Page 49 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

Chapter twenty-two

Theron.

T heron moved in silence behind Xaden and Sparrow, their footsteps ghosting across the cold stone floor.

Veiled gloom clung to the walls, and every turn of the corridor felt carved from the breathless hush of war.

The weight of urgency bore down on him, each step tight with purpose.

Layla’s sisters were close. And if even one hand had touched them in violence—he would paint these halls red.

Xaden signaled with two fingers and stopped at the edge of the corridor. They crept to the archway before them and peered around it’s stone frame. Four guards stood posted in front of a staircase descending into the depths—the same stairwell where Xaden had seen Aerilynn dragged not long ago .

Theron’s gaze sharpened. No words were needed. With a flick of his hand, the plan was in motion.

He slung an arm over Sparrow’s shoulders and staggered forward, laughing like a drunken fool.

Xaden followed close behind, grin wide and steps unsteady.

They weaved toward the guards with perfect chaos—every sway and stumble a practiced misdirection.

Assassins cloaked in folly, moving like fools with blades hidden behind their smiles.

“Halt! Who goes there?” barked one of the guards, hand already drifting to his weapon.

“Who goes where?” Theron slurred, blinking in exaggerated confusion. “Oh no! I lost her—she was right here! Blonde, big… ya know.” He flailed his arms dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process.

One of the guards groaned, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve got three seconds to turn around before I draw.”

“Wait—wait,” Xaden slurred, stumbling into the wall with theatrical clumsiness. “She said she was gonna show us the royal wine cellar…” The nearest guard stepped forward, sighing as he moved to usher them away. It was all they needed.

In a blink, Theron’s hand shot up, grabbing the man by the jaw and twisting violently.

The sharp crack of vertebrae echoed through the hall.

Before the others could register the kill, Xaden slammed a knife up under a second guard’s chin, piercing straight into the brain.

Sparrow whirled and buried his own blade beneath the third guard’s ribs.

The fourth reached for his sword- but it was too late.

Theron was already behind him, slicing his throat clean with a single motion. Four guards. Six seconds. No alarms .

They quickly dragged the bodies into a dark supply room, leaving a streak of blood Theron didn’t bother worrying about.

If anyone found it, they wouldn’t live long enough to raise the alarm.

Without a word, they grabbed the discarded swords and descended the stairwell in a tight formation—Theron at the front, sword already drawn, his approach was as noiseless as falling ash.

A dull orange glow flickered from the room below, along with the low murmur of voices.

He paused at the final step, every sense honed on what waited ahead.

“Fifteen, maybe more,” Xaden whispered behind him.

Theron nodded, eyes like ice. “We take them all.”

Then he stepped into the dungeon without hesitation.

This was what he’d been built for—what generations of duty, blood, and silence had carved into his bones.

And as he moved into the flickering dark, he unleashed everything they had forged him into.

The warrior whose blade was not merely his own, but death’s will given form, here to claim without mercy.

A wave of noise swept over him—guards drinking, laughing, gathered in front of a heavy iron cell.

All fifteen heads turned as Theron lunged, slicing across the chest of the nearest man before he could draw his blade.

At once, the entire room erupted in chaos.

Steel flashed. Shouts rose. Blood sprayed.

Xaden and Sparrow exploded into motion behind him, blades cutting with surgical precision.

Theron ducked under a wild swing and drove his elbow into a guard’s throat, then spun and slashed another across the belly.

His body moved on instinct—fluid, practiced, deadly.

Three men attacked at once. Theron pivoted, parried one, kicked another into the wall, then ran the third through with a snarl.

He didn’t stop, wouldn’t until the last guard was no longer breathing .

Another guard charged him. Theron grabbed the man’s arm mid-swing, twisted, disarmed him, and used his own sword to slice him from shoulder to hip. A roar of pain was cut short as Sparrow buried a dagger in the man’s neck.

Another man’s shriek erupted behind Theron, Xaden had flung a broken chair leg through a guard’s eye. Blood pooled at Theron’s feet as the bodies piled higher. None of them— none —were a match for an Antonin armed with steel and driven by rage.

When the final man collapsed, choking on his own blood, silence settled over the chamber like a shroud.

Only the harsh breath of three warriors remained.

Then Theron turned to the cell where Aerilynn sat inside, curled in the corner like a trapped deer, her eyes wide with terror.

Her gown was tattered, streaked with filth and torn in places that made Theron’s stomach twist. Bruises marked her arms and collarbone.

But she was alive. But where was the other sister?

Xaden rushed to the wall and ripped down the ring of keys. The lock clicked open and Sparrow slipped inside, kneeling.

“Aerilynn,” Sparrow said gently. “It’s okay. Layla sent us. You’re safe now.” She didn’t speak—just stared, eyes wild and shaking. Slowly, with clear hesitation, she reached out and took Sparrow’s hand. He pulled her to her feet with care.

“Can you walk?” A small nod.

Theron stepped closer, his voice lower but urgent. “Where’s Ciana? Is she down here too?” Aerilynn’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her eyes simply flooded with more fear. Theron’s jaw tightened. He tried again, softer this time. “Is Ciana trapped somewhere else in the castle? ”

She shook her head—just once. But it was enough. The tears in her eyes said the rest.

The men exchanged a glance. No words were needed. They needed to get Aerilynn to safety, then regroup. They would find Ciana next, before it was too late.

They moved in tight formation up the stairwell.

Every step, every breath, every turn was calculated.

When they passed the blood smear from earlier—still undisturbed—Theron knew no one had found it.

No alarm. No reinforcements waiting to swarm and shatter their stealth.

Good. They pressed on, pausing only when necessary.

Near the ballroom entrance, Theron spotted a large, dust-covered storage room—unused and cloaked in shadow. Perfect.

“In here,” he whispered, opening the door and scanning the hall behind them. “Stay until I return with Layla.”

Aerilynn still hadn’t let go of Sparrow’s hand, clinging to it like a lifeline.

Theron lingered only a second, making sure the door sealed tight behind them, leaving the two warriors and Aerilynn cloaked in dimness.

Then he turned toward the ballroom, straightened his ridiculous tailcoat, and slipped back into the crowd unnoticed.

He needed to find Layla—not just to show her that Aerilynn was safe, but because the plan had to shift. Ciana was still missing, and they were running out of time.

He spotted her instantly as he slid discreetly back into the ballroom.

Her golden gown shimmered under the chandeliers as she danced with Kain.

As if he could feel Theron’s presence from across the vast room, Kain’s gaze lifted and zeroed in on Theron instantly.

A single tilt of his head was all that was needed and Theron watched as Kain leaned down and whispered something to Layla a moment later.

Her head whipped around, scanning the crowd before spotting Theron.

Her eyes widened in what he could only interpret as a flicker of both fear and hope before she gripped Kain’s arm, the two of them weaving through the crowd.

Theron also noticed Sir Edwin began closing in from the flank—likely sensing a shift in the plan or reading the unspoken signal. No words. Just motion.

“This way,” Theron muttered when they all reached him, guiding them swiftly out and into the hallway.

His eyes swept behind them for watchers before he shut the ballroom door and strode to a stop before the storage room.

He silently opened it, peaking in before allowing Layla to step through. She froze only for an instant.

“Aerilynn.” The name fell from Layla’s lips like a prayer as he watched her take in the sight of her sister, alive and safe, though barely.

In the next second, Layla was running. She collapsed into her sister’s arms and broke.

The room filled with only the sound of tears and sob-choked gasps.

The kind of sound born from days of torment, fear, and endless not-knowing.

Theron stood still, letting the moment wash over him—until a slight movement pulled his attention.

Sir Edwin had caught sight of Aerilynn, recognition flickering in his eyes.

One princess safe. He gave a brief nod, but the grim line of his mouth spoke volumes.

More remained to be done. Without a word, he turned and slipped back through the door to resume his post outside, guarding the path for what came next.

Layla clutched Aerilynn like she’d never let go again. “Thank you,” she whispered to Sparrow and Xaden, tears still falling, her sister still wrapped in her arms. “Thank you both. ”