Cloaked Heart (Silent Moments Series: Book 3)

Chapter 15

 Leaving my room, I made my way through the quiet corridors towards Lexa's quarters. The journey felt longer than usual, each step imbued with a mix of determination and apprehension about the conversation that lay ahead. The normally bustling passageways seemed unusually still, as if the entire compound was holding its breath in anticipation of the decisions and actions that would unfold in the coming hours. Arriving at Lexa's door, I paused for a brief moment to gather my thoughts, to prepare myself for the delicate task of persuading her to consider a different course of action. With a sense of resolve, I knocked once, a respectful yet firm sound that broke the silence of the hallway.

As I entered the room, I found Lexa in an unexpected state. She was sitting on the floor, her posture one of deep meditation or contemplation. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was measured and calm, a stark contrast to the storm of political turmoil that swirled around us. The room was dimly lit, the soft light casting gentle shadows that seemed to accentuate the tranquility of the scene. Lexa, usually so poised and commanding, appeared almost vulnerable in this moment of solitude. It was a rare glimpse into the private side of Heda, a side that bore the weight of leadership and the burden of decisions that affected the lives of so many.

Standing there, watching her in this state of repose, I felt a wave of empathy for the challenges she faced as a leader. The responsibility of guiding her people, of navigating the intricate web of politics and alliances, was a heavy mantle to bear. For a moment, I hesitated, not wanting to disturb her peace, yet knowing the urgency of the discussion we needed to have. The fate of my people, the stability of the coalition, and the pursuit of a path towards peace hung in the balance, and our conversation could be pivotal in determining the course of action Lexa would choose. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to speak, to bridge the gap between her meditative silence and the turbulent reality that awaited us outside the sanctity of her room.

Standing in Lexa's room, the aftermath of the day's tumultuous events hung between us like a tangible entity. My question about her calmness was more than curiosity; it was an expression of my own inner turmoil and admiration for her poise under such pressure. "Someone tried to kill you today, how are you this calm?" I inquired, unable to mask the concern lacing my voice.

Lexa's response was immediate and insightful, cutting through to the core issue that troubled me. "You're mad about the kill order," she said, her voice steady, a testament to her ability to perceive the undercurrents of emotion and thought.

My whispered affirmation, "Yes," was a small admission of the internal conflict the order had sparked within me. The blockade's harsh terms weighed heavily on my conscience, and I struggled with the implications of Lexa's decision.

Her question back to me was both a challenge and an invitation for alternatives. "How else would you have me enforce a blockade?" It was a genuine inquiry into my perspective, a sign of her willingness to consider other viewpoints despite the weight of leadership she bore.

The conversation then took a painful turn as I broached the subject of departure. "So when do we have to go?" The question was laden with regret and a sense of impending loss.

Lexa's suggestion that I could stay was unexpected and thought-provoking. "This may be drawing a line, but who's to say you can't stay on this side of it?" Her words were an invitation, a gesture that hinted at a desire for my continued presence and perhaps something deeper, unspoken but palpable between us.

Titus's interruption was abrupt, his voice a reminder of the formalities and duties that constantly surrounded us. "I said she was not to be disturbed," he said through the door, his protective nature towards Lexa evident in his tone.

Despite the interruption, I seized the opportunity to suggest a plan that could benefit us both. "I know someone who might," I remarked, hinting at a potential solution to our predicament. The brief smile that Lexa offered in response was a rare glimpse of her more personal side, a fleeting moment of connection amidst the complexity of our situation.