face flushing with rage. The barb had found its mark, turning her triumph into public shame.
“You filthy little guttersnipe,” she hissed, taking a step forward. “You are nothing but common trash who got lucky.”
“And you’re a noble who acts like a whore,” I shot back, picking up my sword.
“At least my station is an honest one.” I gave her a cold, dismissive smile that was a perfect mirror of Jalend's.
“Now, are we going to stand here comparing pedigrees, or are you going to prove you can do something other than lie on your back?”
“Enough.”
The voice cut through the tension like a whip crack. Instructor Cassius stood at the entrance to the yard, his face a mask of grim displeasure. His gaze flickered from me to Valeria, a muscle tightening in his jaw.
“If you two have quite finished, Maybe I can start the lesson.” It wasn’t a question, but we both nodded at him.
“Seeing as you two clearly have some issues to work out, I suggest you pair up for sparring practice.”
I glanced at Valeria, dread forming in my stomach, and she glared back.
Cassius clearly had a sense of humour. My gaze flickered past Valeria for a fraction of a second, landing on Jalend as he stepped into the training yard behind her.
He froze, seeing the two us together, then turned away, heading for the weapons rack.
I tried to ignore how my heart leapt at the sight of him and took my position with Valeria as the class formed up for sparring practice.
We moved to the designated sparring circle, the other students giving us a wide berth as if they could sense the violence simmering between us.
I could feel their eyes on us, hungry for blood and drama.
In my peripheral vision, I caught sight of Jalend selecting his weapons, his movements careful and deliberate. He didn't look our way.