By the time Kaela reached her quarters, her body felt like it had been carved from stone.
It was hard, uncomfortable, and it ached.
The hallways of Virelia's inner wing glowed in the light of late morning, the marble floors scrubbed until they shone, the bronze spots freshly polished.
Servants bowed as she passed, their eyes wide with curiosity, though not a soul dared ask what they truly wanted to.
Everyone had heard.
The Seventh Battalion had returned.
With a Drakeblood in chains.
Kaela's chambers stood at the end of a private corridor, a courtesy afforded to war officers of her rank.
The oak doors opened before she could knock, pulled open by a small girl with auburn braids and a hopeful smile.
"Lady Kaela," she beamed. "You've returned!"
"Finally!" came another voice, a darker-skinned maid with clever eyes and sleeves rolled to her elbows. She stepped aside to let Kaela enter. "We heard the horns. Everyone's been talking. Is it true? Did you really—"
Kaela walked in without answering, shrugging off her cloak as the weight of the past week began to remove from her limbs.
The room felt like an old friend welcoming her back after a long time.
Morning light slipped in through the tall, arched windows, casting a soft, warm glow on the stone walls and the worn tapestries hanging there.
Along the walls, a few weapon racks held polished swords and spears, all quiet now.
The fireplace crackled gently, its heat spreading softly through the room, making the corners feel cozy.
She caught the faint scent of clean linen, sage, and something like beeswax.
Her bed, thank goodness, was made, the gray quilt turned down neatly, as if it had been waiting for her.
The younger maid, Nera, clasped her hands. "Lady Kaela, tell us. Everyone says the stories are true. The soldiers in the stables said you captured a real Drakeblood prince. Is he—?"
Kaela, already tugging off her armor clasps, glanced at her over her shoulder. Her voice came out dry. "Yes."
They both froze.
"You mean it's… true?" Nera whispered, her eyes going comically wide. "A real dragon? A real drakeblood? Well, what is he like?"
"He's smug, insufferable," Kaela muttered, wrestling with a shoulder plate. "And he talks too much."
Gina, the older maid, rushed over to help her unlatch the final pieces. "He spoke to you?"
"That's the thing. He never shuts up," Kaela replied through clenched teeth. "Even in chains. He sat in that cage like he was riding a parade float. Eyes everyone like they're beneath him."
She tossed the plate aside with a loud clatter, rubbing her sore shoulders.
Her tunic clung to her skin with sweat and ash, the grime of war seeping deep into the fabric. Her body ached with exhaustion, but her mind…
Her mind was still in that room.
With him.
She could still hear his voice, too smooth, too calm.
"Your city is beautiful," he had said.
"It'll burn well."
Kaela swallowed, fists tightening at her sides.
Who said things like that? With a smile?
A monster. That's what he was.
"Did he look like a dragon?" Nera asked quietly. "Scales? Claws?"
Kaela shook her head. "No. Just a man." She paused. "Which makes it worse."
Gina handed her a linen robe. "You should wash before the council calls for you. Or worse, the king."
Kaela pulled the robe on with a sigh, thankful to peel off the sweat-soaked tunic beneath.
"No word from the general?"
"Not yet," Gina said, clearing away the armor with quick, practiced hands. "But word is spreading. You're the first in generations to ride into Virelia with a live Drakeblood in tow. People are calling both you and the general 'Flamebreaker.'"
Kaela grimaced. "Gods, no. Not another title."
The maids chuckled.
Kaela sank into the cushioned bench near her washbasin, dipping her hands into the lavender-scented water.
Her reflection in the polished copper mirror looked older somehow. Her eyes were filled with fatigue, cheekbones sharper, a smear of soot still lingering across her jaw.
"I need an hour to rest," she mumbled. "Maybe two."
"You'll get ten minutes," Gina said gently, just as a knock echoed from the main door.
Kaela closed her eyes and groaned.
Nera darted to answer it.
A boy in palace livery stood there, all flushed cheeks and trembling parchment. "Message for Lady Kaela," he said, eyes bulging slightly when he caught sight of her in the robe. "From the court steward."
Gina took the scroll and opened it with a snap.
"Well?" Kaela asked, drying her face.
"You're summoned," the older woman said grimly. "Banquet in the King's Hall. Tonight."
Kaela didn't move. "Tonight?"
Nera squeaked. "A royal banquet?"
"In your honor," Gina added. "The king wants to celebrate the capture. You, the general, and the surviving captains are expected to attend."
Kaela muttered something sharp under her breath, rising from the bench.
"Wonderful. Parade me like a prize hawk while the beast who actually caused all this sits below the palace waiting to burn it down."
Gina gave her a knowing look. "That's what soldiers do, my lady. Survive. Get dressed. Get toasted."
Kaela huffed. "He better still be in those chains when I come back."
But as she turned toward her wardrobe, she could still feel that stare, amber-gold, quiet and waiting.
She wasn't sure which part unnerved her more:
That he was calm in chains...
Or that she couldn't stop thinking about him.