Page 34 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

“You thought you were going in with us?” Queen Okteria asked, her voice a smooth blade wrapped in silk. She stepped closer, chin raised, eyes gleaming like a predator toying with its prey. “Did you truly believe we brought our entire force to save your family?”

Layla stiffened, her breath catching. She glanced toward Theron—clearly desperate for contradiction, for any flicker of denial in his eyes. But it wasn’t there.

He watched as Okteria’s lips curved into something cold.

“No, princess. You were brought here for one reason: to show us how to get in. And you've served that purpose well.” She began to circle Layla slowly, the way one might appraise a sacrifice. “With your help, we’ll take down two enemies in one strike—Bartoria and your precious Graystonia. A gift, really. Wrapped in silk and blood.”

Layla’s voice cracked. “But… you told me this was about revenge. About the Bartorians invading your lands—trespassing.”

“Oh, and it is,” Okteria said, almost kindly. “Bartoria stepped onto Antonin soil and dared to kill my people. They will bleed for that. Every last soldier rotting inside that castle will die screaming, and their bones will be left as a warning.”

Her eyes sharpened. “But don’t mistake me.

That castle isn’t being attacked to save Graystonia.

I care nothing for your kingdom. Your line.

” Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper.

“This is justice. A reckoning generations in the making. Your ancestors—your great-grandfather, your precious noble blood—they were the ones who stole Antonin land in the Great War. Who carved us up and forced a treaty we never asked for. They expanded their crown by gutting ours.”

Layla’s lips parted, but no sound came.

“I don’t care that Varyn marked you,” Okteria said coldly.

“You still carry their blood. And that makes you a symbol of everything we were forced to swallow. So, if I have the chance to erase every last Eradellian from the realm, then why wouldn’t I take it?

” Her smile was too calm. “I’ll let your gods ponder that question while your family burns. I’m sure Varyn will understand.”

Theron took a step forward now, jaw tight. “Mother—”

“Do not,” she hissed, turning sharply toward him. “You know what they did. You know what we lost.”

He said nothing. He didn’t know what to say, what to do…

Layla’s voice, when it came, faltered for a moment, but not from fear. “This was never about stopping Bartoria… This was about destroying me.”

Okteria tilted her head. “Not you, girl. What you represent. Blood for blood. That’s the law of our gods, is it not?” She turned to her warriors, voice rising. “The time for mercy passed long ago. This time, we end it. ”

“Get her out of my sight,” the Queen snapped, her smile gone. Her voice cracked like thunder. Theron stepped in, almost instinctively, his hand closing around Layla’s. She let him pull her for a few paces before stopping short. She turned, voice cracking as her outrage boiled over.

“Did you know?” she demanded, voice tight, eyes blazing with betrayal. “Did you know she planned to kill my family?” Theron opened his mouth—but nothing came out. He hadn’t known. Not exactly. But deep down, some part of him had sensed it. And that unspoken truth was now a noose around his throat.

“I won’t let her hurt you,” he said finally, his voice low. Steady. A desperate vow as he reached out to touch her face. Remind her he would do anything to keep her safe.

Layla let out a ragged breath. “Gods, Theron—this isn’t about me!” Her voice cracked as she stepped out of his reach. “I’m not worried about myself—I’m worried about my family! My mother, my sisters. They're still in that castle and she plans to murder them!”

Her breath came faster now, he could see the fury unraveling into something raw and aching. “So what are you going to do?” she asked, voice sharpening. “Stand there with that damned sword of yours and watch it happen? Are you going to let it happen?”

He stared at her, body taut with tension. His mind was spinning so fast he didn’t even know what to think. To do.

“If I ask you to stop it… if I ask you to protect them, too—will you?” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “Will you fight for them, Theron? Or will you kill them yourself if your mother commands it?”

He knew his silence was deafening, but he couldn’t defy a direct order. That went against everything that had been engrained in him his entire life. No matter what the order was or how he felt about it. He had to obey his Queen…

He watched, heart splintering, as Layla’s eyes brimmed with tears—but none fell. Instead, her lips curved into something fractured and cruel, and it broke something open in his chest.

“So then your plan is what?” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting clean through him. “Go slaughter my family and then have me waiting for you in your hut? Be your prisoner for life and hope I still want to fuck you?!”

He took a step toward her. He had no answers. He just needed her. To hold her. To keep her safe if he couldn’t do anything else right. But she instantly recoiled. Like his nearness was fire. Like it repulsed her.

“Don’t,” she breathed. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

Every word that followed was a dagger, deliberate and merciless. “You may keep me here. You may force me to be your prisoner for life. But I will never forgive you for this.” Then she turned—sharp, final—and walked away.

Theron didn’t move. Couldn’t. He had spent his life honing steel, commanding men, living by the sword and by his queen’s word.

His loyalty to his people had never wavered.

But now, his people and his heart stood on opposite ends of a blade.

He ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck until it hurt.

How could he follow through with this? How could he not?

He turned slowly to head back to the camp.

The firelit huddle of his warriors awaited, his mother’s voice no doubt already dictating the final movements.

Theron’s steps were heavy. The only clarity he had was this: he would kill every Bartorian he found inside those castle walls.

Of that he was certain. But when it came to Graystonia—to Layla’s family…

he didn’t know. Not yet. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

All he knew was that Layla’s pain had become his own, and no battle plan could prepare him for the war now waging inside his chest.