Page 14 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

Chapter seven

Layla.

L ayla had drifted in and out of a hazy, aching sleep all night.

The darkness was her only company, except for the constant pulse of pain behind her eye and the occasional rattle of her ragged breath.

Her brain had felt waterlogged, her thoughts sludgy and fragmented.

But still, she had clung to one thing: A plan.

A bad one. A desperate, probably-fatal plan. But it was hers.

So when the sun bled gold over the trees and the grate groaned open again, she didn’t shrink.

Not when Tynan threw the ladder down like a weapon.

Not when his sword hovered behind her like a promise.

She climbed. Slowly. Every rung another protest from her body.

Every breath a rasp. Her limbs quaked under the strain.

My family needs me, she repeated in her mind like a chant, a shield against the pain.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t falter as he shoved her through the settlement.

Her bare feet stumbled more than once, tripping over loose earth, but she kept moving.

Tynan’s sword sliced shallow lines across her back with each misstep, but she gritted her teeth and pushed forward. She would not die crawling.

By the time they reached the Circle, her legs were barely holding her. When he finally pulled the sword away, she crumpled. Not in surrender, but in refusal. You don’t get to knock me down again. She chose to fall. And then, she stood.

Slowly, excruciatingly, she rose to her feet.

Every bruise screamed. Her ribs lit with fire.

But she stood tall, chin raised, eye zeroed in on the queen atop the stone.

Queen Okteria’s smile was all venom and delight.

Layla knew the odds. Knew her death was a near certainty.

But there was something else buzzing in her chest now. Not fear. Resolve.

And so she spoke. “I challenge…” Layla’s voice cracked.

She paused, swallowing against the desert of her throat.

“I challenge… him .” She pointed to Tynan.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Tynan blinked, momentarily surprised then grinned like a wolf who’d just been handed a lamb.

Queen Okteria tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

“You think you’re calling the shots here?” she asked, voice low and dangerous.

Layla didn’t look away. “If I competed in a challenge yesterday,” she said, teeth grounding slightly, “then I don’t see why I can’t call one today. ”

A murmur of amusement swept the gathered warriors. The queen stared down at her in silence, calculating.

“For my freedom,” Layla added, cutting through the noise. “I challenge for my freedom.” Okteria’s eyebrows rose, lips twitching in bemusement.

“You want out of our prison?” she echoed, mocking. “Your freedom ?” More laughter followed. The queen shrugged, dismissive. “After yesterday? I wouldn’t care what you asked for. You’re not going anywhere but the ground.”

Layla swallowed the rising wave of nausea, keeping her spine straight, even as her legs trembled.

“Any other ridiculous requests before you die?” the queen added, gesturing flippantly.

“Yes.” Layla forced the words out. “Weapons.” That broke the crowd entirely. The laughter was louder this time, genuine disbelief. The prisoner wants weapons. She might as well have requested a crown. But she didn’t care. She needed a fighting chance, even if it was a small one.

Through the laughter, her one good eye found him.

Her captor. The one who had carried her, imprisoned her, but also—fed her.

Spoken to her. Protected her? He stood near the queen now, his massive frame hard to miss, wrapped in leather, muscle and steel.

And he wasn’t laughing. His expression was unreadable, save for one thing: His eyes.

They burned into her with something that felt like— worry?

Layla’s breath hitched in surprise. Not fear.

Not pity. But concern was radiating from him.

Her gaze held his, drawn to the deep blue beneath his brown-sun kissed curls like they offered shelter. For a moment, she forgot the pain. The noise. The Circle... But as quickly as it went, it all slammed back into her as the queen's voice cut through her momentary distraction.

“If you want death that quickly, so be it. Weapons it is.” Okteria’s voice was smooth and cold. “Who’s willing to let their weapon meet Lapetic in her hands?”

Layla’s blood chilled. Oh no. She hadn’t considered this part.

No one would offer her a weapon. Why would they?

She wasn’t one of them. She was the enemy.

A Graystonian. A living trophy. Then movement caught her eye.

A man stepped down from the platform. Blond, tall—taller than her captor even.

Riddled with tattoos winding intricately across his bronzed skin.

His green eyes flashed with mischief and danger.

Layla stood her ground as he approached, heart pounding, and tilted her chin up defiantly to meet his eyes.

“So,” he said casually, raking his gaze down her battered form, “what’s your weapon of choice?”

She narrowed her eye, ignoring the wave of fresh heat that spread across her cheeks.

Her body may have been wrecked, but she wasn’t blind, he was undeniably beautiful in a cruel, serpent-like way.

But his smirk made her want to punch him.

Then, to her shock, he pulled a sword from his belt and two daggers from his thigh and held them out toward her.

An offer. She blinked, stunned. What game was this?

Layla hesitated for only a breath before her instincts kicked in. She reached out and took the daggers with both hands, leaving the sword behind. Her grip tightened around the hilts, reacquainting herself with the feel of steel in her palms.

She noticed his smirk widen before he returned his sword to it's sheath and turned to walk away .

“Good luck, little dove.” He said casually over his shoulder with a wink.

Dove? she almost gagged at the name. She also attempted to ignore the chuckle from the repulsive blonde man as he swaggered way.

But it caused Layla's rage to flare—pure and hot—driving out the remainder of her fear and focusing on steaming anger.

But she knew in this moment, anger was good, and she could use it.

Layla turned her attention back toward her opponent in the Circle.

Tynan was already waiting, sword in hand, grinning like this was going to be fun.

Layla focused on adjusting her stance, daggers poised, the burn in her ribs now a dull background roar behind the pounding of her blood. She could do this. She had to.

“Begin!” Queen Okteria’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade.

The command hadn’t finished echoing when Tynan lunged forward, sword raised high, teeth bared in something between a grin and a snarl. Layla didn’t think. She moved.

With a flick of her wrist, she released one of her daggers in a desperate throw, straight at his face. The blade sang through the air, silver against sunlight, and missed. Barely. It shot past his temple and buried itself in the ground somewhere behind him. Shit! He was on her now.

She dove to the side, heart racing like a war drum.

His sword slammed into the ground where she’d been, the impact jarring the earth beneath her ribs.

Adrenaline tore through her, pushing the pain down, stuffing it into a box she’d deal with later, if she lived long enough to have a later.

She scrambled up, barely on her feet again when the blade came for her.

Another sweeping arc. This time, it kissed her left bicep.

The searing pain of it lit her nerves on fire.

“Holy fuck!” Her arm went numb instantly from the deep gash.

She stumbled back, her breath ragged and sharp.

Blood poured down her arm, soaking the fabric of her shift.

Her hand spasmed, the dagger it held slipping from her grip and clattering to the ground.

Not now. Please, not now. Tynan saw it. Saw her eyes flick down toward the fallen blade.

And he smirked right before he charged again.

Layla didn’t wait to think. Instinct screamed.

She dropped , flat to the dirt, just as his sword came down.

The blade passed so close she felt the air shift above her spine.

Keep moving. She rolled, her arm shrieking as she pushed herself toward the blade she’d dropped.

His feet thundered after her. She spun onto one knee and grabbed the dagger.

Tynan roared behind her, his sword rising again for the final blow… but she was quicker.

She drove the dagger up. Right into his throat.

The world instantly went still. He stopped.

His eyes went wide. A single, choking breath gurgled from his mouth as blood began to spill down his chest, splattering across her.

His blade slipped from his grasp and landed with a soft thunk beside her.

Layla didn’t breathe. She couldn’t. He fell to his knees.

And then forward, face-first into the dirt beside her. Dead.

Her breath came in short, uneven bursts. Her ears rang. It was over. She had won.

The pain in her bicep roared back with a vengeance, snapping her out of the daze.

Her gaze lifted slowly to the queen. Okteria’s expression was thunderous.

Her lips were tight, her fists clenched at her sides.

Her eyes sparked with unspoken vengeance.

. No. This isn’t over. Layla’s gut twisted.

She didn’t know what to expect— vengeance?

A second fighter? An arrow to the heart? Time moved strangely.