Page 37 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

Chapter seventeen

Layla.

A s Layla stepped through the front doors of her home, the morning light spilled across the bloodstained stone like a quiet reckoning.

Dew still clung to the grass, glinting soft gold in the rising sun—but nothing about the moment felt gentle.

Not with the scent of death still thick in the air.

Behind her, the last of the Antonins vanished down the blood stained halls, slipping through the hidden tunnels like ghosts retreating into legend.

She watched them go—just for a moment. Then she turned.

There was no time to mourn what had passed…

only to face what waited ahead. And there they we re. Her army. Her people.

They charged across the outer court in formation—until they saw her. And stopped. Blades half-raised, shields still braced. All poised to reclaim their home from what they believed were invaders. And in a way… they weren’t wrong.

Layla stood in the threshold. Not in silk, not in the royal green of Graystonia but in Antonin leathers—rugged and worn, smeared with blood.

Her face was streaked with black war paint, a foreign mark of survival.

Her hair was wild in the breeze, matted and tangled, still damp from sweat and battle.

She looked nothing like their princess. And everything like the wrath they deserved.

Kain stepped up behind her, silent but unwavering, the queen still unconscious in his arms. Layla didn’t move aside.

She didn’t explain. She didn’t beg. She let them see her—bloodied, branded by war, standing guard at the gates of her own home.

Let them doubt. Let them falter. But not for long.

Because whether they were ready or not… the crown had no one left but her.

And she would wear the weight, if not the title.

“I am Layla Eradellian, Princess of Graystonia,” she announced, her voice loud and unwavering. “This man is not your enemy. Kain of the Antonin Tribe helped me save our queen. He is not to be harmed.”

One soldier stepped forward. A young man, probably 30, with tousled brown hair and a deep scar across his jaw.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing low. “I am Sir Edwin of the Royal Guard. I’m not sure if you remember me.

But I must update you at once.” If he was surprised to see the princess before him dressed in Antonin leathers, her face smeared in war paint and blood, he hid it well.

No flicker of doubt. No hesitation. Only duty.

“Secure my home, Sir Edwin,” she stated, her voice clipped, regal.

“We will sweep every hallway and hidden chamber before the hour is done,” he replied. “Any remaining Bartorians will be dealt with swiftly.”

“And the city? Our people?”

Sir Edwin straightened. “The city stands. We held the line around Graystonia and her nearby villages. One hamlet was lost early in the siege—many dead, My Lady. But the rest were protected. The worst hit was the castle.”

Layla nodded, grief blooming beneath her ribs but held in check.

She couldn’t afford to crumble now. “Very well. Kill any Bartorian still within these walls,” she ordered, voice steady.

“And make this clear to the Antonin stragglers: they may leave with their brethren, or they may die here. That is the only mercy I will offer.”

The guard bowed again. “Yes, Princess.”

Layla’s gaze flicked to her mother. “Now someone bring me a physician and take us to my mother’s chambers. Quickly.”

A flurry of men moved at once, one soldier helping Kain carry the unconscious queen while others ran ahead to prepare the rooms. As they disappeared down the corridor, Layla stood still for a moment.

Absorbing the silence that had finally returned to her home.

Blood soaked the stones beneath her feet.

Her father was dead. Her sisters had been sold to Bartoria.

But Graystonia was not lost. And neither was she.

Once inside her mother’s chambers, Layla pointed to the large canopy bed.

“There,” she said, her voice already tight with emotion.

Kain and the soldier moved at once, without pause.

They strode across the room, Kain’s movements stiff but purposeful, and gently laid Queen Raynera onto the mattress.

The soldier quickly exited without a word as Layla took his place at her mother’s side a moment later, before absentmindedly falling to her knees.

Her hands shook as she pushed strands of her mother’s matted hair from her face, revealing bruised skin and fading cuts.

Her gut twisting as her concern for her mother began to race. Why hasn’t she woken up yet?

A sharp knock at the door snapped both her and Kain into readiness. He reached for the dagger at his thigh as Layla’s hand went to her belt.

“It’s Sir Edwin, Lady Layla,” came the voice from behind the door.

She let out a slow exhale and nodded to Kain. “It’s okay.” Kain didn’t question her, simply opened the door. Sir Edwin stepped inside and bowed with practiced grace.

“My Lady,” he began, “the castle is secure. All the Bartorians have been eliminated. And…” he hesitated as he glanced at Kain, “no other Antonin warriors remained to meet their deaths.”

“Thank you, Sir Edwin.” Layla rose to her full height, her voice steady despite the anger coiling tight beneath her skin. “Now explain to me what the hell happened.” Kain moved to her side, his presence grounding her.

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “Days ago… Bartoria attacked during Lammas. We didn’t know—”

“I know,” she snapped. “I was there. I watched my father give his life protecting me. What I want to know is how they got in.”

“Sir Charles, My Lady. He betrayed your family. We didn’t know it at first—none of us did.

But after the siege began, pieces started falling into place.

He manipulated the guard deployments. Moved men away from key posts.

And worse… we found the documents later.

Signed orders. An official seal granting Bartorian envoys access to the royal ball.

” He exhaled, shame heavy in his voice. “They didn’t crash the gates—they were invited in.

Once inside, they sealed the castle from within.

We—your remaining loyal guard—held the city and villages as best we could, waiting for a signal. But we couldn’t breach the walls.”

Layla closed her eyes, jaw clenched. Sir Charles . Her father’s closest confidant. A man she’d known since childhood. Trusted like family. He actually did do what that Bartorian had said.

“And how are you here now?” she asked coldly.

“When the Antonin warriors attacked the inner castle, chaos broke loose inside,” Sir Edwin said, his voice measured. “In the confusion, the Bartorian guard made a fatal error. They rerouted forces inward, abandoning their hold on the gate to reinforce the throne hall.”

He looked up at her, pride simmering behind the exhaustion in his eyes. “That was our moment. We were ready. We’d been watching. Waiting. We seized the gate the moment it was left exposed—we planned to take it back in King Aiddeon’s name, My Lady. ”

Layla took a breath, forcing the emotions to stay down. She heard what she needed to know. “Place guards on this room. I want updates every hour on the city’s borders. And I want a strike team ready within the day. We leave for Bartoria to retrieve my sisters.”

Sir Edwin stiffened, clearly surprised by the last order. “Of course, My Lady. I’ll gather our best men.” He bowed again.

“Sir Edwin?” Layla added gently, stopping him before he turned away.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Our men valiantly defended our people. Thank you. My father would have been proud.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he bowed once more and stepped out. He gestured to someone in the hall, and moments later, a man entered.

“This is Dr. Aldren, the Graystonian physician,” Edwin announced.

“May he examine the queen?” Layla nodded and stepped aside.

She remembered Dr. Aldren from his many years treating at the castle and nearby cities.

He was a good man and trusted physician.

Layla released a small breath at the sight of him here to help her mother.

“Princess,” Dr. Aldren said softly, “I must ask for the room.” Reluctantly, Layla abided.

As they leaned against the stone wall in silence. Layla's thoughts spun out like threads, too many to follow. So she tried to anchor to just one. “Why did you help me?” she asked suddenly, glancing up at Kain just beside her.

Kain kept his eyes closed but smiled faintly. “Does there have to be a reason? ”

“There’s always a reason,” she muttered. “Some ploy I haven’t seen yet, probably.”

“Probably,” he echoed, the grin widening. Layla just shook her head and the silence returned.

Eventually, Dr. Aldren somberly opened the door. “My Lady…” he said carefully, “I bring grave news. The queen has been brutally beaten, and…” he looked down, clearly ashamed of what he was having to report. “She was assaulted, likely more than once. She’ll live, but she needs rest, and time.”

Layla stood momentarily frozen before darting past him, her knees buckling as she collapsed beside her mother, clutching her chest as the tears finally broke free.

Raynera Eradellian had never been a warm mother.

She believed in honor, tradition, and sacrifice.

That women were raised to birth kings—not rule as one.

She had been her husband's right hand, his quiet shadow.

To the world, she was beauty and grace. To her daughters, she was steel. But even steel could break.

Layla wept for the mother who never coddled her, never whispered “I love you,” yet always stood tall as an example of duty, pride, and unwavering grace. How could anyone hurt her like this?