Tiny Raven

The next time Alessia woke it was in pain. Not the sharp heat of a raging infection, but the steady ache of a wound healing clean. Stella was gone, but Dottie had been left behind. Alessia smiled at the small act of comfort.

She groaned as she rolled onto her back.

Odrian was at her side in an instant—clearly having been hovering nearby. His hand landed on her shoulder—steadying, not restraining—before she could try to sit up.

“Easy,” he murmured as he pressed a waterskin into her hands. “Your tiny tyrant is with Dionys. She’s fine. You, however—” He nodded pointedly at the fresh bandages peeking from under her tunic, his expression somewhere between irritation and admiration.“—are under strict orders to not tear your stitches. Again. Unless you want to test whether Stella’s lung capacity can shatter pottery.”

He paused before adding, dry as the Tharon plains in summer, “It can, by the way.”

“ ‘Again’?” Alessia repeated. “I don’t remember tearing them before.”

Odrian’s eyebrow arched as he leaned back, his arms crossed.

“You cauterized your own stab wound, Princess Dumbass. With no herbs to dull the pain, I assume. And then you stitched it with what I can only presume was fishing line.”

His tone dripped with clinical disdain, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it. Something impressed. “Frankly, I’m amazed you lasted as long as you did.”

He nudged the waterskin toward her again, insistent.

“Drink. Unless you’d prefer to pass out again. Stella needs another reason to scream for my head.”

He shot a pointed glance at the tent flap, where distant gleeful shrieks suggested Dionys was losing spectacularly at some game involving sticks.

“Sewing thread,” Alessia said as she finally took the water skin from him. “Not fishing line.”

As though that were better.

“And I didn’t tear those stitches.”

Odrian paused mid-nag, blinking at her.

“Thread,” he echoed, his voice flat with horror. “Ordinary thread.”

His hand twitched toward his own collarbone, pained on her behalf just thinking about it.

“Well … that certainly solves the mystery of the state of your stitches,” he admitted grudgingly. “And the sheer audacity it took to survive them.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘Someday I’ll meet a woman with sense’ before he shook his head. He tossed her a small packet wrapped in waxed linen.

Alessia opened the fabric to find dried figs, flatbread still warm from the fire, a hunk of goat cheese, and a small honey cake. Luxury. More than she’d had in years.

“Eat,” he said. “Then you can tell me exactly how you ended up with a Tharon dagger in your shoulder without running to the nearest healer.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “And don’t say ‘luck’.”

Alessia took a careful bite from one of the dried figs, hopeful her stomach wouldn’t rebel.

“It … wasn’t Theron,” she said softly. Her hand drifted to her shoulder.

Odrian’s fingers, which had been tapping against his belt, froze.

The shift was immediate. There was no visible tension, but something deeper changed. The amused exasperation drained from him like water through a sieve, replaced by quiet, clinical intensity.

“Explain.”

No theatrics, no nicknames. Just a single word, firm as bedrock, as his gaze bored into her.

“Because if some Aurean bastard stabbed a half-starved woman—let alone one dragging a child through war rubble—then he and I are going to have words.”

‘And those words will be screamed through broken teeth’ went unspoken, but Alessia heard them anyway, sharp as a blade.

“Stella wasn’t with me,” Alessia said after swallowing the remainder of the fig. “She started getting sick a few weeks ago. Mostly coughing fits, but occasionally she’d have fevers. They always broke within a few hours, so I wasn’t panicking, but…you saw where we were living. I didn’t want them getting worse.” She sighed, tearing off a piece of flatbread as she gathered her thoughts. “Around a week ago I approached the Aurean camp—the southwest gate, toward the river. Stella needed a healer, and I … I didn’t know where else to find one.” She looked away from Odrian, self conscious. She knew she’d taken a stupid risk, approaching the camp like she did. “I tried to do everything right. I was unarmed, clearly surrendering, clearly not a threat. I went in the morning when the light was good, in the middle of their shift so the sentries had time to settle and not be as on-edge. I kept my hands visible … ” She trailed off with a bitter laugh, “For all the good it did me. It was stupid.”

Every muscle in Odrian’s body locked up. The air left his lungs like he’d taken a spear to the ribs. For three heartbeats the only things he could hear were the dull roar of his blood in his ears and Stella’s distant laughter.

“Ah.” His voice was a thin veneer over something blisteringly cold. “Let me guess: They didn’t ask what you needed before attacking you.”

His fingers curled into his palms, hands fisting. He didn’t need to clarify who they were. There were only so many men who would drive a blade upward under a surrendered woman’s collarbone.

Only a fraction of those men would have left her alive.

“They saw Theron clothes and heard my accent and assumed I was a spy.”

Odrian closed his eyes, just for a moment, physically bracing himself against the wave of fury threatening to crest. When he opened them again, his expression was dangerously blank.

“Names.” The demand was deadly quiet. “Now.”

It wasn’t a request, it was a king’s command. His hand twitched toward his dagger before he forced it still. Every line of his body was taut with the effort it took to maintain his control.

If he had to guess, he already had a pretty good idea. He knew which factions within the Aurean alliance treated surrender as a sport. Who would see a pleading woman as a target.

But confirmation?

Confirmation changed things.

Confirmation made things personal.

“I don’t know their names,” Alessia said. “We didn’t exactly exchange pleasantries. But their shields—the heraldry on them—One was a golden lion, the other was a crimson rooster.”

Odrian’s breath hissed from between his teeth in recognition. He didn’t need her to say any more. The sigils were damning enough on their own.

High King Nomaros’ arrogance.

His brother Lauthen’s petty cruelty.

And their men, ever eager to emulate their kings.

His fingers tightened around the pommel of his dagger.

“You’re certain,” he pressed—not doubting but needing certainty before he did something reckless. “A lion and a rooster, no other markings?”

“Just decorative meanders,” Alessia confirmed with a nod. She winced as she shifted to sit up straighter, her hand instinctively pressing against her bandaged wound. “They were … eager for an excuse to hurt me. I know I’m lucky I made it out alive.”

Her gaze darkened at the memory. The way they’d laughed at her screams, how the sentry had pushed the knife in slow, deliberately drawing out the pain.

The way both of them had relished in hurting her.

(She didn’t tell him what else they did.)

She exhaled sharply, pushing the memory away with prejudice,

“Stella was safe,” she said, quiet but firm. “She didn’t see it happen. She knows I got hurt, but not how.”

She only knew that Mama had come back bleeding. That Alessia had sobbed as she’d sutured her own wound closed like one of Dottie’s seams.

Alessia never told her what happened. Who had hurt her.

Odrian’s knuckles were white around his dagger. For a moment he was completely motionless—save for the muscle feathering in his jaw. He sat down beside her, moving slowly and deliberately—as though he was forcing his body through each motion.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low, measured, and lethal. “Those men will not breathe another sunset once this war is over. But for now? Neither you nor Stella leaves my protection. Not to gather firewood, not to bathe, not for any reason.”

His gaze bored into hers, uncompromising.

“Understood?”

Then, softer but no less intense, “And if anyone in this camp so much as looks at you wrong, you tell me immediately.”

There’s an oath beneath his words, a royal vow.

She will be safe here. He would be sure of it.

“I will,” Alessia said with a nod.

Odrian studied her for a moment, searching for something. A tell that she was lying, perhaps. Alessia didn’t know.

Then he jerked his chin toward where Stella’s laughter rang out in the distance, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth despite himself.

“Now,” he said in that infuriatingly cheerful tone. “You’re going to tell me not only how you survived but how you convinced both Dionys and me into letting two Tharon thieves camp with us.”

“I survived mainly by luck,” Alessia admitted. “I don’t know if it was his intent or not, but when he stabbed me the sentry missed anything important. Didn’t knick any veins or arteries. And then you found us before the infection set in.” It was the closest she would come to admitting that he saved her life. “As for how I convinced you … I assumed it was my charming personality.”

She grinned and fluttered her eyelashes, sarcasm clear in her voice.

It had the intended effect. Odrian snorted—a loud, inelegant sound, utterly undignified for a king.

“Charming?” he echoed as he leveled her a look that somehow encapsulated both complete exasperation and reluctant amusement. “You. You threatened Dionys with a broken piece of pottery the first time he tried to check your stitches. Is that the charm you’re talking about?”

He paused before shooting her a vicious grin, “Is that what you told the Aureans before they stabbed you? ‘Oh, please, I’m too charming to die~’?”

His words and tone were light and crass—but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his anger. The joke wasn’t for her, but for the part of him that wanted to hunt the offenders down immediately.

“If there was broken pottery within reach of me while I was delirious, that’s a you problem.”

Odrian laughed, sharp and sudden, before flicking her forehead with entirely unearned familiarity.

“Between you and Stella, I’m starting to believe Tharos breeds tiny terrors just to vex Aurean kings,” he said conspiratorially. There was no true annoyance in it. Beneath the dry wit was something dangerously close to affection, if anything.

“That’s their winning strategy,”Alessia whispered back, equally conspiratorial. “They’re going to annoy their way out of the siege. Stella and me? We’re just the advance force.”

Odrian gasped, clutching at his chest like she had just declared war on Othara itself. He pointed an accusing finger at her.

“I knew it! This was a Tharon plot all along! First you steal our supplies, then our healer’s patience, and now—now!—you’re after our very peace of mind!”

He swept a hand toward the tent entrance where Stella’s distant shrieks of delight continued to echo. “That child already has DIonys wrapped around her tiniest finger and you—” He paused dramatically, struck by his horrifying realization. His voice dropped to a whisper. “—you’ve gotten me to fetch you honey cakes!”

He lifted his hands to his face in mock despair.

“At what cost, Alessia!? At what cost!?”

His performance was flawless if not for the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

Alessia couldn’t help it as she burst into laughter, clutching her injured side and unable to stop even with the pain. Her grin was wicked, even as she winced.

“Oh no,” she gasped between breaths. “You uncovered the grand plan!” She pressed a hand to her mouth as she tried (and failed) to smother another giggle. “We were this close to a total Aurean surrender—just one more honey cake and I would’ve had you all at our complete mercy!”

She shook her head with an exaggerated shrug as she caught her breath.

“Well, maybe next time.”

Odrian clapped a hand over his own chest, staggering backward as though he’d been struck—before he collapsed onto a nearby chest with all the tragic grace of a fallen hero. He flung his free hand toward Dionys’ side of the tent in anguished accusation.

“Dionys!” he cried, ignoring the fact that the other man was outside. “They played us! This woman—this sly, wicked creature!—has been tricking us from the start! She lured us in with tragedy and emergency surgery—all to get us hooked on her sharp tongue and sharper wit!”

He paused dramatically before continuing in a horrified whisper.

“And it worked!”

Dionys’ long-suffering sigh is audible from beyond the tent walls. Stella’s delighted giggles—paired with the sound of someone being forcibly adorned with a flower crown—only added to the absurdity.

Odrian sprawled across the chest like a defeated hero, shooting Alessia a look far too smug for a man in mourning.

“You’re lucky I don’t charge royalties for these performances.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alessia said with exaggerated gratitude. “Thank you for not taking all of my nonexistent drachmae.”

Odrian gasped again before jabbing an accusatory finger at her.

“Ah-ha!” he crowed in overacted victory. “You admit the nonexistent funds!”

He straightened with the grace of a man who had just uncovered treason, before tapping his chin in mock-contemplation.

“Which means all this time you’ve been falsely claiming poverty while secretly hoarding—let me guess—three whole rocks and a pinecone as your empire’s treasury.” He paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Stella’s doing, no doubt.”

He said it as if this were the true conspiracy from Tharos. Not war, not politics, just a tiny dark-haired warlord amassing a fortune in pebbles.

“Oh, no!” Alessia cried, a hand over her heart. “You’ve caught us! … Except no pinecones. They don’t hold up well with all the rocks.” With fond exasperation she continued, “You know I told her she could keep a handful of rocks. She filled my entire satchel. Apparently she thought I meant a titan’s handful.”

Odrian pressed a hand to his forehead, shaking it slowly, as if this revelation burdened him beyond mortal comprehension.

“Gods below,” he said, theatrical despair dripping from every syllable. “A rock smuggler. Here I thought you were merely a menace to my sanity and rations, but no—You are a geological threat!”

He pointed sternly at her. “This is why Aurel will never win this war. Your daughter has better logistics than our own quartermasters.”

And then because he couldn’t help himself he added, “…Show me her collection later.”

Alessia chuckled, “I’ll let her show you. She can explain what makes every single rock special. I don’t know the reasoning beyond some are ‘sparkly’.”

“I shall endure the scholarly lecture with the dignity befitting my station,” Odrian declared, chin lifted in regal suffering. “Even if it takes three hours. I’ve seen that child’s focus. It’s unnatural.”

He waits a beat as his eyes narrow playfully.

“You trained her, didn’t you?”

There wasn’t a real accusation in the words, just the grudging awe of a strategist recognizing a masterclass in psychological warfare. Tiny and rock-hoarding though it may be.

But, despite knowing he was joking, Alessia winced slightly at the ‘accusation’.

Because he wasn’t wrong. She’d had to train Stella, just not about this. It was the only way to keep her safe around Walus and his volatility.

“She’s just naturally that way,” Alessia said, trying to remain lighthearted, although she could hear the tension in her own voice. “She gets real into her interests. Right now it’s rocks. A few months ago it was crabs. She still talks about those sometimes—draws them a lot.” She hesitated before continuing, “… Either that or she’s drawing spiders with claws. Or maybe rocks with legs? It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

Odrian caught her wince—the flash of tension that wasn’t part of the game. His grin softened, just slightly, into something quieter. Something real.

“Well,” he murmured as he picked at an invisible thread on his tunic, “if she’s anything like her mother, I’, sure whatever she turns that focus toward will be exceptionally annoying for her enemies.”

He didn’t pry into the training. He could already guess some of it. Stella, tiny menace that she was, already knew how to hold a knife—and sometimes she would go unnaturally still, like a hare caught in the sight of a hawk, or a fawn catching the scent of a wolf.

Some truths didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

“Do you think they’re crabs with rocks for shells? Or are they rocks that eat crabs?”

A peace offering. A distraction. A king’s clumsy attempt at being gentle.

“Crab-eating rocks would be terrifying,” Alessia said with a soft chuckle. “I’m going to say crabs with rocks for shells.”

Odrian shuddered dramatically, theatrically wide-eyed, struck in horror by her answer. “Gods help us if she combines them. The next thing we know she’ll have an army of crab-rock-spiders marching on our supply lines.”

He paused for effect as he stroked his chin in contemplation.

“…That might explain the missing olives from last night’s rations, actually. Was it rodents? No. A hungry scout? Please. Clearly it was Stella’s terrifying crustacean militia—”

Dionys’ long-suffering groan and Stella’s delighted “Oops!” were followed by a sudden, distant crash from outside, cutting him off. His smirk turned viciously triumphant.

“Ah, speaking of her latest recruits—”

He smiles at Alessia, the expression full of things he won’t, can’t say.

‘She’s happy. You kept her safe enough that she can laugh like that.’

“Ah,” Alessia said, wistful. “The sound every mother fears—the delighted ‘oops’.” Softer she added, “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Once she thought she would never hear it, that her daughter would never know the freedom of playful childhood chaos.

It was clear in her tone, the relief and fear and sorrow for what could have been. What should have been. For what was.

‘I should have run sooner.’

A foolish thought. She had tried and had ended up further restricted with a shackle welded to her ankle. She’d had good reason to avoid running before she had finally gone.

Odrian, for once, didn’t joke or deflect. Instead he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees—close enough that his next words were just for her.

“She gets to say ‘oops’,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “because you made sure of it.”

Simple. Unshakable. A truth that brooked no argument.

Then—because the silent weight between them threatened to crush them both—he nudged her uninjured shoulder.

“And because I generously allow my camp to be terrorized by her geological conquests. Truly, my magnanimity knows no bounds,” he said dryly.

From outside they heard Stella’s attempt to stack her newest rocks escalate into what could only be described as structural anarchy—

“By the gods, child! How are you this strong—?!” Dionys cried.

“I EAT MY ROCKS,” Stella replied—cheerful and completely serious.

“A menace,” Odrian said with solemn gravitas. “A geological menace.”

Alessia snorts before breaking into genuine laughter.

“Someone should probably go check on them,” she said between giggles. She shifted to get up. “Before my daughter actually tries to prove how strong her teeth are by chewing on rocks.”

Odrian is on his feet in an instant—a hand outstretched to stop her before she can aggravate her wound.

“Oh no, absolutely not. You are bedridden until further notice. By royal decree. As punishment for … tax evasion.”

Alessia snorted, but stopped trying to get up. As soon as she was settled again, Odrian strode to the tent flap—only to pause and shoot her a look over his shoulder.

“…That said, if you hear crunching, do scream for help. I refuse to explain why a five-year-old shattered her molars on quartz.”

Another pause before he added, almost as an afterthought, “And if you need anything—medicine, food, a blade to hide where bastards won’t find it—ask. No more crawling off to cauterize your own wounds like a cornered fox.” His lips twitched—his tone dry but not unkind. “Unless, of course, you enjoy giving me heart failure.”

Alessia laughed. “No, no. While it is fun to watch, I’m not so sure it’s worth the pain. I suppose I’ll just have to figure out a different way to give you a heart attack.”

Odrian froze at her sheer audacity. For a heartbeat the tent was utterly silent. Then—

“By the gods,” he said, his voice climbing an octave in sheer disbelief. “Are you—” He cut himself off, gesturing vaguely at her with the horrified exasperation others usually reserved for him. “Are you flirting? While bleeding?”

Alessia stilled, clearly having not thought through the implications of what she was saying. Then, deliberately, she took a bite of the honey cake to hide her blush.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said, too self-conscious to be teasing. “And I’m not currently bleeding,”

Odrian leaned in, close enough that she could feel his smirk even if she refused to meet his eyes.

“I intend to find out,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. He motioned at the food.

“Eat up,” he said, playful and intense. “I prefer my future paramours conscious.”

He sauntered off before she could retaliate—although not fast enough to hide the way his own ears had turned faintly pink.

Alessia almost choked on her broth at the word ‘paramour’.

“…Asshole!” she called after him as she coughed, It lacked any bite, though, as she grinned into her bowl.

Odrian’s answering laugh floated back to her—bright and unguarded, almost boyish with mischief. Just before the flap of the tent fell shut his hand reappeared to flip her an obscene gesture that somehow came across as more affectionate than rude.

Alessia chuckled before she returned to eating, trying to get her blush back under control.

‘What are you doing? Flirting with a king?’ she silently demanded, somewhere between impressed and appalled.

She couldn’t help the tight feeling in her chest, something like hope blooming.

He’d flirted back.

─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─

Outside the tent, Stella was dragging a rock toward Dionys’ unsuspecting sandals. She froze at the sound of Odrian laughing.

“You’re blushing,” she accused with all the gravitas of a tiny general assessing an unexpected variable on her battlefield. She was far too observant to have crumbs from the honey cake someone smuggled to her earlier still dusting her cheeks.

Odrian didn’t even try to deny it. He just tugged at one of her braids—gently—as he dropped into a crouch beside her.

“And you,” he countered, “are committing acts of geological warfare against my fellow commander and king.”

Stella blinked once before slowly, deliberately, unsticking her tongue from where she’d been ‘testing’ the rock’s ‘mineral content.’

“He started it,” she muttered before adding, devastatingly, “And you stole Mama’s honey cake!”

“Oh, now she snitches—” Dionys said behind them.

Odrian held out a hand. “Truce. I’ll smuggle you two honey cakes tomorrow if you tell me which rock is your favorite.”

Stella considered the offer for a moment before slapping her palm against his in enthusiastic agreement. “Deal! But you have to carry General Crunch.”

Dionys’ despairing wail was glorious.

─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─

Alessia chewed thoughtfully on the last of her honey cake, listening to the commotion and not even bothering to stifle her grin.

She exhaled, leaning back carefully against the pillows as the muffled sounds of Stella-induced chaos continued outside. The pain was a dull, insistent presence, far enough removed from her that it wasn’t the only thing she was aware of.

She could hear Stella’s triumphant giggles, Dionys’ exasperated groans, and Odrian’s stupid, smug voice encouraging it all.

It should have felt absurd. It was absurd. She was wounded, half-starved, had only barely escaped being hunted like a frightened hare. Yet in the tent, with the scent of honey clinging to her fingers and her daughter’s delighted mischief ringing in her ears, something dangerously like hope had settled in her chest.

She should have been worried. Her position was temporary at best, dangerous at worst. The whims of kings could be fickle, and their kindness—this lightness—wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. War still loomed. Men with lions and roosters on their shields still prowled.

Walus still hunted.

But …

Her daughter was laughing.

And for the first time in years, so was she.

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