Aylin had barely regained her composure when a deep, commanding voice echoed through the stone corridor. "Who is there?"
The authority in the voice was undeniable, and she knew right away that whoever spoke was not an ordinary guard. Aylin felt Sasha tighten his grip on her waist, as if to both steady and reassure her. His weight pressed against her, and his body was feverish and unsteady.
A group of figures emerged from the shadows, moving with precision and discipline. They were undoubtedly warriors, each dressed in dark armor with the sigil of Sasha's house emblazoned across their chests. One stepped forward, a man older than Sasha, his dark eyes scanning the two of them with a mixture of wariness and alarm.
"Commander!" the man exclaimed, his voice filled with concern. "You're injured! Release her; we will take you to the healer."
Sasha exhaled sharply, tightening his grip on Aylin. "No," he rasped, his voice rough from exhaustion but firm. "She stays with me."
The warriors exchanged glances, agitation simmering in their stances. One of them, a man with broad shoulders and a scar down his cheek, took a step forward. "Commander, you're barely standing. She is a stranger. Let her go."
Aylin's body trembled beneath Sasha's weight. She could feel his strength fading, but the way he held her, as if letting go was not an option, sent an unfamiliar sensation curling up her chest.
"She is under my protection," Sasha growled, bringing her close. "No one touches her."
The older warrior paused, shifting his gaze to Aylin, as if looking for signs of deception. "She may have led you into this situation," he said coldly. "We cannot risk—"
"She saved me," Sasha interrupted, his tone final. "I would not be standing here if it was not for her."
The scarred man's jaw tightened, but he did not press any further. Instead, he turned toward his men. "Take the commander to the healer's wing. She comes with him."
There was a beat of silence, and tension was thick in the air. The warriors then fell into step, nodding reluctantly as they led the way toward the fortress interior. Sasha leaned against Aylin, his breathing shallow, but he refused to let go.
As they moved deeper into the stronghold, Aylin knew one thing for certain: whatever awaited them here, Sasha had made his decision—and for the time being, she was a part of it.
—
Aylin's vision blurred as she moved through the fortress's stone halls, her exhaustion making each step heavier. Sasha's body had lost its warmth as his men assisted him in walking, and without his weight to anchor her, she felt strangely untethered. A firm hand steadied her, and she turned slightly to look up at the warrior who was supporting her.
They led her into a large chamber lit by torches, the aroma of herbal tinctures and iron permeating the air. Aylin barely had time to notice the healers approaching Sasha when a sharp intake of breath rang through the room.
"Well, I will be damned!"
The voice was rough from surprise, but there was no hostility, only disbelief. Aylin turned her head, noticing a man standing near the entrance with his arms crossed over his chest.
He was taller and broader than the rest of the warriors, with a rough-cut beard and sharp amber eyes that flashed with recognition. His dark hair was loosely tied back, with strands falling over the scar that ran across his temple. He was dressed in dark leather, the armor of Sasha's warriors, but he seemed different. less restrained, less bound by rank.
"Roland?" she asked, her voice hoarse from exhaustion and surprise.
He exhaled deeply, his lips curling into a smirk. "I did not expect to hear my name from your lips, lady." His gaze flickered over her, assessing her injuries with a quick, practiced glance, before softening. "You look like hell."
Aylin swallowed, her throat tight. "What are you doing here?"
Roland scoffed, shifting his stance. "What am I doing here? I should be asking you that. Last time I checked, you were nowhere near the mess I got thrown into." His smirk faded, and something dark flickered in his eyes. "But I guess a lot's changed, huh?"
The weight of his words fell between them. Aylin had known Roland before—back when he had been part of Silas's ranks, under Valen. He was one of the few warriors she had ever respected, and he had always carried himself with steadfast loyalty. Then one day, he was gone.
"It has," she admitted, her voice quieter.
Roland's gaze lingered on her, searching for something, before he exhaled sharply. "So, tell me, Aylin. How the hell did you end up here, hanging off the commander like a lifeline?"
She let out a slow breath, exhaustion and frustration pressing down on her shoulders. "Silas rejected me."
Roland blinked, his expression shifting into something unreadable.
"Rejected you?" he repeated, as if the words didn't make sense. Then he remembered what stupid plan she had years ago. "You. You are a mad woman. How did you make him reject you?" Roland raised his voice, ignoring the other men watching every move.
Aylin didn't say anything. She clasped her hands in her lap, trying to decide if she could trust him.
"My lady, please tell me." Roland approached her and reached for her shoulder, hoping to calm her.
Roland barely had time to react before a low growl filled the chamber. A firm grip yanked his shoulder back, forcing him to take a step away from Aylin. He turned sharply, his instincts kicking in, only to find himself staring into the cold, unwavering eyes of Sasha.
Despite his injuries, Sasha stood with a rigid posture, his dark eyes burning with silent warning. His breathing was still uneven, and his body bore the weight of exhaustion, but his presence alone was enough to still the room.
"Do not touch her," Sasha said, his voice low and dangerous.