Page 42 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

When the chill left her fingers, she stood and moved to the dresser the maid had indicated.

She rifled through the fine linens and silks, finally settling on a soft nightdress that reminded her of one she had back home.

The sight of it tugged at her chest. She would be back there soon.

Things would be normal again. Wouldn’t they?

She sighed and reached for the ties of her dress.

“Would you like some help with that?”

Layla jumped and whipped around instinctively.

Kain was leaning against the doorframe, his signature grin flickering with mischief in the firelight.

She hadn’t even heard the door open. Rolling her eyes, she laughed under her breath.

Her arms fell loosely to her sides. “Gods, you really have no sense of timing.”

“Depends on what we’re timing,” Kain said smoothly, stepping inside as he unfastened his soaked leather vest. “Any dry clothes in there for me, or are you keeping them all to yourself?”

She narrowed her eyes playfully, tilting her head.

“Why do I feel like that question’s not entirely innocent?

” Kain gave her an exaggeratedly innocent look and then shook out his wet hair like a wolf, spraying droplets across the room.

“Kain! Stop that!” Layla shrieked, shielding her face with her hands.

Laughter spilled between them like it belonged, easy and real.

He grinned, completely unbothered, as he approached.

“I’m freezing, Little Dove. My boys are trying to hibernate somewhere in my ribcage. Help a man out.”

Layla blinked. “Your—what?” Her eyes dropped before she could stop herself.

His smirk widened . Shit. She spun back to the dresser.

“Let me just, um, look for something in here for you.” She tried to sound casual, tried to control the warmth rising to her face.

But then she felt him behind her. His breath ghosted along her neck and she froze.

The heat of it licked over her skin, raising goosebumps down the lengths of her arms.

“I need something dry, Dove,” he whispered against her ear.

“Don’t want your soldiers getting jealous.

” Jealous? Confused, she turned sharply and froze.

Kain stood right before her now fully naked.

A breath caught in her throat. Her eyes dragged over him before she could stop herself—from his wet golden hair to his dangerously carved and inked torso…

and lower… much lower. Gods . She spun around so fast she nearly knocked over a vase.

“Kain! What the hell!?” She screeched. He laughed, low and unrepentant. She fumbled for a nightshirt and tossed it at him, smacking him in the chest. “Put some clothes on, damn it!” she snapped, her voice cracking somewhere between scandalized and breathless.

The sound of a throat clearing at the door, startled her even more. Layla turned and to her horror, Theron stood there. His expression unreadable. His gaze fixed on her with the sharpness of a drawn blade, unblinking and unrelenting .

Kain, unbothered, strode over and held up the shirt like a peace offering.

“Need one too, brother?” Theron didn’t move.

Didn’t blink. Only clenched his jaw tighter.

His eyes burned through Layla. Kain just chuckled and strolled out, still entirely too naked.

Layla couldn’t speak. She couldn’t explain it.

The hurt in Theron’s gaze gutted her. She crossed the room and dropped onto the bed like her body no longer belonged to her.

“I just wanted to check on you…” Theron said quietly, stepping farther into the room. Layla couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “The men today… they died protecting you. Protecting your family. They died as heroes, if they…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “If they even did die.”

But his words didn’t soothe the ache in her chest. Didn’t change the truth that it had been her mission. Her command. Her burden. Her father’s voice echoed in her memory—To rule is to carry the weight of others’ choices… and their deaths.

She rose to her feet. She had grieved enough for now.

Her soldiers needed her. Her people needed her.

Her sisters needed her. She would not cower behind stone walls and let sorrow consume her.

Not when there was still work to be done.

But as she moved toward the door, Theron stepped into her path, lifting a hand to stop her.

“You’re dripping water. You’ll catch a fever before you save anyone.

Change first. Then plan.” His voice was steady.

Firm but gentle. Layla’s defenses cracked just slightly and she reluctantly nodded.

He let his hand fall, the tips of his fingers grazing her arm.

She tensed at the contact, at how good it felt.

He gave her a brief nod and walked out, closing the door behind him .

She stood there, stunned by her own swirling feelings.

Then, slowly, she peeled off her wet gown, wrung it out, and hung it near the fire before slipping into the soft blue nightdress.

She felt like neither warrior nor princess right now.

But feelings were a luxury she could no longer afford.

Her sisters needed her—and she would become whatever they needed to be saved.

Layla descended the stairs and paused at the bottom.

Nearly all the men were in nightshirts, most of them far too short or frilled for comfort.

Their weapons lay awkwardly on laps or beside chairs as they tried to look fierce in this ridiculous attire.

She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Then the far door flew open.

Kain burst into the hall wearing the most ridiculous women’s nightgown she had ever seen—lace, ruffles, and all. His eyes found hers immediately. Furious. Mortified. She couldn’t stop herself. Laughter exploded from her lips.

“Hey pretty lady,” Xaden crooned, draping an arm around Kain’s shoulders. “You free later?” The entire room roared. Layla’s laughter shook her shoulders until her eyes watered. But even in that joy, she felt it—that familiar gaze.

Across the room, Theron watched her. A small smile played at his lips. Her laughter faded as her cheeks warmed. He always made her feel so exposed with just a glance .

She dropped her eyes and focused back on Kain, who was now stomping off, presumably in search of something less humiliating to wear.

That’s what he gets . She couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride in the stunt she just pulled on him.

Finally, the weight on her chest loosened.

Just for a moment. Then, she gathered herself and turned to the group.

It was time to plan. Tomorrow, they would face hell.

But tonight, they would sleep under stolen roofs, beside warm fires, with weapons close and laughter closer.

And Layla Eradellian would be ready for whatever comes.

“At first light, we will carry on to Bartoria,” Layla said firmly, straightening her shoulders as her gaze flicked between Sir Edwin and Theron.

“Can we continue on the roads, or do we leave the horses behind?” Before either could answer, her mind leapt ahead.

“And how far are we from Bartoria? We have to be close… right?”

Sir Edwin glanced at Theron, silently deferring the response.

Theron nodded. “We’re only a few hours away.

If we leave at first light, we’ll reach the outskirts by midday,” he replied.

His voice was steady, authoritative. “With the amount of rain we’ve had, there’s no telling how many roads will be washed out.

But we should try with the horses for as long as possible.

If we need to abandon them along the way, so be it. ”

Layla gave a small nod, absorbing the information—but Theron wasn’t finished.

“If I may…” he added, waiting for her approval.

She gestured for him to go on. “Bartoria’s outer city is barely guarded.

Getting inside will be easy. But the castle…

” He hesitated. “We’ve never infiltrated it.

I don’t know its weak points. And if the maid was right about a celebration, the guards may be more alert than usual.

” At that, Layla’s brow furrowed. A celebration ?

As if summoned by her thoughts, a maid emerged from the kitchen carrying a basket of bread. “Maid?” Layla called gently.

The young woman froze mid-step, eyes wide as she turned to face her. “Y-yes, my lady?”

“What celebration is happening at the Bartoria castle?”

“The… wedding, ma’am,” the maid answered shakily. “The king is to marry. In two days’ time.”

Layla blinked. “A wedding?” That made no sense. Not after losing a battle. Not so soon. Unless… he was securing his legacy. “Who is he marrying?”

“I only know what was written in the invitation, ma’am,” the maid said, fidgeting with the edge of her apron.

“It mentioned a royal wedding. Starting with garden party and royal feast. Then the following morning the official ceremony. All of the northern territories were invited. My lord left just this morning to attend.” A wedding.

With all the fanfare of a political summit. That meant new guests. A new opening.

Layla narrowed her eyes. “And you just happened to read your lord’s invitation?”

The maid’s eyes widened suddenly, before dropping her head once again. Then with a small shrug, “We’re the ones who seal the letters. Press the suits. Ready the horses. We see more than we should.”

“Of course you do. Maids always know the secrets.” Layla gave a dry smile. “You’ve been helpful. Thank you,” Layla dismissed her with a nod. The maid bobbed a curtsy and fled back to the kitchen. Layla turned to the table of men, who were now all watching her with expectation.

“Well,” she said dryly, “looks like we’re going to a royal wedding. ”