Chapter Seventy-eight

Chapter Seventy-eight
Chapter 78

Lia’s POV

Morning sunlight poured through the high windows of Edgar’s chamber, gilding the bed in a soft glow. For the first time in days, he slept without tossing, his breathing steady if still too shallow for my liking.

I sat beside him, one hand resting against the sheets, the other protectively brushing across my stomach. I had not told the rest of the pack yet, not officially, that I carried Edgar’s child. The words had burst from me yesterday in a blaze of fury and desperation, but that didn’t make them less true.

Now, in the stillness of dawn, the truth felt heavier than ever.

A child. His child. Our future.

I glanced at Edgar’s face, pale against the pillow, framed by dark hair that had once seemed so untouchable in its strength. The curse might have been broken, but weakness lingered in his veins. His body had not caught up with the freedom his spirit had found. Some days it terrified me to see how fragile he seemed.

But fragility was not weakness. Not in him. Not anymore.

I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and whispered, too softly for him to hear, “I’ll keep us both standing. Even if I have to stand against the whole world.”

The chamber was quiet but for the faint crackle of the fire. And yet, beneath that quiet was something else. A weight. A shift in the air I could not name.

It had begun yesterday, after my outburst in the courtyard. The pack had fallen silent, then bowed. In that moment, I had thought victory was mine. That my words had carved space enough for me to breathe without fear, for Edgar to recover without being smothered by whispers.

But as the day dragged on, I saw the looks. Too fleeting to accuse, too sharp to ignore. Elders with their thin smiles, warriors bowing with eyes that lingered too long. Not open challenge. Not anymore. But something worse.

A silence too deep.

A stillness that felt like the pause before the strike.

I rose from Edgar’s bedside, pulling a cloak over my shoulders. Elena would be waiting for me in the lower halls, she had insisted I eat, though food rarely seemed to stay down these days. Another reminder of the life growing inside me.

I paused at the door, glancing back at Edgar one last time. He would not wake for hours yet. He needed the rest.

I needed to pretend I wasn’t unraveling.

The halls were quieter than usual, the bustle of morning dulled. Servants bowed as I passed, but their gazes slid away too quickly. I tried not to let it burrow beneath my skin, but every glance carved another notch of unease into me.

When I reached the small dining chamber, Elena was already there, her auburn hair braided back, her arms folded across her chest as though she had been waiting longer than she admitted.

“You’re late,” she said, but her voice softened when she saw my face. “Did he sleep?”

I nodded, sitting heavily across from her. “Better than before.”

She gave a faint smile, though worry shadowed her eyes. “Good. That’s good.”

The servants brought bread, fruit, broth, setting them before us with a bow. I stared at the plates, my stomach tightening at the sight. Hunger and nausea waged their usual war within me.

Elena reached across the table, resting her hand over mine. “Lia, you don’t have to bear all of this alone.”

I met her gaze, swallowing hard. “I’m not alone. I have Edgar. I have you.”

“Yes,” she said gently. “But you also have a pack that is watching your every move. Some with admiration, others with suspicion. You’ve shaken their world, Lia. They won’t all forgive you for it.”

I stiffened, my shoulders tightening beneath my cloak. “Let them watch. Let them seethe. I won’t let anyone touch me, or him, or the child.”

Her eyes flickered down to my stomach, then back up. “You realize what that revelation means, don’t you? Yesterday you spoke from rage, but now it’s out there. You carry the Alpha’s heir. That will unite some, but for others, it will only paint a larger target on your back.”

The words stung because I had thought them myself. But saying them aloud, hearing them spoken with such clarity, made the walls press closer.

“I won’t hide,” I whispered.

Elena’s hand squeezed mine. “I know. And that’s why I’ll stand beside you. But you must also be clever, Lia. Fire alone cannot protect you. You’ll need stone. You’ll need patience. And you’ll need to choose carefully who you trust.”

I closed my eyes briefly, breathing deep. She was right. She was always right. But the thought of slowing, of tempering my fire with caution, it grated. I had lived in silence too long.

Still, the silence around me now was not safety. It was something far more dangerous.

I forced myself to eat, if only a little, to keep Elena from fretting. Every bite tasted of ash.

Later, as I walked the outer gardens, the whispers reached me again. Not words, never words, not where I could hear. But the sudden halts in conversation when I entered, the way shoulders stiffened, the way eyes flicked and fell.

I paused by the fountain, letting the sound of water soothe me, though my hands curled tight in my cloak.

They feared me. Or they hated me. Or both.

But either way, they would not touch me.

I pressed my palm against my stomach, a swell of fierce protectiveness rising. They would not touch us.

A shadow stirred at the edge of the garden. I turned sharply, but found no one there. Only the rustle of leaves, the faint snap of a twig.

Paranoia, perhaps. Or maybe not.

The elders would not sit idly after what I had done. Of that, I was certain.

And so I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and walked back inside with steps that rang against the stone. If they watched, let them see strength. Let them see fire.

Even if inside, I trembled.

That night, as Edgar stirred faintly in his sleep, I sat by the fire, cloak drawn tight. I kept vigil not just for him, but for myself, for the child, for the promise I had made.

Patience, Elena had said.

Patience was not in my nature. But if patience was what it took to outlast the shadows gathering beyond these walls, then I would learn it.

For him. For us. For the child who would inherit a world that I intended to make safe, even if I had to burn it down first.

And as the firelight flickered across the stone, I whispered again into the silence:

“I will not fall.”