“Saboteurs breached the inner armory,” he reports, voice clipped and urgent. But his eyes keep flicking between Zoraya and me, cataloguing details that will no doubt find their way into reports and whispered conversations.
“Casualties?” I ask, forcing my voice back to its usual commanding tone.
“Three dead, five wounded. But they left something behind.” He holds up a piece of bloodied fabric, torn from someone’s cloak. “A message. For her.”
My blood turns cold, followed by heat that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the promise of violence. They’ve escalated beyond simple assassination attempts to direct threats.
Personal threats.
Hadrun tosses the fabric onto the bed between us with deliberate emphasis, making sure Zoraya can see what it contains. The message is crude but clear—a drawing scratched in blood showing a figure hanging from Ironhold’s walls. Female. Small. Unmistakably meant to represent her.
My vision goes red around the edges.
“How many?” My voice comes out deadly calm, the tone that makes smart warriors check their weapons and stupid ones piss themselves.
“Unknown. They used the battle confusion to move through secured areas. Could be one infiltrator or a dozen.” Hadrun pauses, studying my reaction with professional interest. “The timing suggests coordination with the external assault.”
Of course, it does. While I was leading the defense of the walls, enemies within struck at softer targets. While I was protecting the fortress, someone tried to terrorize the woman who just saved us all.
Zoraya’s hand finds my wrist, fingers wrapping around steel bracers with surprising strength. “This is about more than just me,” she says quietly, but her voice carries across the chamber.
She’s right. The sabotage, the assassination attempts, the systematic undermining of our defenses—it’s all part of something larger. A web of treachery that goes deeper than personal vendetta or simple opportunism.
But right now, with her blood on that fabric and threats drawn in crimson, I don’t care about the larger picture.
I care about the fact that someone thinks they can terrorize what’s mine and walk away breathing.
A distant explosion shakes the fortress, rattling the windows and sending dust cascading from the ceiling. Then another, closer this time, followed by shouts and the clash of steel echoing up from the lower levels.
The saboteurs aren’t finished. Whatever they started in the armory was just the beginning.
I reach for my great-sword, muscle memory taking over even as my mind races through tactical possibilities. But as I start to rise, Zoraya’s grip on my wrist tightens.
“Vlorn.” Just my name, but weighted with everything that’s changed between us in the past hour. Everything that makes this more complicated than simple duty or protection.
I meet her eyes, seeing fear there but not for herself. For me. For what I’m about to walk into.
The realization that she cares—truly cares about my safety—hits harder than any weapon ever could.
“Stay here,” I tell her, voice gentling despite the rage building in my chest. “Bar the door. Trust no one but me.”
She nods, understanding the gravity of what we’re facing. But her hand doesn’t release my wrist, holding me in place for one more heartbeat.
“Be careful,” she whispers, and the simple concern cuts through my fury to touch something deeper.
I lean down and press a brief, fierce kiss to her forehead—a promise and a claim and a vow all wrapped in one gesture. Her scent fills my nostrils, grounding me in what matters beyond violence and vengeance.
Then I’m moving, striding toward the door with Hadrun close behind. My sword sings as I draw it, steel catching the firelight and throwing back reflections that promise pain for anyone who threatens what I protect.
“Double the guard on these chambers,” I order Hadrun as we reach the corridor. “Personally chosen by you, warriors you’d trust with your own life.”
“Already done, Warlord. Six of my best are taking positions now.”
At least he’s competent, even if his loyalties remain questionable.
As I stride toward the sound of battle, leaving Zoraya barricaded in my chambers with guards who may or may not be trustworthy, the weight of what just happened settles over me.
I kissed her. Claimed her mouth and tasted her passion and felt her respond with fire that matched my own.
