Chapter 66 The Signs I Didn’t See
Chapter 66 The Signs I Didn’t See
66: The Signs I Didn’t See
I used to think war was the hardest thing I would ever survive. Turns out I was wrong. War is simple. You know who the enemy is. You know where to strike. You know when to run.
Palace politics, however, is just war in prettier clothing.
From the balcony of the half-rebuilt Dravenmoor fortress, I watched scaffolding rise like skeleton ribs against the gray sky. The clang of hammers echoed across the courtyard as masons and soldiers worked side by side. Grandlewood banners fluttered everywhere, gold and emerald beautiful, smug, and unwelcome. Today, they were helping us rebuild. Tomorrow, they will try to own us.
And down below, in the middle of it all, stood Lucian.
My Lucian. Except lately he didn’t feel like mine.
He was surrounded by Grandlewood officials and Dravenmoor generals, directing everything with the deadly grace of a born Alpha. He bent over maps, pointed at stone placements, gave orders, broke arguments and never once looked up to see me watching him.
It shouldn’t have hurt. He wasn’t ignoring me. He was rebuilding a kingdom with fire still fresh in its bones. But something sharp twisted in my chest anyway.
I pressed a hand to my sternum.
There it was again.
Pain… then nausea… then nothing.
Stress, I told myself. Probably hunger. I hadn’t eaten properly since breakfast unless chewing on anger counted as calories.
Down below, Narissa was standing a little too close to Lucian, her emerald gown glittering obnoxiously. She pointed at architectural plans like she had been here for more than twenty-four hours and suddenly knew everything about Dravenmoor. Lucian leaned over the table beside her, explaining something.
Something in me dipped, not jealousy, not insecurity, something older. Something that felt like déjà vu, like a memory of losing something I once loved beyond reason.
I pushed the thought away and gripped the balcony railing.
I was fine.
I was just tired.
And emotional.
Very emotional.
Ridiculously emotional.
I wiped my eyes. Why was I even crying? The wind wasn’t that dramatic.
A throat cleared behind me.
“Elijah to the rescue, again,” I muttered without turning.
He stepped beside me, hands behind his back, eyes observing the courtyard like a general evaluating a battlefield. “How many times have you cried today, milady?”
I didn’t look at him. “None.”
“You cried at the bakery when they ran out of cinnamon rolls.”
“That was a tragedy, Elijah.”
“You cried when the stable boy brought you a puppy drawing.”
“It was adorable.”
“And five minutes ago you cried because you dropped your scarf.”
“It fell with such… betrayal.”
He inhaled slowly, like he was counting to ten. “Shall I discreetly fetch a healer?”
“No.”
“A priest, then.”
“Elijah, I’m simply overwhelmed.”
He paused. “Do you need water?”
“No.”
“Food?”
“No.”
“A nap?”
“Absolutely not. I am a grown woman, not a toddler.”
He stared. “Have you eaten today?”
“Yes,” I said proudly.
He waited.
“…I had a grape.”
Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose like I was giving him a migraine. “You need proper rest and proper food. If anyone asks, I will say you are in strategic recovery.”
“That sounds like I’m planning a coup.”
He raised one eyebrow. “If you are, please include me.”
I laughed unexpectedly, genuinely and for a moment, the world didn’t feel so heavy.
Until another wave of nausea hit.
I sat down so fast I nearly took Elijah with me.
He knelt instantly. “Milady?”
“I’m fine,” I squeaked, gripping the stone floor.
“You are not.”
“Maybe just… dizzy. Or hungry. Or allergic to Grandlewood.”
He didn’t smile. His voice softened in that rare way he reserved for when he cared too much. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”
“And Lucian is pushing himself even harder,” I whispered.
Elijah didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Down below, Lucian didn’t even see me.
By evening, the sun had turned the sky blood-red, and the smell of stone dust clung to everything. I walked through the corridors, ignoring the nobles who looked at me with thin-lipped politeness. They were waiting, waiting for me to trip, to break, to disappear so Narissa could slide into place like a perfectly polished dagger.
My stomach flipped again. I stopped, clutching the wall. Footsteps approached light, soft, purposeful.
Narissa . Of course.
Her voice rang with sickening sweetness. “Lady Aria, you look pale. Are you unwell? You seem… fragile.”
“Thank you,” I said dryly. “That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear.”
She tilted her head, pity gleaming like polished poison. “If you’re struggling with the duties of Luna, I’m sure Queen Mother would understand. Dravenmoor needs someone strong right now.”
There it was. Not subtle. Not even trying. Her eyes shone with triumph like she already imagined herself wearing my crown.
I stepped closer until she had no choice but to meet my eyes. “Do not mistake exhaustion for weakness. I survived death, displacement, betrayal, gods, curses, and war. I promise you, darling… I can survive you.”
Her expression cracked. She left in a rustle of silk and irritation. I should have felt victorious. Instead, my knees almost gave out.
Lucian found me an hour later, but only by accident. He was coming down the hallway, cloak still dusty from the courtyard, smelling of metal and smoke.
His face lit up the second he saw me, finally but the look came too late. The ache had already taken root.
“Keira,” he said softly, and he gathered me into his arms before I could decide whether I wanted to be touched or not. “You’re shaking. What happened?”
“Nothing,” I whispered into his chest.
Because I didn’t want my pain to become another burden he had to fix.
He pressed his forehead against mine, eyes full of worry. “If something’s wrong, tell me.”
The words almost slipped out…
I’m scared… I feel alone… I’m losing myself…
but I swallowed them.
He couldn’t carry everything. And I couldn’t bear to be one more thing he needed to repair.
“I’m just tired,” I said instead.
He kissed my knuckles with reverence. “Then rest. For me.”
And then someone called his name from the stairs. He hesitated. Then he stepped away. Not by choice. By duty.
“I’ll come back tonight,” he promised. I nodded even though we both knew he wasn’t sure he could. He left. And the cold rushed in behind him.
That night, I collapsed onto the bed. The blankets cocooned me, and for a moment, I wished the world outside didn’t exist and wished politics, alliances, and expectations would disappear.
I was somewhere between waking and sleeping when the air shifted.
The room brightened not with firelight, but with something softer. Bells chimed like tiny silver stars.
I sat up, startled and froze.
They were everywhere. Fae.
Dozens of them, gowns flowing like moonlight, wings shimmering with stardust, eyes glowing with ancient warmth.
My heart thundered. “Am I dreaming?”
“No, our Goddess,” said the one with silver hair crowned in light. “You are awakening.”
They moved around the bed like wind and song and memory. Their beauty should have been terrifying but instead, I felt… safe.
One lifted her hand near my chest, not touching, just sensing.
The warmth spread through my body. Soft. Gentle. Consuming. And then I felt it. A second heartbeat. Inside me. I forgot how to breathe.
The silver fae smiled with unbearable tenderness. “Life responds to life. Love answers love. You carry the future of the wolves.”
My fingers trembled against my stomach. “A… a child?”
“Not a weapon. Not a sacrifice. Not a political pawn.” Her voice was lullaby and thunder. “A miracle.”
My eyes blurred. My voice cracked. “Lucian’s?”
“Our blessing,” she corrected. “Born of bond, not of curse.”
The others shimmered brighter.
“But you must keep this hidden,” the silver fae continued. “There are those who will destroy what you carry for power. Until the child is strong, secrecy is your shield.”
My tears burned hot on my skin but for the first time today, they didn’t hurt. They felt right.
The silver fae leaned closer, her voice a whisper of prophecy. “When everything turns against you, remember that you were chosen not to survive, but to change the world.”
Light flared gold, white, silver and in an instant, they vanished.
The room was quiet again.
Except for the sound I could feel not hearing the soft rhythm of a tiny new heartbeat. I placed both hands over my stomach. My breath broke into a trembling laugh then a sob then something in between.
“I’m not alone anymore,” I whispered.
Outside, the wind howled against the fortress walls. Inside, for the first time in months… I felt safe.