Chapter 32 Under the Open Sky
Lyanna
We left the capital in darkness.
Dust rose almost immediately. Fine and pale, it clung to skin and cloth, worked its way into mouths and eyes and lungs. The wagons creaked under their own weight, canvas sides snapping softly in the early wind. Chains rattled. Harness leather groaned. Someone retched quietly behind me and was struck for it.
I kept my head down. Just the scrape of boots on stone, the creak of wagon axles being coaxed into motion, the low murmur of guards irritated at being awake when decent people slept.
We traveled through the night.
I lost count of hours somewhere between the second change of horses and the ache that settled into my hips like something permanent. Dawn came without mercy—no gradual light, no softness. Just heat, dust, and the realization that the road did not end simply because you were tired.
By the time the sun crested the horizon, the palace spires were already gone. My mouth tasted like copper and grit. My head throbbed in time with the wagon wheels. Every jolt sent a sharp reminder through my side, down my spine, into my knees.
We did not stop.
Not to rest.
Not to eat.
Not when one of the younger omegas began retching quietly into the dirt, her shoulders shaking as she tried not to draw attention.
We stopped only when the guards decided we would.
And they decided at nightfall.
The camp was assembled with an efficiency that bordered on contempt. Wagons were pulled into a loose half-circle, fires lit with minimal fuel. The omegas were unloaded in pairs, then singly, then not at all gently when patience wore thin.
“Move.”
“Faster.”
“Head down.”
The words blurred together, all barked in the same tone—flat, bored, sharp-edged. We were counted. Recounted. Tallied again when one guard insisted the numbers were off.
I was pulled down from the wagon by the arm. My feet hit the ground wrong and pain flared up my leg, bright and immediate. I bit down on it, forced my breath steady.
Do not fall.
Falling is noticed.
I kept my eyes lowered as instructed. Grey dust coated the hem of my cloak, clung to my boots. Somewhere nearby, an omega whimpered softly when a guard jerked her forward by the collar.
Beyond the circle of firelight, the land stretched wide and indifferent. No palace walls. No watchful courtyards. Just open ground and men who knew they were unobserved.
The Drakovian alphas changed when they left the capital.
Not dramatically. Not all at once. But restraint peeled away in small, telling ways—hands rougher, voices louder, tempers shorter. Orders became shoves. Corrections became blows to the shoulder, the back, the side.
Casual.
Unremarkable.
One of the omegas—thin, sharp-boned, younger than she should have been—stumbled as she was pushed toward the assigned sleeping area. She went down hard, palms scraping raw against the dirt. She didn’t cry out, but she didn’t get up either.
A guard scoffed. “She slowing?”
Another shrugged. “She’s breathing.”
“Barely.”
They stared at her like she was a broken crate.
“Worth stopping?”
My stomach twisted.
The girl’s chest rose and fell too fast. Sweat darkened the fabric at her throat. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused.
I pressed my hand discreetly against my side, grounding myself. Easy. Breathe. Stay still.
The argument dragged on, irritating rather than urgent. No one moved to help her. A boot nudged her calf experimentally.
She groaned.
That seemed to settle it.
“She’ll slow us tomorrow.”
A third guard snorted. “If she makes it that long.”
The fire popped.
Then a voice cut through the noise—quiet, sharp, final.
“What’s going on?”
Everything stopped.
I tried not to turn immediately.
Elias stepped into the firelight with measured strides, his expression unreadable. He surveyed the scene in a single sweep—fallen omega, arguing guards, the subtle tension that tightened the air.
“What’s the delay?” he asked.
One guard straightened. “Omega collapsed, my lord. Debating whether—”
“Unnecessary,” Elias said, cutting him off without raising his voice. “We stop.”
“For—?”
“Logistics.” His gaze never touched the girl. “If she dies, paperwork doubles. We lose daylight tomorrow accounting for it.”
A pause.
“Give her water. Half ration. She sleeps in the wagon.”
Not kindness.
Calculation.
The guards hesitated—then obeyed.
The girl was lifted, dragged rather than carried, dumped near the fire. Water was poured into her mouth carefully enough to avoid reprimand, not enough to be gentle.
Elias stepped back as if the matter no longer concerned him.
He did not look at me.
Not once.
And yet my chest loosened, slow and traitorous, as the tension broke.
I hated that it did.
We were assigned sleeping order next. Names read from tags. Numbers checked again.
I sat on the ground with my back straight and my hands folded in my lap, every muscle screaming protest. Around me, omegas slumped where they were told, too tired to care about posture or pride.
A guard moved down the line, reading names aloud.
When he reached me, he grabbed my arm, hauling me half a step forward.
“Mira,” he read. “Move up.”
The sound of the name disoriented me harder than I expected.
It was not mine.
It was the one they had given me.
No one had called me that still. It was always omega this. Bitch that.
I moved as instructed, heart pounding too loud in my ears. As I passed the fire, my gaze lifted without permission—
And met Elias’s.
Just for a heartbeat.
Something flickered there—recognition, restraint, something tightly leashed.
The guard shoved me aside to make room for another omega.
Elias tensed.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Just half a second.
Then he turned away and resumed issuing orders like nothing had happened.
The fire crackled.
The road stretched on, dark and endless beyond the light.
And I understood, with sudden clarity, that this journey was not about escape.
It was about survival.
And power.
And what it cost to choose how you used it.
The night settled in around us, heavy and unyielding.
This was only the first one.