Chapter 41 Service (II)
Lyanna
"You! The commander wants you."
The other omegas stiffened.
One of them inhaled sharply.
Another looked at me with something that might have been pity—or envy. It was hard to tell.
I didn’t react.
I stared at him silently. He shouted again, glaring at me.
"S-she's deaf and mute," an omega whispered.
The guard turned to her sharply, making the group flinch. Then he turned back to me and slowly signed for me to follow him.
I climbed down.
If my pulse had quickened, no one needed to see it.
The walk to Elias's tent felt longer than it should have.
Every step drew more attention.
More glances.
When I reached the entrance, the guard stationed there lifted the flap without a word. I stepped inside. The canvas fell closed behind me.
And just like that—
The world outside disappeared. The tent was warmer than I expected.
Quieter.
Elias stood near a small table, his back partially turned as he set something down. He didn’t look up immediately. After all, he had expected me.
When he did turn, his gaze found me without hesitation.
Steady. Unfairly warm.
My hands lifted before I could think better of it.
This is a bad idea.
His brow lifted slightly.
People will talk, I added.
His response came without pause.
Who would question me here?
There was no arrogance in it.
Just fact.
I exhaled slowly, lowering my hands.
He reached for something on the table and held it out.
Food.
Not the rough, dry portions distributed to the rest of us.
Something softer.
Easier.
The smell alone made my stomach twist.
I hesitated.
Sit, he signed.
I obeyed.
Because my body had already decided before my pride could object.
The first bite settled something in me I hadn’t realized had been unraveling.
Warmth spread slowly through my chest. The nausea eased. Not gone—but quieter. Manageable.
I didn’t look at him as I ate.
Didn’t trust what might show if I did.
His presence was too close.
Too steady.
Too aware.
When I finished, he took the empty dish from my hands without comment.
Then—
You will bathe.
I looked up sharply.
The words sat between us, heavy with implication.
My hands slowly, to make sure he understood my point.
That will be noticed.
His gaze didn’t waver.
No one will believe I laid with you like this.
Heat flooded my face before I could stop it.
Not just from the implication.
But from the certainty in his tone.
He knew exactly how this looked.
Exactly what it suggested.
And he had called me here anyway.
My hands stilled.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
His eyes were intense as he stared at me and signed.
Go, while the water is warm.
Then I rose.
Because arguing further would only prolong this.
Because part of me—traitorous, exhausted—wanted it.
The partition was simple. A canvas screen pulled across a narrow space, a basin already filled, a cloth folded neatly beside it.
Prepared.
I noticed that.
And tried not to think too hard about it.
The water was warm.
Not hot—but enough.
When I dipped my hands into it, the sensation alone nearly undid me.
I moved slowly at first.
As though I might be interrupted.
But no one came, no one spoke.
The quiet held.
I washed the dirt from my skin, watching as the water clouded, as the evidence of the road slid away from me.
My shoulders loosened.
My breathing steadied.
After so many long days, I didn’t feel like I was carrying the journey on my body.
When I finished, I dried myself with the cloth and hesitated.
My clothes lay where I had left them.
Worn.
Stained.
Unfit.
Should I wear them back?
I tensed as I noticed a shadow by the partition, hands crossing over my chest.
Elias cleared his throat and held something out.
Clothing.
His.
A shirt.
Dark. Clean.
And—after a brief pause—a pair of trousers.
I took them.
Just for tonight, he signed.
I nodded.
Changing felt… different.
The fabric was softer than anything I had worn in months. It slipped over my skin easily, the shirt falling past my hips, the sleeves swallowing my hands.
The trousers were too large.
I had to fold the waistband over itself, securing it at my hips.
When I stepped out, adjusting the hem instinctively—
He was watching me.
Not in the way men usually did in this caravan.
His gaze lingered too long on my stomach before he looked away.
And that was somehow worse.
I became acutely aware of everything at once.
My bare throat.
My uncovered hair, still damp, clinging in loose strands around my face.
The way the shirt shifted when I moved.
I resisted the urge to pull it tighter around myself.
Lie down, he signed.
I blinked. Was he really?
What are you thinking now? Lie down before you collapse.
Then realized—
I was shaking.
It had been there all along.
A fine, constant tremor running through my limbs.
I hadn’t noticed it until now.
I lowered myself onto the bedding.
The moment I did, the tension in my body began to melt.
Too quickly. Too easily. He moved closer. Then stopped. Something in his posture shifted.
Hesitation.
Then—
May I?
His gaze dropped briefly to my feet. Understanding came a second later.
I nodded.
Slowly, carefully, he knelt.
The movement was simple.
But the position—
It did something strange to the air between us.
His hands were steady as he shifted the trouser leg up.
Gentle. Unassuming. Until they weren’t.
His fingers pressed into the arch of my foot, working through the tension with care.
The relief was immediate.
Sharp enough that I had to bite back a reaction.
I hadn’t realized how much it hurt.
How much I had been compensating.
A soft breath escaped as I leaned into the massage.
His touch lingered just long enough to ease the strain—
Then stilled.
He seemed to realize it.
The intimacy of it.
The position.
His hands withdrew.
Too quickly.
The space he left behind felt colder than it should have.
Neither of us acknowledged it.
Instead, he reached for a small container, applying ointment to my injured leg carefully.
The touch was lighter now.
Controlled again.
Distant.
But the heat lingered.
Under my skin.
In my chest.
In places I refused to examine too closely.
When he finished, he sat back.
Sleep, he signed.
Then he rose and moved to the far side of the tent.
To the table.
Distance.
I lay there, staring up at the dim canvas above me.
And for a moment—
My vision blurred.
Not from pain. Not from exhaustion. But from something far more inconvenient.
Relief.
It settled heavy in my chest.
Unwelcome. Unwanted.
Because it came from him. Because I needed it. Because I might need it again.
I turned onto my side, pressing my face into the bedding to steady myself.
And told myself it meant nothing.
~~~~~
I woke to warmth and movement.
A hand at my shoulder.
Gentle.
“Wake,” I heard his soft voice.
I opened my eyes.
He was closer than I expected.
Close enough that I could see the faint lines of fatigue beneath his eyes.
Close enough that something in my chest shifted again.
We move soon, he signed.
I pushed myself up slowly.
The light filtering through the canvas was brighter than it should have been.
Later.
We should have been moving already.
Realization settled quietly.
He had delayed.
For me.
I didn’t comment.
Didn’t thank him.
Instead, I nodded.
Be careful, he added. I think the triune have made their move.
A pause.
My heart jumped. Was that what had happened with that guard? Were they safe?
Elias’s hand grabbed my chin, lifting my face up. I stared at him with terrified eyes.
They aren’t here yet. If you see anything unusual, tell me.
I held his gaze.
Then nodded again.
I retreated behind the partition to change.
My clothes were cleaner than I remembered.
Not spotless but better.
Enough to make me pause.
Surely he didn't have my clothes cleaned as well.
When I stepped out again, I reached for my veil.
Before I could secure it, he moved closer.
Wait.
His hands lifted carefully.
He gathered my hair, fingers brushing lightly against the back of my neck as he twisted it into place.
The contact was brief.
Barely there.
And yet—
I felt it.
Every point of it.
The warmth of his breath.
The steadiness of his hands.
The focus in his expression.
Too close.
I stepped away the moment he finished.
Too quickly.
Hoping the heat in my face wasn’t obvious.
Hoping he hadn’t noticed.
He didn’t comment.
Just stepped back, giving me space.
I turned toward the entrance.
He grabbed my hand. I turned to him.
You don’t owe me anything.
I didn’t respond.
Because if I did—
I might believe him.
And that would be a mistake.
The flap lifted. Cold air rushed in.
So I stepped out into the morning.
And didn’t look back.
Even as the feeling of being watched followed me all the way to the wagons.