Chapter 10 Leila
Leila
The clank of metal against metal vibrated in Leila’s ear, the clashing swords a breath away.
Tobias offered a cheeky wink, and She struck harder, forcing him farther down the hillside with each blow.
He was better than She had expected, a result of holy light coupled with extenuating circumstances, both of which She was responsible for.
She dodged his next jab, circling Her student with keen determination.
He was good, but he needed to be great. No, perfect.
He wasn’t going to die in Brontes’s war, and She would make sure of that.
Tobias deflected Her assault, nimble and lithe as She stalked closer.
He was losing steam. His attention may have been focused, but his chest rose and fell at a much quicker rate, his curls wet against his forehead.
She feigned to the left, then lunged to the right, kicking out his ankle and knocking the weapon from his grasp.
He dropped to his knees, hands raised as She pointed Her sword at his nose.
“Go on,” She said. “What’s your move?”
“I have none.” Tobias’s breathing slowed, and he shrugged. “You’ve won. I surrender.”
“You can’t surrender. You have to make a move. That’s the entire point.”
“But I can’t. You’ve clearly bested me. I’m at Your mercy.”
Leila sighed. “Tobias . . .”
“But I ask, humbly, that You spare my life. Punish me in some other way. Make me Your sex slave.”
Leila snorted. “Oh, God.”
“Make me do unspeakable things to You in the night. Force me to pleasure You whenever You desire. It’s a demanding job, but I’ll manage. My body is Yours to command.”
She succumbed to Her laughter, dropping Her sword and shaking Her head. “You absolute—”
He shot his foot forward, kicking Her shin and collapsing Her. As She scrambled for Her sword, he grabbed Her by the wrists and pinned Her to the ground, a victorious grin on his lips.
“I win.”
“That doesn’t count,” She said.
“It absolutely counts.”
“You tricked Me.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
His smile was infectious, and She sank beneath his weight. “How unfortunate. I rather liked your proposition.”
“We can negotiate terms.”
Tobias pressed his mouth to Hers, first light and tender, then deeper and yearning.
She’d had the purest of intentions sparring with him, but Her mind wandered far from the task, overcome with base thoughts and luring comforts.
They chuckled between kisses, and She struggled to recall another time She’d felt so wanted, so seen.
A throat cleared behind them. Sandaled feet stepped into view attached to crisp white harem pants, a cobalt tunic, and a grimace.
“Your Holiness,” Flynn said. “Your presence is required at the villa.”
The pair separated, and Tobias adjusted his pants while Leila raked Her fingers through Her hair. “For what purpose?” She asked.
“We have important news regarding Your army.” Flynn stood with his chest out and head high. “My father is tending to business matters, but I’m more than happy to deliver the details.”
News? Already? Leila scrambled to Her feet, dusting the grass from Her dress. “By all means, indulge us.”
“This is information best shared between You and me.” Flynn’s eyes narrowed, panning to Tobias. “Alone.”
“Anything you have to say can be shared with Tobias as well,” Leila said.
“The matter is sensitive.”
“As I stated—”
“I’m obeying my father’s orders,” Flynn interrupted. “You understand, I’m sure.”
Leila forced back a scowl. Fucking Flynn. Tobias’s eyes had shrunken into slits, boring through Flynn as if he too were searching for the noble’s colors. With a grunt, he sheathed his sword. “I should check on Naomi. It’s about time for her tonics.”
The three of them shared uncomfortable nods before heading across the estate, first as a silent group, then parting ways. Leila walked at Flynn’s side as if Her arms and legs were wasters, barely yielding as She trod through the grass, up the hillside, then into the villa.
“Are you going to tell Me what this is about?”
Flynn was Her antithesis, casual and aloof, his hands limp in his pockets. “You should probably see it in person.”
“See what?”
He didn’t respond, his apathy prodding at Her insides. They reached their destination—his chamber with its garish mirror and massive painting of a muscular thoroughbred. He closed the door behind him before shooting toward his desk and pulling a long leather tube from his drawer.
“Our keeper found this tucked away with our records.” He took a seat on his bed, sliding an aged scroll from the leather tube. “No one else knows of it.”
Leila sat at his side, peering over the browned parchment as he unrolled it.
The ink was faded, the edges brittle, but the image depicted sucked the air from Her lungs.
Measured routes cutting through deserts, a barely legible legend in a language long abandoned, a circular wall in the center of the parchment—a perimeter. A cage.
“This is—”
“A map of the royal fortress,” Flynn confirmed.
Leila leaned in closer, rubbing the map’s corner—like butterfly wings wearing away beneath Her fingers. “It’s ancient.”
“It’s hundreds of years old, I’m sure.”
Thousands, actually. She scanned the fuzzy lines and antiquated calligraphy—a depiction of Her home and prison, so very familiar, yet convoluted. Wrong.
“These are the traveling routes to the fortress.” Flynn pointed to a handful of strokes outside the wall, then another grouping nearer to the palace. “These are the most notable paths on the fortress grounds—”
“I’m aware.” Leila’s eyes were on the outliers—dotted lines snaking across the page, cutting through the fortress wall and straight into the palace. “But what are these?”
“According to this map, they’re routes as well,” Flynn said.
“Through the fortress wall?”
“They must be alternate paths. Passages unknown to the public, hidden away.”
Leila’s heart seized, but She kept Her expression neutral. Hidden passages.
This was a map of the underground tunnels.
“This means we have access to the fortress,” Flynn said. “Once I’ve secured Your army, we can find these hidden routes and infiltrate. Reclaim Your palace.”
A thousand-plus-year-old map of the underground palace tunnels was tucked away within the Joseon villa. The map was vital to Her cause, a secret kept from The Savior Herself. Brontes had been using the tunnels, but how many of them? Did he know of the map’s existence? Did he have his own?
“How did you get this?” Leila asked.
“As I said, it was mixed among our records—”
“No, I mean . . .” Leila shook Herself. “How did your family come to acquire this map? It must’ve been palace property at some point.”
Flynn smiled. “My family has been allies to the royal line for several generations. I assume it was a gift from Your forefathers. Your grandfather, perhaps. For protection, naturally.”
Leila bit the inside of Her cheek. The news was good, albeit complicated. She had a direct entrance to Her home, Her throne, Her crown. But the tunnels were hidden for a reason, and the Joseons knew of them. Who else?
“Thank you for sharing this with Me.”
“Anything for The One True Savior,” Flynn said.
He looked back at Her as if awaiting a response, then rolled the scroll, slipping it into its leather tube. Clearing his throat, he clapped twice, and a servant burst into the room, bowing before taking the tube.
Leila started, glancing between the servant and Flynn. “I don’t get to keep it?”
“Keep what?”
“The map, obviously.”
Flynn shrugged. “It’s from our records.”
“Yes. A dangerous map of My home.”
“I’m sure My father would be more than happy to discuss it with You.”
The servant bowed once more before closing the door behind her, and meanwhile a multitude of thoughts battled for Leila’s attention.
Where was the map headed? How would She find it?
Were the Joseon servants trained to listen for clapping across the villa?
How easily would Flynn’s nose break beneath Her fist?
She swallowed a growl, forcing Her violent thoughts aside.
She wasn’t in Her Senate room, and Flynn wasn’t one of Her senators.
He was an ally advancing Her cause, even funding Her reign, but the lack of control nipped at Her.
The silence between them broke beneath Flynn’s laughter. “Look at that sour face.” He nudged Her shoulder. “Come now. Smile! You’re one step closer to victory. You should be pleased.”
“I should be strategizing.”
“Leave that to the experts. A queen belongs on Her throne, not on the battlefield. And You’ve got an awful lot of experts at Your side. A fine place to find Yourself, if I do say so.” He winked. “I won’t let You down.”
“It’s My realm. It’s My duty.”
“Nonsense. You ride Yourself too hard. A woman like You deserves comfort and spoiling, not”—he waved his hand, gesturing at nothing in particular—“all this.”
Another man telling Her how to feel. It was banal, truly, and the least of Her concerns. That map still permeated the corners of Her mind—a way into Her fortress, Her utmost priority.
Flynn leaned back on his elbows. “You know, by royal decree, You and I are promised to one another.”
Leila chuckled. “Isn’t that mad?”
“Tobias forfeited the crown. Thus, I am—”
“The Champion. I know.”
His stare was fixed, a bodice laced too tight and itchy at the seams. Leila picked at the folds of Her dress.
“Fortunately for us, the tournament is miles away. We have the free will to decide our futures. You don’t want to be promised to Me.
I don’t want to be promised to you. We can live our lives as we’ve intended. ”
“I intended to be Champion,” Flynn said. “To take The Savior’s hand in marriage.”
“Cosima’s hand. You fought for her, not Me.”
“And had I known You were The Savior, I would’ve fought twice as hard. No, five times. Ten.”
Leila barked out a laugh, only to fall silent when She caught sight of Flynn. He was sound and still, his gaze unblinking.
“You’re not serious.”