Cloaked Heart (Silent Moments Series: Book 3)

Chapter 3

 "Wanheda, as promised," Roan announced, his voice laced with a mixture of finality and contempt. With a forceful shove, he pushed me down to the ground. The suddenness of his action caught me off guard, sending a jolt of pain through my body as I hit the earth. Dust and small stones dug into my palms and knees, the physical discomfort a sharp contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me.

He yanked the bag from my head with a swift, almost violent gesture, the rough fabric scraping against my skin. Blinking against the harsh light, my vision gradually adjusted to the surroundings, the shapes and colors slowly coming into focus. As my eyes lifted, I was met with a sight that made my heart stop. There, standing before me, was the face I had convinced myself I would never see again. The shock of recognition was immediate and overwhelming. My breath hitched in my throat, a myriad of emotions flooding through me – surprise, relief, disbelief, and an undercurrent of fear.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The sounds of the world around us – the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of birds, the murmuring of the people gathered – all faded into a muted backdrop. All that mattered, all that existed in that instant, was the face before me, a visage from a past I had thought lost forever. The expression on their face mirrored my own – a complex tapestry of feelings, a mix of joy, pain, and the scars of experiences that had changed us both. Our eyes locked, a silent communication passing between us, words unnecessary and inadequate for the torrent of emotions that the reunion stirred. In the periphery, I was vaguely aware of Roan's presence, a looming figure whose role in this unexpected turn of events was as yet unclear. But for that moment, his presence was secondary to the shock and awe of seeing a familiar face from a life that I had once thought was irretrievably gone.

"Hello Kegan," Lexa said, her voice cutting through the charged air with a mixture of authority and an underlying hint of something unspoken. Her eyes, sharp and commanding, held mine for a moment that felt both eternal and fleeting.

She gracefully descended from her throne, each step measured and deliberate, a display of her poise and power. As Lexa approached, the room seemed to grow more silent, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. She stopped right in front of me, her presence overwhelming, yet there was a familiarity in her gaze that stirred a tumult of emotions within me.

"The deal was for you to bring him to me unharmed," Lexa said, turning her attention to Roan. Her tone was firm, a clear assertion of her authority, yet there was an underlying current of concern in her words.

Roan, standing a few paces away, met her gaze unflinchingly. "He didn't come easy," he replied, his voice steady but devoid of defiance. There was a hint of respect in his posture, acknowledging Lexa's status, yet he stood his ground, unapologetic for the state in which he had delivered me.

"I'd expect not," Lexa responded, her voice calm yet carrying an edge that suggested she understood the complexities of the situation far more than she let on. Her eyes briefly flickered back to me, a silent acknowledgment of the struggles that had led to this moment.

In that exchange, a complex web of politics, power, and personal histories was evident. Lexa, a figure of authority and strength, faced Roan, a man of resilience and survival. And I, caught in the middle, was a pawn in a much larger game, my fate intertwined with their decisions.

"I've done my part, now you do yours. Lift my banishment," Roan demanded, his voice carrying a mix of determination and a barely concealed urgency. His stance was firm, a portrayal of a man who had fulfilled his obligations and expected the same in return.

Lexa, however, remained composed, her expression betraying none of the pressure of the situation. "I'm told your mother's army marches on Polis," she stated, her voice even but carrying an undercurrent of significance. The mention of his mother's actions added a layer of complexity to the situation, hinting at the wider political machinations at play.

Roan's response was immediate, his anger barely kept in check. "That has nothing to do with me. Honor our deal," he insisted, his words sharp, his frustration evident. The tension between them was palpable, a clash of wills and obligations that extended beyond the confines of the room.

Lexa's next words were decisive, a clear indication of her leadership and the weight of her decisions. "I'll honor our deal when your mother honors my coalition. Lock Prince Roan of Azgeda away," she commanded, addressing the guards with an authoritative tone. Her decision was not just about Roan; it was a statement about her rule, her coalition, and the delicate balance of power she maintained.

The guards moved swiftly, their actions precise and respectful, yet firm. Roan's expression shifted to one of resignation mixed with defiance. He was a prince, accustomed to command and respect, yet here he was being treated as a pawn in a larger game of thrones. As Roan was led away, I couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for his situation. Despite our differing paths, there was a mutual understanding of being caught in the tumultuous currents of leadership and loyalty. Lexa's gaze lingered on Roan as he was escorted out, her expression inscrutable. There was a sense of weight behind her eyes, the burden of leadership and the difficult decisions it entailed. The room was charged with the aftermath of their confrontation, a testament to the complex dance of politics and power in our world.

The question about my fate, posed by the man lingering in Lexa's shadow, was laced with an undercurrent of concern and strategic calculation. His stance was rigid, his eyes fixed on me, as if trying to read the story written in my weary posture and defiant gaze.

Lexa's response was immediate and authoritative. She raised her hands, a gesture that commanded attention and obedience. "Leave us," she ordered, her voice resonating through the chamber with the weight of her leadership. "You heard me." Her command echoed off the stone walls, a clear signal that this was a private matter, not for the ears of her council.

Indra, ever the loyal and formidable warrior, gave Lexa a curt nod. Her obedience was swift and unquestioning, a testament to the deep respect and allegiance she held for Lexa. The room slowly emptied, leaving a charged silence in its wake.

"Sis em au up," Lexa spoke softly in Trigedasleng, her voice a blend of command and concern. The guards moved towards me, their steps careful, almost respectful. They lifted me with a firm yet gentle grip, bringing me to my feet before stepping back to give us space.

Lexa's eyes met mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice a hushed confession meant only for my ears. "I'm sorry that it had to be this way. I couldn't let Wanheda fall into the hands of the ice queen. War is brewing, Kegan, I need you." Her words were heavy with regret and an unspoken plea, acknowledging the complexity of our entangled destinies.

But her apology couldn't quench the fire of my anger, an inferno that had been smoldering for months. In a moment of raw, unbridled fury, I spat in her face, the act a visceral release of my pent-up rage and betrayal.

"You bitch!" My scream filled the room, a thunderous explosion of emotion. "You wanted the Commander of Death, well you got him." My words were a tumultuous mix of accusation and defiance, the culmination of months of frustration and pain.

"I'll kill you," I growled, the threat emanating from the very core of my being. As the guards hastily intervened, gripping my arms and dragging me away, my heart pounded with a chaotic blend of anger, despair, and a profound sense of betrayal.

Lexa remained where she stood, her expression a complex tapestry of sorrow, understanding, and the burdens of leadership. As I was forcibly led out of the room, my final, furious gaze locked with hers, a silent exchange that spoke volumes of the turbulent history and uncertain future that lay between us.