Page 52 of Love of the Bladed Dove (Drakaren #1)

Chapter twenty-four

Layla.

T heron returned, glass of champagne in hand.

Layla did her best to steady her fingers before he could see the tremble.

She forced herself to smile, to look calm.

But she wasn’t, not even close. He stopped in front of her and gently placed his hand beneath her elbow.

His touch was tender, but his eyes burned with intensity.

“I have a plan, Layla,” he said, voice low, urgent.

“It’ll work. It has to.” She tilted her head, giving him her full attention, though her pulse was a war drum in her ears.

“When the ballroom clears,” Theron continued, “the king will likely escort Ciana out himself. If we can watch closely, track which direction they take her, we’ll know where she’s being kept.

Then we hide. Wait for the castle to fall quiet.

After midnight, when the halls are thinner, we move.

No fighting unless we must. No risk to you. ”

Layla’s stomach twisted. She understood why Theron was hesitating—why he hadn’t suggested a direct pursuit.

Ciana was kept close to the King, surrounded by guards.

There would be no way for the men to trail her her discreetly like they had with Aerilynn without raising suspicion.

If they tried, they’d alert the entire damned kingdom.

And Theron… he wouldn’t want Layla fighting her way through that kind of chaos.

He knew she wouldn’t willingly stay behind, so he was stalling—trying to find a plan that didn’t involve risking her life.

It was noble. It was infuriating. And it was flawed.

By midnight, someone would realize Aerilynn was gone.

Then the castle would shift. Doors would be locked.

Guards would double. Ciana would be surrounded, unreachable.

This was the only chance. But she couldn’t tell him that.

Not when he looked at her like that—so certain, so desperate to protect her from everything except the truth.

So instead, she gave him what he needed. She smiled.

“That sounds…” She hesitated, forcing her voice into something soft and agreeable, “reasonable.” Layla dropped her eyes before the guilt could show in them.

“It’s safer. And we’ll know more if we’re patient…

I trust you, Theron.” The relief on his face was like a blade in her ribs.

He nodded, exhaled, and gave her shoulder a tight squeeze, the kind that said he was grateful she wasn’t fighting him. That she was letting him protect her.

He turned away to look back toward Ciana.

And Layla—Layla swallowed the rising tide of shame.

She was lying to him. Because they didn’t have until midnight.

And she couldn’t lose Ciana. Her eyes darted toward Kain and Sir Edwin.

Kain was already watching her. Not with suspicion.

Not judgement. Just… understanding. A quiet, knowing look.

He gave the smallest nod. Her plan was still on .

“Eddy,” Kain said casually, “why don’t you take another walk around the perimeter.

Just make sure we’re not missing anything.

” Sir Edwin glanced at Kain, then to Layla, and something in her face must have told him the truth.

He gave a curt bow, then slipped into the crowd.

Layla turned her face back toward the ballroom, her lips still curved, her heart pounding, her hands quivering just beneath the surface.

The lie was in motion. And it had to work.

Layla impatiently waited for them to escort Ciana out of the ballroom.

Her fingers quivered against the stem of her glass, barely able to fake another polite sip.

They had a plan. Gods, she prayed it would be enough.

She had already mouthed to Ciana— we’re coming .

But now the waiting, the pretending, the stillness. .. it was excruciating.

Kain and Theron stayed close, ever her shadows, while Sir Edwin was still discreetly across the ballroom, ready to light the signal fire.

. A single flare that would serve as the distraction, pulling attention from both the King and Theron so that Layla could slip away.

It would force Theron to stay behind, waiting for her return with Ciana.

Kain would follow her stealthily, get as close as possible, a hidden sword if needed.

It was a desperate plan, fragile as glass and built on the thinnest thread of timing.

One misstep, one second too late, and everything would collapse.

Layla tilted her chin, inhaled slowly, and made a silent plea to the stars—for just one night of luck. And then it began.

Two guards crossed the ballroom and flanked Ciana. Layla's breath caught as her sister cast a fleeting glance in her direction. She gave the smallest nod. Layla returned it, her eyes wide with silent promise. We’re coming.

As Ciana disappeared through the grand doors, Layla gripped the edge of the table.

Almost time. Every muscle in her body was tense, ready to snap.

Theron reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

She looked up at him, heart heavy. So much had passed between them in so little time.

She didn’t know what they were anymore, what they ever even were. But this wasn’t the time.

"Layla..." Theron began, voice low, burdened with too much unsaid.

She stopped him gently, she could see it etched throughout his face.

"You don’t have to apologize again. I understand.

" His mouth parted, as if to argue, but the words caught—lodging behind clenched teeth and regret. "No, really. You did what your queen commanded. I should’ve never asked you to disobey. You barely knew me, and I expected you to choose me. That wasn’t fair. "

“It was fair, Layla,” he said, voice rough, laced with desperation and confusion. “Hurting you… it’s the last thing I ever want to do.”

Her heart twisted. She reached up and rested a hand over his chest, grounding them both with the simple, steady pressure.

“I know,” she whispered. “I believe you. ”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, arms wrapping around her in a reluctant, almost breaking embrace. She held on tightly—because she knew what was coming. Knew what she was about to do… and that if it went wrong, it would break him. Then, at the edge of the ballroom, a flicker. Smoke.

Layla stepped back just as Theron’s head snapped toward the commotion. A cluster of guards rushed to stamp out a small fire—Sir Edwin’s signal. It worked. Theron’s attention shifted, even if only for a heartbeat. That was all she needed. The distraction had begun.

In one fluid motion, Layla turned and slipped away to the same side doors Ciana had disappeared behind. Her pulse thundered in her ears, nerves crackling like a live wire beneath her skin. There was no room for second thoughts. Only forward.

As Layla neared the doors, a guard stepped in her path.. "Turn around. You’re not permitted here."

Mustering every ounce of false bravado, Layla slipped into the role she knew the king would underestimate—a ditsy, forgettable girl with wide eyes and no spine. She blinked up at the guard, twirling a strand of hair with exaggerated bashfulness.

“Oh… but the King requested I meet him,” she said sweetly, leaning in like she was sharing some scandalous gossip. “You know… tonight.”

The guard stared, unimpressed. She dropped her gaze demurely, voice softening to a whisper. “He… requested I meet him in his chambers.”

That did it. The guard grunted, muttered a curse, and signaled his partner. The doors creaked open. One of them fell in step behind her, escorting her up the staircase in silence. She didn’t dare glance back. If Theron had seen her… it was already too late.

They reached the top, a long corridor with ornate doors stretching in either direction.

Her escort stopped before two massive double doors.

The King’s chambers. Across the hall, another door.

Ciana’s . Layla locked that location into her mind, then turned back just as the guard opened the royal doors and gestured her inside.

She expected him to turn and leave, but he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Layla’s stomach dropped as panic surged, but she forced a smile and strode farther into the room as she tried to figure out what to do.

She racked her brain, then her eyes landed on his sword.

A quick and bad plan, but a plan none the less developed.

“Oh wow!” She said suddenly, her voice high and sweet.

“That’s a beautiful sword! May I see it?

” The guard frowned, lifting a hand to stop her.

Too late. Layla lunged, one hand grabbing his wrist, the other driving her hidden dagger into his throat.

He gurgled violently, clutching at the hilt, but the blade was deep and sure.

He dropped to his knees, blood spraying down his chest, and crumpled.

Shaking, Layla dragged him into the washroom. Her arms burned with the effort, but adrenaline fueled her. She yanked her dagger free, wiped the blade clean with quick, practiced hands, and shut the door behind him with a soft thud. Almost there .

She turned toward the double doors, chest tight, fingers curling around the handle. If I can just make it across the hall… But the knob twisted beneath her grip and she jerked back, startled. The door creaked open—And King Ivar stepped into view. Layla’s breath instantly vanished.

"Ah," he grinned, eyes narrowing as he closed the door behind him. “You came after all.” She swallowed hard, tucking the blade into the folds of her dress, hiding the unsteadiness in her hands. He prowled closer, eyes devouring her. “I knew you would. You’re just like all the others.”

Layla forced a simper as bile racked up her throat. "I thought I’d… please you, my King.”

He chuckled—low, wicked. “Oh, you will.”