Chapter 34 Thoughts of the Captured
Lyanna
They walked us at dawn.
Not because the road was kinder then—it wasn’t—but because the guards preferred us cold and stiff. My breath steamed in thin clouds. My ankles protested before the sun had risen high enough to warm the stones.
I kept my head bowed and my steps even. The caravan had turned northwest two days earlier, leaving the main trade road for narrower paths that cut through scrubland and scattered woodland. We were not near any border yet. Not near anything.
Just deeper into land that was not mine.
Day twenty six.
Or nine.
The rhythm blurred—march, halt, count, ration, march again.
As I walked, I pressed my palm briefly to my stomach. Casual. Fleeting. Hidden by the fall of my cloak.
Reassurance.
Ahead, a wagon wheel struck a rut and jolted hard enough to rattle the chains at its rear. One of the younger omegas stumbled at the sound. A guard snapped at her to keep pace.
She did.
I did not look.
Looking invited attention.
The disappearances had begun the second night beyond the capital walls. Quiet summons after dark. One or two led away at a time under pretense of questioning or labor reassignment.
They always returned before dawn.
They did not speak.
Bruises did.
The path narrowed as morning stretched on, roots breaking through packed soil. Wagons slowed. We were ordered to walk single file behind them.
When the first halt came near midday, it was in a shallow clearing bordered by scrub and low trees. Not shade—just less wind.
I lowered myself carefully to the ground. My calves trembled from the incline we had climbed earlier. The child shifted faintly inside me—or perhaps it was only my stomach turning again. The nausea had grown worse with the motion of the wagons these past two days.
I adjusted my veil, making sure no pale strand had escaped.
To my left, one of the younger omegas wrapped her arms around herself.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“You are doing it,” another said flatly.
“You saw Mara.”
Silence.
Yes. We had all seen Mara.
Then one of the older omegas leaned closer. “There’s a way to make it easier.”
A few heads tilted.
I kept my gaze lowered.
Alphas,” she said quietly. “They love to think they’re not like the others.”
Bitterness threaded her tone.
“They love it when you look at them like they’re your only shield. Like they’re stronger. Smarter. Different.”
A few shifted.
“They can’t resist it. Make one feel chosen, he’ll guard what he thinks is his.”
“Guard?” someone murmured.
“Territorial,” she corrected. “If each of us secures one, he won’t let the others near.”
“My mouth tightened.
Another gave a humorless laugh. “There are more of us than them.”
“Then choose carefully.”
“And when he gets bored?” someone countered. “Or trades you?”
A murmur spread.
“It’s better than waiting to be dragged.”
“They’re animals,” someone muttered. “Use them.”
My mouth tightened.
Not because I objected to survival.
But because of the way the word swept them all into the same shape.
Because it brushed too close to one face in particular.
I pushed the thought away.
The woman beside me leaned closer. “If you have one guard under your thumb, he won’t let the others touch you.”
I kept my expression blank.
Another omega shook her head. “You think they’ll divide us evenly? This isn’t a festival.”
Voices sharpened.
A shadow fell over us.
“Enough,” a guard barked. “You want to lose water for gossip?”
Silence snapped into place.
He lingered, then stepped away.
For a time, no one spoke.
Then, quieter than before, one of the older omegas said, “What about the noble?”
My head lifted before I could stop it.
Her chin angled downslope toward the mounted officers.
Toward him.
A few made small sounds of curiosity.
“He hasn’t taken anyone,” someone observed.
“Not once.”
My pulse faltered.
“Most of them have,” another added. “At least once since we left the capital.”
“That one?” A tilt of the head. “He only comes close for headcounts.”
He did.
Eyes scanning, never lingering long enough to be accused of preference.
“He probably has someone waiting for him back home.”
A scoff.
“Duty doesn’t stop a Drakovian man.”
Soft laughter followed.
“Maybe he actually loves his omega.”
More laughter.
“Love? You think they know what that is?”
Heat crept up my throat.
I had no right to defend him.
My mate’s face rose unbidden—smoke, shouting, bodies hitting stone. My kingdom had fallen to men wearing his colors.
I pressed my nails into my palms until the sting steadied me.
“Maybe he prefers male omegas,” someone offered.
“There are only a handful. He barely glances at the rest of us.”
Something hollow opened beneath my ribs.
Was that why?
Was that why he stepped back first? Why his hands hovered instead of claiming?
Because he did not see me that way.
The thought unsettled me more than it should have.
I rubbed absently at my chest and winced when the motion aggravated the soreness beneath my bodice. I dropped my hand quickly.
“Or maybe,” another voice said lightly, “he can’t.”
A pause. A smirk.
“You know.”
Stifled giggles.
“Impotent?”
Laughter sharpened.
My spine went rigid.
They were wrong.
The certainty rose before I could stop it.
They did not know him.
They did not see the restraint in him like I did. The deliberate distance.
Anger flared hot and useless in my throat.
I rose abruptly and stepped away before my face betrayed me. I lay on my side with my back to them, one arm folded beneath my head, the other resting lightly over my stomach.
“You won’t listen to foolish talk,” I told the child silently. “You’ll know strength when you see it.”
A prickle crept up my spine.
I opened my eyes.
Across the clearing, he stood apart from the others. The wind tugged at his cloak. His posture was straight, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
He was not watching the guards.
Not the wagons.
Me.
My hand dropped from my stomach at once. I rolled onto my back as if stretching, eyes lifting to the pale sky.
Had he seen?
The whispering near me faltered.
“He’s looking this way.”
“Is he angry?”
I wondered too.
I did not look again.
But I felt it.
Intent.
When we resumed walking, one of the omegas ahead slowed deliberately as he passed on horseback, exposing her throat.
He did not turn.
Another brushed near the line of officers.
No reaction.
I told myself the tightness in my chest was fatigue.
Nothing more.
By late afternoon the trees thickened. He rode nearer to the walking line now—close enough that I could hear the quiet shift of leather when he moved.
He did not look at me.
But I felt the thread of his awareness.
It tightened when I stumbled slightly over a root.
Loosened when I righted myself.
A silent accounting.
“If I were you,” the omega beside me murmured later, “I might choose him.”
Choose him.
As what?
Protection?
Leverage?
I had not chosen him.
And yet—
My gaze lifted of its own accord at dusk when he dismounted.
For a moment—brief, deliberate—his eyes found mine.
Not by accident.
This time I did not look away immediately.
I held his gaze.
Long enough to know it had not been imagination.
Long enough to feel the quiet pull of it settle somewhere beneath my ribs.
Then I lowered my eyes first.
But I carried the weight of his attention with me when darkness finally fell.