Chapter 67: Chapter Sixty-seven

Chapter 67

Lia’s POV

The world felt fragile, as though the walls of Duskwood itself were made of glass. Every breath carried the weight of unspoken fears, every moment stretched into a thread that could snap without warning. Edgar’s body was betraying him in small, steady ways; sometimes his hands trembled when he tried to lift even the lightest cup, sometimes his voice caught as though the simple act of speaking demanded too much.

I had learned to disguise my own fear in the presence of others. Around Elena, I spoke with determination. Around Edgar, I smiled, touched his arm, and whispered encouragement. But inside, I was breaking.

And then came the morning everything shifted.

It started with something small: the faintest flutter low in my belly. At first, I ignored it, telling myself it was the exhaustion of sleepless nights or the sickness of too much worry. But the days stretched on, and the signs became undeniable, waves of nausea that struck with cruel precision at dawn, a weariness that clung to me despite rest, the strange, instinctive awareness that my body was no longer mine alone.

The truth came slowly, but once it took root, it would not leave me. I was carrying Edgar’s child.

I pressed a trembling hand against my abdomen, staring at my reflection in the basin’s water. My face was pale, eyes rimmed with shadows from nights spent watching over him, but beneath that exhaustion, there was something else. Something fierce. Something alive.

For the first time in weeks, I smiled. Not because the world had grown lighter, it hadn’t, but because within me, a piece of Edgar lived on, strong and untouchable.

But almost as quickly as joy came fear.

The council. Brie. Connor.

If they discovered this, if they learned that Edgar’s legacy had already been secured, they would stop at nothing to take it from me. They had already tried to poison him, already moved in the shadows to strip him of his strength. What would they do if they knew the future Alpha grew quietly inside me?

The thought turned my blood cold.

That night, I stayed longer in Edgar’s chambers. He had fallen asleep, his breaths shallow but even, his hand lax in mine. I should have told him then. Should have whispered the truth into the stillness and watched his eyes light with something other than pain. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Because telling him meant giving him hope, and hope was dangerous.

If he clung to it too tightly, it could break him when the council struck again. If he leaned on it as his reason to fight, he might falter under its weight. And if, if the goddess was cruel enough to take him from me, then that same hope would become a knife lodged in my chest.

So I swallowed the words, letting them burn on my tongue, and kissed his forehead instead. He stirred faintly, his eyes half-opening, and for a moment I thought he saw right through me.

But he only whispered my name and drifted back into sleep.

The days grew harder after that. Edgar’s condition was unpredictable, some mornings he could walk the corridors, shoulders squared against weakness, while others left him unable to rise from the bed without help. The poison had missed its mark, but it had left him hollow, worn down like stone beneath a river’s endless current.

Through it all, I kept my secret.

Elena asked questions, sharp, suspicious glances when she caught me pressing a hand to my stomach, or when she noticed I ate less during meals. I avoided her eyes, deflecting with excuses, because even she couldn’t know. Not yet.

Instead, I poured myself into protecting him.

Every cup was tasted before it touched his lips, every dish inspected. I memorized the faces of every servant who entered his chamber, marking those who lingered too long, who avoided my gaze. At night, I sat awake while he slept, one hand on his chest, the other curled protectively over my abdomen. Two lives to guard now. His and ours.

And always, in the shadows of my mind, the fear grew louder.

One evening, Elena cornered me in the corridor outside the council chamber. Her eyes were sharp, her tone quiet but heavy with warning.

“You’re hiding something.”

I froze, forcing myself to meet her gaze. My heart hammered, but I didn’t answer.

She studied me for a long moment before sighing. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll find out eventually. Just remember, Lia, secrets can be weapons, but they can also be shackles.”

Her words followed me like a ghost.

I knew she suspected. Perhaps even guessed the truth. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud, because once I did, the secret would no longer be mine to guard.

And guarding it felt like the only power I had left.

The council didn’t stop. Their whispers grew louder, their stares bolder. I heard them in the halls, speaking of Edgar as though he were already a memory, a ghost haunting Duskwood until someone finally buried him.

Sometimes I wondered if they smelled it on me, the shift, the change, the tiny heartbeat pulsing within me. Wolves could sense such things, after all. But if they did, they said nothing. Not yet.

And so I lived each day balanced on a blade’s edge. Protecting Edgar, hiding my child, smiling when I wanted to scream.

Hope and terror warred inside me, neither willing to yield.

One night, when the moon hung heavy and pale over the fortress, I sat alone by the window. Edgar slept behind me, the steady rise and fall of his chest a rhythm that kept me tethered.

I pressed both hands over my abdomen, closing my eyes.

“I’ll protect you,” I whispered into the silence. “Both of you. Whatever it takes.”

The words were a vow, heavier than any oath I had ever sworn.

Because even as the walls closed in, even as enemies circled unseen, I had something they didn’t.

A secret.

A spark.

A future worth bleeding for.

And though I was afraid, though the darkness pressed hard against me, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

They would not take this from me.

Not while I still breathed.