Chapter 28 He Doesn’t Ask Permission
Lyanna
Elias didn’t ask permission.
One moment, I was still reeling from the conversation, the echo of the crack ringing louder in my ears than the shouting that had followed, and the next his arms were around me—solid, unyielding, impossibly warm. I barely had time to gasp before my feet left the ground, my skirts falling around his forearms.
The absurdity of it almost stole my breath more than the pain.
My arm curled instinctively against his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric of his coat as the world tilted. I was vaguely aware of voices—raised, startled, angry—but none of them dared stop him. Not when he moved with that expression carved into his face, all hard lines and contained fury.
He didn’t look at them.
He didn’t look at me, either.
My cheek throbbed with every heartbeat. I swallowed, blinking rapidly, my vision blurring as he carried me out of the room. I hated that my body reacted before my mind could catch up—clinging, trusting, seeking balance where there should have been none.
What happens now?
The question spiralled uselessly in my head as he carried me through the doorway and into the hall.
The doors behind us shut with a final, echoing thud.
Torches burned low along the stone walls, their flames guttering as if startled by our passage. I caught fragments of faces as we moved—guards straightening too quickly, servants freezing mid-step, eyes widening before snapping away. One man opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it. Another shifted aside without being asked.
No one spoke. No one blocked our path.
No one dared.
That frightened me more than the shouting had. Power like this—quiet, unquestioned—was never gentle for long.
The corridor felt longer than it should have. Dimmer. My head lolled slightly against Elias’s shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his breath grounding me even as my thoughts scattered. Leather. Steel. Smoke. Him. His heartbeat was slow. Measured. As if nothing had gone wrong at all.
As if I hadn’t.
I had been dragged into that room in the afternoon.
I remembered sunlight spilling through tall windows. Dust motes hanging in the air. The heat pressing down on my skin, the way time had felt suspended there—waiting.
When we stepped outside, the air bit.
Night had fallen fully—deep and vast, the sky stretched wide above us, stars scattered like cold pinpricks of distant fire. The contrast was so sharp it stole my breath yet again.
Shock jolted through me.
So much time had passed.
The evening bells should have rung. They must have. The realisation settled heavily in my chest as Elias descended the steps without slowing, without loosening his hold. Gravel crunched beneath his boots. Somewhere behind us, a gate creaked open—and then shut again just as quickly.
I twisted my head slightly, trying to see.
No one followed.
No shouts. No pursuit. No echo of boots on stone.
Why was it this easy?
The thought scraped at me, raw and uneasy. Nothing involving the Triune was ever this clean.
I tried to lift my head properly, to take it all in, but Elias adjusted his grip, tucking me closer as if it were instinct. As if he’d done this before. His chin dipped, just enough that his voice brushed my hair when he spoke quietly to the night.
“Now.”
The word wasn’t for me.
The carriage waited at the edge of the courtyard, lanterns glowing softly. The driver stiffened when he saw us, then scrambled down to open the door. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t look surprised. Elias knocked once—sharp, deliberate—against the side of the carriage, and the driver changed position immediately, reins shifting in his hands.
A route chosen.
A decision already made.
The knowledge sent a small, helpless shiver through me. Whatever came next, I was already inside it.
Elias ducked inside first—and only then lowered me.
Onto his lap.
My body jolted.
Heat rushed to my face as I squirmed immediately, mortification flooding through me. The space was too small. He was too solid. Too warm. My hands moved before I could stop them, signing clumsily as I tried to push myself upright.
Put me down.
He caught my wrists—not roughly, not tight—just enough to still them. His gaze flicked to my face for the first time since he’d lifted me, intent and sharp, as if cataloguing damage. His mouth moved, slow and deliberate, so that I could read it.
“Don’t.”
The word landed heavily.
“You shouldn’t stress yourself,” he continued quietly. “Rest.”
The carriage shifted as the door closed. Darkness pressed in, broken only by the faint sway of lantern light through the window. I tried again to move, to slide off him despite the ache in my side and the way my head swam. He didn’t restrain me further.
He didn’t need to.
He was immovable as stone.
Outside, the carriage lurched forward. I felt the turn of the wheels in my bones.
“I’ll wake you when we get home.”
Home.
The word lodged somewhere deep in my chest, sharp and confusing. Why would he think that? The last place that word had been spoken to me, it had meant walls and silence and obedience dressed up as care. I wanted to sign, to demand answers, to tell him not to name things he didn’t own.
Not me. Not this.
The question barely formed before exhaustion seeped into my bones, heavy and inescapable now that there was nowhere left to run.
My body became suddenly aware of every ache, every bruise. The warmth of him seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, steady and inescapable. Against my will, my head tipped forward, coming to rest against his shoulder.
The carriage rattled over stone, lantern light swaying faintly through the window. I tried to stay upright. Tried to remember that this was dangerous. That safety like this was rarely free.
That protection always came with a price.
But my eyelids grew heavy.
And for the first time since they had taken me, nothing was pulling at me. No hands. No voices. No expectation.
Despite myself, my body yielded—just a little—to the warmth of him, solid and unmoving in the dim sway of lantern light. His grip didn’t change. He didn’t comment. He didn’t look down.
He simply stayed.
And with the last of my resistance spent, my eyes slid shut.
Just for a moment, I told myself.
Just to close my eyes.