Cloaked Heart (Silent Moments Series: Book 3)

Chapter 12

Jade's presence at my door was both expected and yet somehow still a surprise. "Heda has requested to see you," she announced, her voice carrying the formal tone of an official message, yet there was a hint of something softer, more personal, in her delivery.

"Hi Jade, thanks for telling me," I responded, trying to infuse a bit of warmth into the exchange. The past few days had established a certain rhythm to our interactions, a blend of professional courtesy and emerging familiarity.

Jade offered a small smile in return, a fleeting gesture that somehow bridged the gap between formality and a burgeoning sense of camaraderie. She stepped into my room, her movements efficient yet unobtrusive, as she had done every day since Lexa had assigned her the task. Her presence had become a quiet part of my daily routine, her efforts in maintaining my quarters a silent testament to the unseen cogs that kept our lives running amidst chaos. After Jade's departure, I prepared myself to meet Lexa. The walk to the throne room was a journey I had made numerous times, yet each visit carried its own weight, its own significance. The halls of power were lined with the echoes of decisions, of battles fought both within and outside these walls.

As I approached the throne room, the gravity of the moment settled upon me. The doors, grand and imposing, stood as guardians to the heart of our leadership. Stepping inside, I was immediately enveloped by the solemnity of the space. The room was a nexus of power, its walls bearing witness to the burdens and triumphs of leadership. Lexa, seated upon her throne, was a commanding presence. Her posture was regal, her gaze fixed forward with the weight of her position. As I stopped before her, a respectful distance maintained, I felt the full force of her attention turn towards me. Her eyes, always so piercing, seemed to see beyond the surface, probing for truth and intent. In that moment, standing before Lexa, I was acutely aware of the delicate balance of power and trust that defined our relationship. The air in the throne room was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of past conversations and future decisions. The silence between us was a canvas, waiting for the next brushstroke to define the evolving picture of our intertwined paths.

In the throne room, where the vestiges of history lingered in the air like silent observers, my formal address to Lexa seemed to reverberate against the ancient walls. "You wanted me, Commander," I said, my voice echoing a formality that belied the turbulence of thoughts within me.

Lexa, seated in her throne, was the embodiment of composed authority. "Yes. We need to discuss the fate of the last Mountain man," she said, her voice steady yet underscored with an implicit gravity. The way she held herself, poised yet tense, spoke volumes of the seriousness of what we were about to deliberate.

Titus was quick to voice his opinion, a reflection of his unwavering adherence to our traditional doctrines. "I think he deserves death," he stated, his voice resonating with a certainty that had governed our ways for generations.

Lexa's retort was swift, a sharp reminder of her commitment to a fair judgment. "He can speak for himself," she countered, challenging the simplicity of Titus's view.

Aligning with Titus, I added, "Titus is right," and immediately noticed Lexa's reaction. Her expression shifted, a mask of disheartenment briefly breaking through her usual stoic demeanor. It was as if my concurrence with Titus was a divergence from a path she hoped I would tread.

"See, it is human nature to want vengeance. That is our way," Titus added, almost triumphantly, as if the situation affirmed his beliefs.

Lexa's response was sharp, a snap that cut through the air. "That was our way," she corrected him sternly, emphasizing a break from past practices. Then, turning to me, she said, "Kegan."

I could only offer her a blank stare in return, my mind a whirlpool of conflicting emotions and principles. Lexa's frustration was palpable as she continued, "So blood must not have blood only applies when it's my people who bleed?" Her words were like a hiss, challenging the very foundations of our recent decisions.