The Siege of Shadows: Book one

Bound by Silence (23)

The wind screamed outside, rattling the tent stakes and sending icy drafts slithering through every tear in the canvas. I sat upright on the bed of furs, knees hugged tightly to my chest, trying to make sense of everything.

Theros had barely looked at me after brushing the snow off himself and coming inside the tent. He had gone to the wooden chest near the desk, pulled out a heavy fur, and silently laid it across the floor near the entrance. Without a word, he had stretched out on it, his broad back to me, his horns casting long, twisted shadows across the walls of the tent.

I had watched him in stunned silence, confused, my heart racing. Why? Why wasn't he going back out into the storm? Why was he on the frozen ground instead of taking the bed? And why had he tended my wounds, given me warmth, and kept his distance when every part of my mind screamed that I was his prisoner?

Nothing about him made sense.

I pulled the furs tighter around myself, trying to find comfort in their warmth, but my thoughts refused to settle. Sleep felt impossible. Every sound outside—the shriek of the wind, the groan of the tent poles—had me flinching. My gaze darted to the opening of the tent, where icy gusts slipped through the gap, carrying hints of the fierce storm raging just beyond.

Then my eyes drifted back to him.

He lay still, his breathing deep and steady. Even without his armor, he was massive, his body a fortress of muscle. But it wasn't his size that held my attention—it was the helmet.

The black, horned monstrosity he always wore. Even now, in the dim glow of the tent and with the storm raging outside, it stayed firmly on his head. The horns, sleek and curved like a predator's weapon, gleamed faintly as they cast long, menacing shadows on the canvas walls.

I couldn't stop staring at it.

How could he bear it? The weight, the heat, the confinement of wearing that thing even while he slept. The thought made me uneasy. Was it a choice, or was there something more to it? Did he even sleep at all, or was he just lying there, awake and listening to the storm?

I shivered at the idea of him watching me from behind that faceless helmet, though his back was to me. I had never seen his face, only the eerie glow of his crimson eyes behind the slits in the mask. That helmet was all I had known of him, and yet it was impossible to separate it from him. The horns felt like a part of him, an extension of the monstrous presence he carried everywhere he went.

But why never remove it? Surely it wasn't for comfort. Even in the relative warmth of the tent, it had to be suffocating, heavy. Was he hiding something.

The longer I stared, the more questions gnawed at me. I wanted to know what he looked like beneath it. I hated that I wanted to know.

I clenched my fists under the blanket, ignoring the sting of my bandaged hands. He's the enemy, I reminded myself. The man who destroyed my city, who dragged me here in chains. Whatever kindness he shows, it's a façade. It has to be.

And yet, watching him there, lying on the cold, hard ground, his horns brushing the faint light above him... I couldn't deny the strangeness of it. The monster I had imagined, the one I had hated and feared, wasn't what I had expected at all.

The storm outside raged on, the tent shaking with each gust of wind. I kept my eyes on the opening, refusing to let my guard drop. But out of the corner of my vision, I saw him, his shadow long and still against the wall.

And for reasons I couldn't explain, his presence, monstrous as it was, made the storm feel just a little farther away.

The next morning, I awoke to the soft rustle of movement. Theros—the Black Knight—was pulling on leather armor, worn and dark, a marked contrast to the intimidating black plate I had seen him wear before. The supple material creaked faintly as he fastened the clasps, the motions efficient and deliberate. I remained still, watching him from beneath the thick fur that covered me. My eyes lingered on his helmet, the ever-present, horned monstrosity that never left his head. He even slept in it.