Leo silenced Lyra's question with a warning, "Do not ask questions if you are not prepared for the consequences." Observing her signature frown, he smirked. Leo knew this curious woman would be more bewildered if he revealed his true form. It was not a secret but a burden he had to bear alone.
Annoyance radiated from her as she rolled her eyes, realizing that Leo's cryptic replies would not get them anywhere. Lyra decided to change the subject and asked, "Your lady friend must be lonely without your presence. Why are you here?" Deciding to change the subject.
The smirk on Leo's face deepened, entertained by Lyra's confidence. He stepped closer to her, inhaling the scent of lavender. He noticed her flushed cheeks and deduced her liquid courage made her bolder than usual.
"Do I hear a hint of jealousy in your tone?" He probed.
Lyra's face turned red, fluttering her lashes to find composure. Her heart raced as Leo moved closer, and she breathed in his minty scent. Embarrassed by the accusation, she faced away from his judgmental gaze.
Amusing. Like playing with fire, but couldn't resist teasing her. He had always found her curious behavior intriguing, and her flushed cheeks were just a bonus.
"You know, Lyra, you shouldn't be jealous of her. Jealousy is an ugly thing," he said.
Jealous? Of that woman? She scoffed at the audacity. Absolutely not! She had been in this situation before and knew better than to trust men's words.
"I see," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "If jealousy is a subject for tonight, I could say the same thing to you, right?"
"That wasn't jealousy you saw," he smiled, his eyes boring into her as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, "that is keeping what is mine in check."
The breath of his words trickled down her neck, sending tantalizing sparks. When did this tundra turn into a smoldering desert? The temperature he was giving gave rise to more than her beating heart.
Leo smiled, satisfied with her flustered reaction. He stepped back to admire the view. The small banter brought the fight back to her eyes. The night was still young, and she definitely would need to survive. This journey would be entertaining.
Ah. The nagging reminder sprang at him like a viper. His mind, split between discipline and instinct. His body moved before the mind reacted.
Taking a strand of her hair, he tucked it gently behind her ear. On impulse, it was out of character for him.
"I-I should go…" Lyra mumbled, clearing her throat. She turned away from him, heading straight for the doors leading back to the noise of the festivities. Her eyes were trained to the floor as if the ground would crumble if she looked away.
His eyes followed her with her quickened pace. It wasn't long before she was out of sight. Lost in the sea of merry men and the entertainment.
The soft texture of her hair was vividly still present in his mind as his eyes trailed down to his hand. The calmness soon soured as he frowned.
"What in the Creator's grace is happening to me?" he wordlessly thought out loud. It was out of character. The display of endearment was foreign to him.
Then it hit him like a viper sprang forth—the nagging reminder of where duty lies. The closeness of her presence was not helping his ordeal either. However, a sense of longing trickled into his heart, beginning to weigh it down.
Taking in a deep breath through his nose and letting an exasperated breath slide from his lips, he hardened his resolve. The sooner he delivers Lyra, the sooner he will be rid of these conflicted feelings beginning to bud.
With confidence, he strode back to the party and noticed Viktor, who was intoxicated and sluggishly waving at him. He begrudgingly made his way back to his friend, his expression returning to his stoic persona.
Lyra quickly made her way back to her chamber. Her heart, still racing after the searing incident. Her fingers mindlessly brushed over her cheek where his fingers had last grazed--the tingling sensation was still present.
The thought of his actions brought unholy thoughts through her mind, but she vehemently pushed them out. The pressing issue at hand was not his flirtatious words or actions; it was her allowing them.
This form of connection was complicated, and she was still healing after everything that happened. There was one thing certain about him, though. Beneath the expressionless man lay more than what she thought was beneath those red eyes.
Hoping to clear her mind with proper sleep, she retired to bed. She went under the bedcovers after dressing in her nightgown. Warmth enveloped as the flames from the fireplace crackled in the quiet night.
She turned to her side to stare at the dancing flames. She thought of Viktor's offer and was thrilled to train and exercise. Perhaps this form of exercise will distract her from the complicated heart.
***
Away from the dazzling event and out on the outskirts of the settlement lurked an ominous troupe. The night air was colder here, unnaturally so, as though the very land recoiled from their presence. The moon bled through the thin veil of clouds, lighting the jagged tree line where an encampment sprawled.
No banners hung to show what land they reside in. Their form and numbers were evident. Hundreds of figures moved within the perimeter—shadows upon shadows—demons in crude armor, mercenaries marked by scars and stained blood, and assassins cloaked in black. They carried themselves with unnerving discipline. Even the wildlife had abandoned the area, leaving the silence to be filled only by the faint crackle of fire pits and the grinding of whetstones to their blades.
Troy sat lazily in his chair at the center of it all, a black tent looming like a beast's maw behind him. He reclined, but his posture carried no comfort—only coiled menace. His crimson eyes gleamed with a hunger as he toyed with the edge of a dagger, his mind circling back to the one name that fueled his obsession.
Lyra.
Since the night of her escape, she had plagued him like a thorn buried too deep in flesh to remove. She had cost him men, time, and reputation, leaving a scar to his pride that no battle could erase. His lips curled into a slow, unsettling smile as he envisioned her again—not as she was, but as she would be once he finally reclaimed her.
"Master—" came a voice from outside, respectful yet wary.
Troy's eyes narrowed, the air within the tent dropping several degrees. "Speak."
"Everyone is prepared, and await your command, Master Troy."
He was pleased, though he did not show it outwardly. His scouts had done well—tracking the vessel to its current location, slipping unnoticed through Evrax borders, and suppressing their stench with concoctions crafted by his sorcerers. Already, his numbers had swelled. Many were burdened with one thing in common--vengeance.
All this mass of power… gathered for the sake of one girl.
To others, it was personal. To Troy, it was curiosity. In his defense, he was blindsided by the untapped power she exuded. He could say he was in love--twisted love.
"Excellent," he murmured, the smile on his lips widening into something predatory. "At dawn, we move."
He dismissed the messenger with a flick of his hand and leaned back, savoring the thought. His plan would not fail. The stakes were climbing every minute she was not within his grasp. He didn't have the option of failure.
A faint whimper cut through the silence.
Troy's gaze slid toward the corner of the tent, where shadows clung stubbornly against the glow of lantern light. There, bound in rusted chains that bit into raw flesh, knelt a woman. Her hair was matted, her body frail, her breath ragged. Dried blood painted her skin in streaks.
He rose from his chair, each step deliberate, savoring the shift in the captive's trembling frame as his boots crunched over the dirt floor. He crouched before her, tilting her chin upward with two fingers, forcing her hollow eyes to meet his own.
"Do you know what you are, little dove?" he asked, voice low, a whisper with false tenderness. "You are a gift. A certain message, I am sure she will greatly appreciate."
The woman whimpered, muffled by the gag, her eyes darting desperately for mercy.
Troy chuckled, a sound that slid like oil through the air. He brushed her tangled hair back from her bruised face with a mockery of tenderness. "Shh. Hush now. Soon, you will be reunited with your dear companion."
He savored the image, his breath quickening as goosebumps prickled his skin--like waiting for the fruit to ripen perfectly. The taste of her dread would once again grace his senses.
"You understand what must be done, don't you?" His tone shifted, the softness replaced with a blade's edge. The woman, drained of strength, blinked in compliance. Attempting to mumble a coherent word was futile.
Satisfied, Troy released her chin and straightened, his cloak trailing behind him. He turned his gaze to the night sky; the clouds darkened the moon ever so slowly, and his grin returned—sharp and eager.
The game was set. The pieces were aligned.