Chapter Eighty-eight

Chapter Eighty-eight
Chapter 88

Lia’s POV

The mornings had become the hardest.

I woke to the emptiness beside me, the sheets still cool where Edgar should have been. Once, he would rise with me, wrap his arms around me, tease me for being slow to leave the bed. Now, when my hand reached out instinctively, it met nothing but silence.

The child inside me stirred faintly, a flutter so delicate I wasn’t sure if it was real or just my own nerves. I pressed a hand to my stomach, whispering in the quiet. You deserve a father who isn’t a ghost of himself.

But Edgar’s absence weighed more than his presence these days.

When I found him later, he was in the courtyard, moving with a stiffness that made my chest ache. He trained with two of the younger wolves, but it was clear he wasn’t the man he used to be. His strikes landed slower, his breath shorter, his shoulders tight with strain.

The others didn’t see it, at least, they pretended not to. They laughed, cheered, admired him as always. But I saw the falter in his step, the way he concealed a cough with his sleeve.

He caught me watching. His jaw tightened, and just like that, the mask fell back in place. He dismissed the sparring and walked past me without a word.

That silence cut deeper than any blade.

At midday, Elena tried to distract me, chattering about fabric for the baby’s clothes, about the latest squabble among the pack women. I nodded, smiled when required, but my mind was elsewhere.

How much longer could I go on pretending this distance didn’t hurt?

Every night I tried. I reached for him, asked small questions, offered small comforts. And every night he closed off, deflecting with half-truths or silence.

Brie’s gaze had been sharper than usual too, the way she studied me, studied him. She knew something. But when I pressed, she only said, “Patience, child.”

Patience.

I was tired of patience.

By evening, the bond between Edgar and me felt frayed. I sensed him brooding in his study, though I didn’t intrude. If I did, I knew the look he’d give me, the same guarded one, the same not now.

Instead, I walked the corridors alone. The castle felt colder than usual, shadows stretching long under the moonlight. My footsteps echoed, lonely and restless.

I thought of the promises we’d made when he pulled me back from Duskwood, when he swore nothing would ever separate us again. Yet here we were, separated not by distance, but by walls he kept building.

The child fluttered again, stronger this time. A reminder. A demand.

I whispered to the life inside me, If he won’t give us the truth, I’ll take it myself.

That night, I waited until I was sure Edgar had gone to bed. But the light from under his study door told me otherwise. He hadn’t slept in days; I knew it. His body was failing, but still he pushed, still he hid.

I stood outside the door, my hand hovering over the wood. My pulse raced. Part of me wanted to barge in, to demand answers, to shake the truth from him.

But another part knew: if I pushed too hard now, he would retreat further.

So instead, I turned and walked away, my resolve hardening.

If Edgar couldn’t tell me, I would find the truth elsewhere.

The days that followed sharpened my determination. I watched. I listened. I pieced together fragments, his strained exchanges with the elders, Brie’s cryptic warnings, the way Edgar avoided speaking of Connor even when his name surfaced.

The picture forming in my mind was incomplete, but it was enough to chill me. Something threatened us, something beyond his weakness, beyond the curse Brie had lifted. And Edgar, in his stubbornness, carried it alone.

But not for much longer.

One evening, as I sat by the fire, Elena asked if I was well. I nodded, but my hand lingered over my stomach again.

I have to know. For both of us.

Elena’s voice faded into the background as I made my decision.

I would stop waiting.

If Edgar wanted to keep his silence, then I would break it myself.

The next morning, I rose before dawn. I dressed quietly, wrapped a cloak around me, and slipped through the corridors. The air was crisp, the castle still asleep.

But I wasn’t going to Brie this time. I wasn’t going to Elena either.

I would start where Edgar never wanted me to look, the elders.

They held pieces of truth he feared me knowing. And I would find them, even if it meant forcing their hands.

As I stepped into the dawn-lit courtyard, my resolve burned steady.

No more shadows. No more silence.

If Edgar would not fight for our truth, then I would.