Chapter 25 The Cost of Being Seen

Chapter 25 The Cost of Being Seen
Lyanna

I lay awake long before the bell.
The servants’ chamber was still wrapped in the blue-gray quiet of early morning, the air cool and damp against my skin. Around me, bodies slept—shallow breaths, the rustle of straw, the soft creak of wood as someone turned in their sleep.
This was the third night I hadn’t slept through.
Not since the envoy.
Not since Elias had looked at me and said, They already know you’re here.
I still didn’t know whether he’d meant the Triune—or something worse.
My fingers rested over my belly without conscious thought.
It was becoming obvious.
A curve beneath the fabric. A constant pull low in my abdomen that made every movement deliberate. Proof I couldn’t afford mistakes. Every choice now measured in distance, days, risk.
I counted again.
If I left tonight—no. Impossible. Too many eyes. Too many patrols now. I’d noticed them yesterday: how the outer walk had been doubled, how a guard lingered too long by the servants’ entrance.
If I waited for the weather to worsen… that might work. Fewer eyes. From the outer walls, I could disappear into the woods and keep moving east, village by village, until the air smelled like home again.
If I survived the journey.
My jaw tightened.
Survival was the only thing I’d ever been good at.
My thoughts betrayed me, sliding where I didn’t want them to go.
Elias.
Not what he’d said. What he’d done.
He’d shut the envoy down without hesitation. Not loudly. Not for show. He’d chosen a line and held it, even when it cost him.
I hated that part of me noticed.
Hated that part of me wanted to trust it.
Manipulation had always been safer than honesty. A lever you could pull. A weakness you could exploit. You didn’t need faith for that—just timing.
But Elias hadn’t reacted like a man being maneuvered.
He’d reacted like a man choosing.
The thought unsettled me more than fear ever had.
Should I just tell him?
Ask him.
The idea lodged in my chest, heavy and dangerous. Asking meant vulnerability. Meant placing my fate in someone else’s hands again.
I rolled onto my side, exhaling slowly through my nose.
Never again, a quieter voice reminded me.
The door creaked.
I stilled instantly.
Footsteps crossed the room—careful, familiar. Someone sat on the edge of my bunk, the mattress dipping slightly.
Sera.
I turned my head, relief loosening something tight behind my ribs.
Her face was drawn, eyes shadowed despite the early light. She smelled of soap and linen—already awake, already working.
You’re up early, I signed softly.
She snorted without humor. “Didn’t sleep.”
She leaned closer, voice dropping. “I heard something.”
I pushed myself upright, my heart kicking faster.
What?
Sera glanced toward the far end of the chamber, where other servants still slept, then leaned in until our foreheads nearly touched.
“There’s a shipment,” she murmured. “Omegas. Leaving in two days. Headed back for the outer walls.”
My breath caught.
The outer walls.
Her eyes searched my face. “It’s dangerous. You know that. They lose people on those transports all the time.”
I nodded once. I knew. Cramped wagons. Minimal food. Guards who didn’t care if you lived long enough to arrive.
But they led closer to the border.
Closer to freedom.
Closer to Aeloria.
My hands moved quickly.
That could work.
Sera grimaced. “I figured you’d say that.”
She hesitated, then added quietly, “I also heard something else.”
I stilled.
About Lord Veras.
It wasn’t a question.
Sera sighed. “People are talking. About how he dismissed the envoy. About how he’s been… distracted.”
I looked away.
It’s not what it sounds like.
She arched a brow. “That’s usually what people say when it is.”
I swallowed, then signed more slowly.
He helped me. In his way. He didn’t have to.
She studied me for a long moment, gaze sharp.
“Helping isn’t the same as safe,” she said finally. “Men like him don’t do things without reason.”
I knew that.
I also knew Elias hadn’t asked for anything in return.
That was the problem.
Her voice softened. “I’m not saying he’s a monster. I’m saying you don’t know him. And power always comes with a cost.”
My hands slowed.
My gaze dropped to the thin blanket pooled around my knees. To the faint stains that never quite came out, no matter how hard they scrubbed.
He hadn’t asked for anything.
That unsettled me more than a demand ever would.
Sera noticed.
“Careful,” she said quietly.
I looked up.
Her expression had changed—not sharp now, but intent. Watching for a misstep.
“Men with power don’t always take what they want right away,” she continued. “Sometimes they wait. Sometimes they convince you it was your idea.”
My fingers curled.
He stood between me and the envoy.
I signed it defensively, then hesitated, adding more slowly:
He didn’t have to.
Sera exhaled through her nose. “No. He didn’t.”
Silence stretched between us, dense and loaded.
I felt suddenly foolish—like I’d revealed too much with too little. I shifted, then signed again, smaller this time.
If someone like him offers protection… isn’t it better than none?
The question lingered, heavy and unmistakable.
Sera went very still.
Her eyes dropped—not to my hands, but to my stomach.
When she looked back up, something old and brittle had surfaced in her gaze.
“That’s what I thought too,” she said quietly.
She hesitated, then went on. “I thought I knew someone once.”
I held her gaze.
Her hands twisted in her skirts. “I didn’t tell you before because it wasn’t useful. But… before the pens. Before this place.”
Her jaw clenched. “I was chosen.”
My chest tightened.
“They said it was an honor,” she continued flatly. “That my body was suitable. That my child would live better than I ever had.”
Her voice cracked despite her effort to keep it steady.
“I did everything right. Ate what they told me. Obeyed. Endured.” She swallowed hard. “And when the baby was born too small… they told me it was a blessing. Less to manage.”
I reached for her without thinking.
She leaned into the touch, eyes shining but dry. “That’s why I don’t trust men who look kind when it costs them nothing.”
My hand tightened in hers.
I won’t let that happen to me.
She nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m helping.”
A bell rang in the distance.
Roll call.
She straightened, wiping her face with the heel of her hand. “Come on. Before someone notices we’re missing.”
We filed out with the others, the morning air sharp and bright in the open courtyard. Stone bit cold beneath my feet. The sky above the walls was a pale wash of color.
I barely made it three steps before the nausea hit.
Hard.
My vision swam. The ground tilted. My breath hitched uselessly in my chest.
Sera’s arm was there instantly, firm around my waist.
“She didn’t eat,” she snapped at a nearby servant before anyone could look too closely. “I told her not to scrub floors on an empty stomach.”
I focused on breathing. On not collapsing. On keeping my face neutral while my body rebelled.
A guard glanced our way—uninterested, already bored.
We lined up.
Marek stood near the edge of the formation, one arm ending at the elbow, his gaze sharp beneath his helm. When his eyes met mine, his expression tightened.
Don’t draw attention, his look said clearly.
I nodded faintly.
The roll call ended without incident.
Almost.
I exhaled, a thin thread of relief slipping through my chest.
Two days, I thought. Just two days.
Bootsteps echoed along the courtyard wall.
I felt it before I saw her—the way the air tightened, the way servants straightened instinctively.
Lady Vespera.
Gods. What was that woman doing here?
She moved like a predator at leisure, dark robes flowing, eyes cold and assessing as they swept the line.
They stopped on me—though I had been trying to hide.
A slow smile curved her lips.
“Well,” Vespera said, voice smooth and pleased. “You.”
Her finger lifted, beckoning.
“Come here.”
My stomach dropped.
Elias’s voice echoed in my mind, quiet and certain.
They already know you’re here.
My pulse roared. I took a step back without meaning to.
An arm grabbed mine and I looked up to see a stone faced guard.
Lady vespera's smile widened.
“Careful,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t want to fall.”
My hand flew to my belly as the truth hit me, sharp and merciless.
She knew.