Chapter 33 The Road Between Us
Elias
The heat hadn’t broken yet, but the dust already clung to everything—wagon wheels, leather harnesses, skin. The sun struck the canvas covers in hard, blinding patches. I rode along the flank of the caravan, cloak loose at my shoulders, watching the line move.
The omegas walked because two wagon ties had “failed” at dawn.
They hadn’t failed. I’d ordered it loosened.
Better they walked in formation where I could see them than remain hidden behind canvas I couldn’t control.
They shuffled in groups, guarded by men who saw cruelty for discipline. Backs bent. Shoulders tight, wrists bound loosely to keep formation. Some stumbled. The road showed no mercy, and neither did Drakovia.
My gaze moved over the line—and returned to her.
It always returned to her.
She kept her hands near her stomach now. Elbows tucked. Steps deliberate. Not weak. Careful. The sun pressed against her bowed head, she could endure through will alone.
She wasn't the smallest among them.
She was the only one who mattered.
I measured her pace against the horses’ gait, against the distance to the next well, against the time before sunset. Not even two months on the road and the strain was already visible. She drank in small, controlled amounts.
Nausea.
She thought I hadn’t noticed.
A Drakovian alpha barked at two younger omegas who faltered near the rear. My presence quieted him before I had to speak. The line corrected itself.
“Lord Elias,” one of the escorts said, riding up beside me. “The formation’s holding. Shall we increase the pace for the smaller ones?”
“No,” I said. “Keep the middle steady. Third wagon gets extra water. Rotate the shade toward the center.”
He frowned at my orders but nodded and fell back.
I didn’t want to look at her directly. I didn’t need to. My awareness of her was constant—like the road beneath the horses.
She was falling behind.
When we halted at midday, the horses were given shade and troughs. The omegas were not. Dust settled into sweat. Some collapsed where they stood.
She moved toward the shadow of a low wagon and sat, spine straight even in exhaustion. A younger girl dropped beside her, trembling. A guard nudged the girl with his boot.
I lifted a hand.
He stepped back immediately.
I kept walking.
Two men near the supply wagon caught my attention—not guards. Too observant. Too still. Drakovian markings for sure, but wrong posture. Watching the line, not managing it.
Triune rats.
Embedded, and patient.
I memorized their positions without turning my head again. Distance from her. Distance from me. Distance to the nearest bend in the road. If they sent word, we had days at most.
I calculated exit routes while pretending to inspect harness straps.
Again, her movement caught my attention. She shifted in the shade. Slow. One hand pressed briefly to her abdomen before she dropped it as if ashamed of the gesture.
My jaw tightened.
Exposure meant death.
I will not fail—again.
By evening, the light turned red and gold, dust turning the air thick on the marching crew. I adjusted the wagon spacing near her again—subtle, a screen of canvas, more room to breathe.
I told myself it was strategy.
She lifted her cup and drank, hand trembling once before steadying. I frowned despite myself.
Was she eating enough?
I rode closer after dismissing a question about rations. Dismounted. Walked into the thin strip of shade without kneeling, without lowering my head.
I set a full waterskin beside her.
Her fingers brushed mine when she took it.
It was nothing.
It was a spark dragged across dry tinder.
I didn’t look at our hands. I couldn’t afford to. When I finally met her eyes, they were sharp and searching. She lifted her hands slightly—as if to sign.
Someone called my name.
I stepped back.
We couldn't discus our plan. Not with the Triune watching.
Movement at the far edge of camp drew my attention. A figure half-obscured by horses. Watching too intently.
Triune rats again.
My pulse slowed instead of quickened.
So they had noticed her.
Not because of who she was.
Because she stood out.
My jaw tightened.
I remained still. Counted guards. Measured how long it would take to shield her if steel was drawn.
She brushed her veil from her face and lowered her gaze to the cup in her hands, unaware of the shift in air around her.
The road receded.
The wagons blurred.
The men ceased to matter.
All irrelevant.
Only distance between her and danger mattered.
I rested my hand lightly on the hilt at my side.
I would not let them take her.
Not from this road.
Not from me.
I kept my expression cold. Detached. Predatory, if they were watching closely enough.
Let them believe she was cargo.
Let them believe I felt nothing.
But every step she took under that sun pressed into me like iron.
And if they moved first—
I would burn the road behind us to ash.