Page 33 of Lord of the Lone Wolf (Bonded Hearts #3)

Maseo

T he tent city sprawled across the forested foothills of Balsimi’s mountains, a testament to Talwyn’s power.

The Enchanters had transformed what could have been a sprawling military encampment into an organized marvel of efficiency and comfort, nestled among the trees for protection and camouflage.

Streets of packed earth ran between neat rows of tents, with silver dragon fire burning at intervals to provide light without smoke or the risk of spreading to the canvas structures.

Using Kitsuki’s magic to power the camp served as a reminder of his commitment to protecting his army.

The first night they had departed from Tiora, Maseo had expected to sleep on the hard ground.

Having a tent with four comfortable cots, blankets, and rugs to protect them from the dirt had stunned him.

Even after weeks of traveling toward Kunushi on foot, it still amazed him what comforts Valzerna offered its warriors.

“You’re brooding again,” Bitris said from where he lounged on the cot beside Maseo. The dragon shifter’s amber eyes gleamed with mischief in the light of the enchanted lantern. “It’s a good look on you, but I much prefer your smile.”

Maseo rolled his eyes. “Planning is not brooding.”

“Your face says otherwise.” Bitris leaned closer, his voice dropping to a teasing purr. “Though I must say, the serious expression suits you. It gives you a dangerous edge that makes my scales tingle.”

Sudryl snorted from the opposite cot, where he sat cross-legged, polishing his sword with methodical strokes. “That happens if someone so much as looks in your direction, Bitris.”

“Only the attractive ones,” Bitris countered, winking at Maseo. “And our halfling here is at the top of that list.”

A familiar heat crawled up Maseo’s neck. Even after months among the men, he hadn’t grown accustomed to Bitris’s shameless flirtations. In Kunushi, such open admiration toward him would have earned a swift punishment from his father’s guards.

“The battle tomorrow is only the start of this fight,” Maseo said, changing the subject. “My father’s elite guard will not surrender.”

Drayden looked up from his cot across from Sudryl, his expression somber. “You know them well?”

Maseo nodded, memories of black armor and cruel eyes flashing through his mind. “I trained with many of them. Or rather, they trained on me when I displeased my father, which was all the time.”

The tent fell silent. Maseo regretted his words. He hadn’t meant to darken the mood further, but the truth had slipped out.

Bitris was the first to recover, sliding closer to Maseo on the cot. “Well, tomorrow, they’ll learn what happens when they mistreat someone under Talwyn’s protection.” His hand brushed Maseo’s knee, the touch light yet comforting. “And I, for one, am going to enjoy teaching them that lesson.”

“We all will,” Sudryl agreed, his face hardening with resolve. “Your father’s men will regret every mark they left on you.”

It was hard to comprehend how men who had once been strangers months ago now spoke of avenging his suffering as if it were their personal mission. The concept of such loyalty remained foreign to him as a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved but treasured.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Maseo said, “but don’t underestimate them. They’re?—”

The tent flap opened, cutting him off mid-sentence. Rylan ducked inside, his tall frame almost brushing the canvas ceiling. He wore simple leather armor, his black hair pulled back from his angular face.

“Maseo,” Rylan said with a nod in his direction. “I need to borrow you.”

Bitris let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his arm around Maseo’s shoulders. “Again, Lieutenant? You’re monopolizing all his time. Some of us were in the middle of important conversations.”

“Important conversations or important flirtations?” Rylan asked, arching an eyebrow in silent challenge.

Bitris grinned. “Is there a difference?”

Maseo stood, grateful for the interruption. “What do you need me for?”

“The king has requested your presence,” Rylan said.

Bitris sat up. “The king? At this hour?” He turned to Maseo with an exaggerated pout. “And here I thought I was the only one with designs on your evening.”

“Your designs will have to wait,” Rylan said, his voice carrying the calm authority of rank. “Royal business takes precedence over your attempts to charm our pup into your bedroll.”

Drayden chuckled, setting aside his quiver. “Bitris, you’re fighting a losing battle. Maseo has standards.”

“Excuse you,” Bitris huffed in mock offense. “I’m a catch. I’m charming, handsome, and I can breathe fire.”

“A useful skill for cooking,” Sudryl deadpanned, “but perhaps not the most appealing quality in a bedmate.”

Maseo smiled despite the tension in his chest. Their easy banter had become an unexpected comfort, especially on the eve of battle.

“You’re all terrible,” Bitris declared, though his eyes danced with amusement. He pointed at Rylan. “And you’re the worst for stealing him away when I was making such good progress.”

“Progress?” Rylan scoffed. “Is that what you call making him blush and retreat into his shell? At least when I flirt with him, he doesn’t look as if he wants to crawl under the cot.”

“That’s because you outrank him, and he can’t tell you to stuff it,” Bitris retorted. He puffed out his chest with arrogance. “But I’m wearing him down. Once he sees how heroic I am in battle while defending his honor, he’ll be begging for my attention.”

Rylan laughed. “If anyone’s going to win his affections, it’ll be someone with actual charm and not an overinflated ego and a forked tongue.”

“My tongue is quite normal. And talented, I might add,” Bitris protested, licking his lips in a flirtatious manner to prove his point. “You’d know that if you ever let me show you.”

Maseo chuckled. “I’m still here, you know.”

“And looking increasingly uncomfortable,” Drayden observed with a sympathetic smile. “Go on, Maseo. Don’t keep the king waiting on account of these two peacocks.”

“We’ll continue this fascinating discussion of my many charms when you return,” Bitris promised.

“By which time I’ll have come up with at least ten more reasons why I’m the superior choice,” Rylan added with a theatrical bow.

Sudryl snorted. “And I’ll have sharpened enough weapons to threaten you both into silence.”

Maseo’s grin disappeared as he ducked out of the tent with Rylan close behind. The night air was cool against his skin after the heat of the crowded space they’d left.

The camp bustled with activity despite the late hour.

Warriors moved between tents, carrying weapons and supplies.

Enchanters worked to reinforce the magical barriers surrounding the encampment.

The silver fires cast everything in an otherworldly glow, turning familiar faces into strange, shadowed versions of themselves.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Rylan observed, bumping Maseo’s shoulder as they walked. “Relax. Everyone here has your back.”

“Especially you?” Maseo asked.

“Without question.” Rylan’s usual playfulness gave way to sincerity. “As does everybody in that tent and a good number of others throughout the camp.”

The simple truth of those words warmed Maseo more than he cared to admit. He had spent so long isolated, even among his father’s warriors, that the concept of belonging still felt new and fragile.

“How are you holding up?” Rylan asked, his voice gentler than before. “It can’t be easy preparing to fight against your own people.”

Maseo considered the question as they walked past a group of soldiers sharpening their weapons by one of the silver fires. “They were never my people. Not really. I was the half-blood bastard, tolerated only because my father found my suffering amusing.”

“But you trained with them, lived alongside them.”

“Yes.” Maseo’s hand moved to the old scar that ran along his collarbone, hidden beneath his tunic. “And they knew what my father did to me. Some participated, while others watched. None intervened.”

Rylan was silent for a moment, his stride matching Maseo’s as they wove through the camp. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be surrounded by people who should have protected you, only to have them turn away.”

“It taught me to rely on myself.” The words came easier than he expected. “To survive, no matter the cost.”

“And now? What are you fighting for tomorrow, if not survival?”

The question caught Maseo off guard. He had been so focused on the tactical aspects of the coming battle that he hadn’t examined his own motivations.

“Freedom,” he said after a moment of reflection. “Not only from my father’s cruelty, but from the fear that has shaped my entire existence. And…” Maseo hesitated, uncertain if he should voice the rest of his thoughts.

“And?” Rylan prompted.

“And for the people who have shown me that life can be more than surviving from one day to the next.” Maseo met Rylan’s gaze before glancing away. “For Talwyn. For all of you who have treated me as something more than a half-breed to be tolerated or a tool to be used.”

Rylan’s expression softened. “We’re fighting for you, too. Every one of us.” A grin broke across his face, lightening the moment. “Although I suspect Bitris is fighting for more selfish reasons involving getting you out of your armor and into his bed.”

Maseo snorted, appreciative of the return to easier territory. “He’ll be disappointed.”

“Yes, I suppose you might have better offers when the war is over. But we both know Bitris never stood a chance against your protector.”

Heat crept into Maseo’s cheeks. It wasn’t the first time Rylan had implied that Kitsuki had an interest in him. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. The banter, as ridiculous as it sometimes was, made him feel normal.