Chapter 29 Escape?
Lyanna
When I woke, I was moving again.
No—being moved.
My eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, and then the unfamiliar ceiling swam into view. Soft lamplight cast gentle shadows across carved wood and stone. The scent in the air was clean—soap and herbs, not damp straw and iron.
I was in someone’s arms.
Right. Elias’s arms.
He was walking, speaking over his shoulder to someone I couldn’t see. “Have a bath drawn. Warm, not hot. And fetch a healer—now.”
My heart stuttered, a sharp, stupid thing.
A bed came into view, large and draped in dark linens. Elias approached it, and instinct screamed through me. My muscles tensed, fingers digging into his coat before I could stop myself. The fabric was solid beneath my grip. Real. Too real.
He felt it immediately.
“Hey,” he said, stopping short.
He looked down at me, and something in his expression shifted—not soft, exactly, but careful. Measured. Like a man stepping onto uncertain ground, testing whether it would give way beneath him.
“Can you stand on your own?”
He repeated it slowly, deliberately, shaping the words so I could read his lips.
I hesitated. My body didn’t trust itself. Then I nodded.
He lowered me carefully until my feet touched the floor. The moment he released me, the room tilted. My knees buckled, and I swayed.
His hand shot out—
—and stopped, hovering inches from my arm.
He didn’t touch me.
The space between us felt strange. Respectful. Or restraint. I wasn’t sure which frightened me more.
I caught myself with a sharp breath and made my way to the bed, sitting stiffly on the edge. The mattress dipped beneath my weight, far too soft, far too foreign. It felt like a lie—comfort I hadn’t earned and didn’t trust.
My hands moved immediately.
How did you know where I was?
Why did you tell them?
Why did you tell them who I am?
The signs tumbled out sharp and frantic, clumsy at the edges. Panic made my fingers careless. I hated that he could see it.
Elias watched them, jaw tightening. When I finished, he stepped closer and gently took my hands, pressing them down into my lap. The contact was brief but grounding, a truly strange feeling.
Enough, he signed. Not now.
Frustration clawed up my throat. If not now, then when? When everything had already been decided?
He continued, slower this time. Like I told you before, it was only a matter of time before they found out. We needed to show them it wasn’t an advantage they could exploit.
Not protect.
Exploit.
His gaze lingered on my face, then dropped to my cheek. His hand lifted, hesitated, and then cupped my jaw with surprising care, his thumb brushing near the tender skin without pressing. I couldn't help the shivers that went over me.
Does it still hurt?
Is the baby all right?
The question stole my breath.
Even Vespera had noticed his interest. The way his attention always drifted.I wondered suddenly, irrationally, if he had a child of his own. If that was why his focus sharpened so dangerously whenever my hand went to my stomach.
Our eyes locked. Something stretched between us, taut as cord. Unspoken things pressed against my ribs, threatening to crack them open.
The door burst open, startling me.
The healer rushed in, flanked by maids carrying a large tub and steaming pails of water. The room filled with quiet, efficient chaos.
Elias stepped back at once, creating distance so clean it almost hurt.
“She can’t speak,” he told the healer. “Use signs.”
The healer nodded, already moving toward me. Her hands were deft, her expression brisk but kind as she examined my cheek, applying a cool salve that eased the worst of the throbbing. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself until the relief made me sag.
I answered her questions, but my gaze kept drifting back to Elias.
He stood near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, watching everything with hawk-like intensity. Measuring. Recording. As if this, too, would be used later.
“She fell,” he said. “From her chair.”
He didn’t say they hit her.
He didn’t say the Triune.
“Please check the baby.”
My stomach twisted. The word please sounded like a fracture in his control.
The healer glanced between us, then gestured for me to lie back. We’ll need to examine you properly.
I hesitated.
My eyes flicked to Elias before I could stop myself. I hated that instinct. Hated that I needed reassurance even now.
The healer noticed.
“You should excuse us, my lord,” she said gently.
Elias met my gaze for a long second. Something passed between us—warning, promise, regret. Then he nodded sharply and left without another word.
The door closed.
As the healer worked, I stared at the ceiling, counting each breath. The memory of the interaction still echoed in my head.
Her hands pressed lightly against my stomach. About four months, she signed after a moment. The baby is small, but alive. Strong enough.
Relief crashed through me so hard my vision blurred. My chest hitched, and I had to turn my face away so she wouldn’t see how close I was to breaking.
You’ve bruised your side, she added. You need to be more careful. And you need to eat more—for your child’s sake.
I nodded, swallowing hard as I pulled my gown back into place. For the child’s sake. Everything, now, came back to that.
There was a knock.
Elias re-entered.
"Well?” he asked.
“She’s fine,” the healer said. “And so is the baby.”
Then she looked at him—really looked.
“You should be more careful with the mother of your child.”
The words hung, heavy and unmistakable.
Elias went still. Just for a fraction of a second—enough to notice.
“Once again,” he said evenly, “I trust you will be discreet.”
The healer bowed and left with the maids.
Silence settled, thick and charged.
I sat on the bed. Elias stood in the centre of the room, hands clasped behind his back, distance drawn like a line between us. Not avoidance—containment.
How is your face? he signed.
I answered.
We remained there, suspended. The air felt brittle, like it would shatter if either of us moved wrong.
Finally, he exhaled. I’ve made a decision.
I looked up.
You’re not safe here anymore.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. The irony nearly hurt. But there was a question I had to ask.
Why? I signed.
They crossed a line today, he said. One they won’t walk back from.
That wasn’t an answer.
Why me? Why now?
His gaze flicked—briefly, tellingly—to my stomach.
Then away.
You were always going to be a problem to them, he said carefully. An unclaimed noble omega. Pregnant. Without a patron powerful enough to shield you indefinitely.
Indefinitely.
So he’d thought about this before. Long before tonight.
No, he said immediately, then stopped himself. His hand curled at his side. That’s not what I meant.
He dragged a hand through his hair, paced once, then stilled.
I can’t protect you here, he admitted. Not without turning you into exactly what they want.
The realization chilled me.
So you’ll send me away.
Yes.
Firm. Final. Costly.
There’s an escorted transfer leaving tomorrow evening, he continued. Omegas being moved to the border holdings. Official.
Tomorrow.
The longer you stay, he added, the more attention you draw.
And attention was dangerous.
You’re not telling me something.
His eyes snapped to mine.
For a heartbeat, something raw slipped through—old grief, sharp and unresolved. Something he carried and refused to share.
There are things you don’t need to carry, he said. This is one of them.
Not can’t.
Don’t need to.
I didn’t believe him.
The Triune won’t allow it. They want to give me to the prince.
I won’t allow it.
The certainty in his hands startled me.
We leave tomorrow evening.
And you?
The question hung.
I have business at the border, he said at last. Too smooth. Inspection duties.
A lie. Not a complete one—but not the truth.
I’ll make sure you arrive safely, he finished. After that, your path is your own.
A sharp pain twinged in my side. I flinched.
Elias noticed immediately.
Take a bath. Change. Rest.
He looked like he wanted to say something else.
He didn’t.
Once I was alone, I locked the door. Closed the window.
The bath waited—warm, scented, clean. I sank into it and finally let myself break.
When I was done, I climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow.
I was halfway to sleep when something tapped against the window.
Once.
Then again.
Slower.
Intentional.
I didn’t move.
Outside, a shadow lingered—long enough to remind me that leaving did not mean escape.