Page 47 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

Chapter twenty-one

Theron.

A s they approached the others, the guilt settled heavier on Theron’s shoulders with every step.

The woman had thrown herself at him, and he’d made the calculated decision to flirt back.

It had seemed the easiest way to draw out information without raising alarm.

Easier than slitting a throat in broad daylight he thought. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

The look on Layla’s face when she saw them together had gutted him. He didn’t know where he stood with her after that morning, but after this? He had the sinking feeling he’d just made it worse.

“We haven’t found out much, other than the King won’t be making an appearance until tonight,” Xaden said as they rejoined the group.

Kain stepped forward, his voice rougher than usual. “It’s not just a wedding,” he said. “This entire weekend is about his wedding, yes—but also… an auction.” The entire group stilled in confusion and wary anticipation. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

“He’s selling the princesses,” Kain continued grimly .

“To the highest bidders from the northern kingdoms. The auction is scheduled for morning.” He glanced down at Layla as he said it, and for a rare moment, the teasing gleam in his eyes was gone—replaced with something raw. Something close to heartbreak.

A stunned silence settled over the group like a storm cloud.

Sparrow muttered a curse under his breath.

Edwin’s fists clenched at his sides. Even Xaden stiffened, his brows knitting in barely contained vehement disapproval.

But Theron just watched the shift in Kain—how he stood nearer to Layla than before, how his hand hovered close to hers, seemingly ready if she needed him.

Protective even. It needled something deep inside Theron and he swallowed it like poison.

“Tonight’s the wedding feast, I guess more of a ball really,” Theron said, forcing his voice to steady.

“A woman I spoke with owns a clothing shop just outside the main square. She mentioned it’s unattended.

Accessible. We’ll use the festivities as cover to search the castle.

” His gaze drifted to Layla, but she didn’t look at him.

Didn’t look at anyone. Just stared past them, eyes distant, jaw clenched.

But he could feel it—the heat radiating off her in waves.

Not quiet anger. Not grief. This was a blazing, unforgiving wrath.

“Do we have coin for this little shopping spree?” Xaden asked with a half-smile, trying to cut the tension.

“Nope,” Theron said with a shrug, letting a smirk tug at his mouth as he turned toward the exit.

Flirting with that woman had worked. She’d told him enough to confirm her shop would be empty and unguarded for days.

They wouldn’t be spending anything. He only hoped Layla would see that the tactic, however painful, had been necessary.

They swept the courtyard one last time with their eyes, but no hidden doors or dungeon entrances revealed themselves.

As they moved to exit, castle maids awaited to escort them down the halls.

Clearly, Bartoria wasn’t taking chances, definitely no wandering guests.

Theron made mental notes of every turn, every visible door.

The other warriors did the same, subtly cracking doors as they passed, memorizing the layout.

This wasn’t how he liked to operate. Blind.

Without a map, without certainty. He wasn’t used to sneaking around in layered costumes and pretending to smile.

He missed his sword in his hand. Missed the simplicity of combat.

They left their horses at the castle—the shop wasn’t far, and drawing attention now could cost them everything. As they approached the row of storefronts, Theron spotted it immediately: tall windows trimmed in gold leaf, expensive fabrics draped artfully behind the glass. That had to be the one.

He gave Sparrow a quick nod, and the two of them circled around to the alley behind it.

Nestled between stone and overgrown brush sat a narrow window—low to the ground and half-obscured.

Perfect. Without a word, Theron shrugged off his coat, then his shirt and wrapping the fabric around his fist. With one sharp punch, the glass gave way with a muted crack.

From the front, the others raised their voices, mimicking drunken laughter to cover the sound.

Too broad to fit through the opening himself, Theron steadied Sparrow by the hips and helped guide him through the jagged frame.

Swiftly throwing his stuff back on, he reached the others around front A few tense seconds later.

Just as they heard a click of the front lock echoing from inside.

The door creaked open, and one by one, they slipped inside—unseen and unheard.

“Sit. Rest. Sir Edwin and I will find proper attire,” Layla ordered without glancing at Theron. He watched as she tore through the racks with clear purpose, though her movements were clipped and sharp. She was still furious. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to her.

“Layla,” he said gently, stopping behind her.

She didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch or give any other indication that she was going to acknowledge his presence.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, just oud enough for her to hear.

“I was only trying to get information quickly, without drawing attention.” With that, she spun around, fire scorching her eyes.

“Well, you certainly got her attention,” she snapped, before spinning back to the clothes. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Do what you want Theron. I don’t care.”

“I care,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips hovered just above the curve of her ear. He heard her breath catch. Saw the moment she froze as he went on. “I never want to hurt you, Layla.”

“Then stop.” Her voice was quiet, breaking slightly at the edges.

She turned and walked away without another word.

Theron stood there a moment longer, his heart pounding, before exhaling hard and walking back to join the others.

With every misstep, every glance she didn’t give him, every word left unsaid—he felt it sinking in.

He didn’t belong at her side anymore. But gods, it still tore him apart not to be there.

A while later, Layla and Sir Edwin emerged with clothing for each of them.

Theron muttered his thanks as he took the bundle and looked it over.

The pants were manageable, fitted but close enough to his leathers that he wouldn’t complain.

The shirt, however, felt like a noose around his throat.

High-collared, stiff, and strangling. The vest and coat were even worse—tight in the arms, heavy on the back.

When he saw the two long flaps hanging behind him, he turned to Sir Edwin with a flat stare.

“It’s a tailcoat. High fashion for a royal ball,” Sir Edwin offered, clearly uncomfortable under Theron’s glare. Theron said nothing. Just kept glaring. This had to be a joke.

They all dressed in the center of the shop as Layla slipped behind a curtain to change.

Theron found himself staring at it longer than he should have.

He wanted to follow her. Apologize again.

Kiss her until she remembered how much he cared.

But he stayed put. She needed space and maybe he deserved the silence.

Grumbling filled the room as the men all tried to shove themselves into their constricting layers.

The outfits were similar in cut and color, with minor variations.

Theron wore a crisp white shirt, black vest, and black tailcoat.

No one had deep enough pockets for their knives, so they began sliding them into their sleeves and waistbands. Kain’s complaints were the loudest.

“I feel like a fucking peacock,” he muttered, tugging at his vest.

“Get over it,” Theron snapped. “We’ll be out of it in a few hours. Then you can set it on fire for all I care.” He was fidgeting with his own vest hem as he spoke, the material foreign and stiff. Attempting but failing at concealing his fury and frustration with everything, especially himself.

“Are you ready, My Lady?” Sir Edwin’s voice drew Theron’s attention and when he turned, it hit him like a blow to the chest. Layla stood in gold.

Her gown shimmered with each step, cascading down in elegant folds.

The corset hugged her perfectly, accentuating her waist and curves.

The sleeves flowed like silk waterfalls, brushing the floor.

Her hazel eyes sparkled, framed by the rich chestnut waves of her hair.

Theron’s breath caught in his throat. She didn’t look like a warrior now—she looked like a goddess draped in gold, descending not to walk among mortals, but to remind them they were never worthy of her.

“Yes. I am.” Layla’s voice was calm, confident. She glanced at him once—just once—and then looked away. Theron’s stomach clenched.

“Get your jaw off the floor,” Xaden muttered, stepping beside him.

“Time to save her sisters. Then you can focus on her again.” Theron straightened, forcing the ache in his chest to harden into purpose.

Xaden was right. Layla wasn’t his to love right now, but she was his to protect.

And he’d see this mission through, even if it killed him.

Layla.

As they crossed the dirt road from the shop back to the castle steps, Layla’s heart thundered in her chest. They were so close.

Her sisters were somewhere beyond those walls, maybe only a hallway away and yet still impossibly out of reach.

She needed to see them. To know they were still whole.

Still alive .. Layla forced herself to take steady, subtle breaths, trying to cage the panic tightening in her chest .

“I’ve got you.”