Page 36

Numbness engulfs me, punctuated by heartbreak.

“Fine.” I turn on my heel before I crumble completely.

My steps feel leaden as I retreat across the courtyard, tears slipping down my face.

I pause at the threshold, wanting him to stop me, to say this is a misunderstanding.

But all I hear is the hush of the estate, broken by a distant, echoing footstep. He doesn’t call me back.

I stagger down the corridor, sobs clawing at my throat.

Servants cast me nervous glances, sensing my distress, but none dare approach.

My room feels cold and unwelcoming as I pack the meager belongings I own—two changes of clothes, a few personal items, the jade comb he once gifted me.

My fingers tremble as I clutch that comb, recalling how it felt to see his face light with quiet pride when he placed it in my hands. Now, the memory cuts like a blade.

At some point, Sahrine appears at my doorway, guided by her cane. She tilts her head, sensing my turmoil. “Child, what are you doing?”

I gather the comb into a small pouch, swallowing back sobs. “Leaving,” I rasp. “He... he ordered me to go.”

Her mouth parts, shock clouding her blind gaze. “Why would he?—?”

My tears resurface, making my voice raw. “Because he thinks it’ll keep me safe from Velna and the council. He’s ‘setting me free,’ but it feels like... banishment.” The last word shreds my composure, fresh tears sliding down my cheeks.

She exhales, shaking her head. “Oh, foolish warlord. He thinks it’s mercy.” She steps forward, placing a hand on my arm. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

I wipe my face with the back of my hand, chest heaving. “No. He’s determined to cut all ties.” My throat burns. “I have to go, Sahrine.”

Her grip tightens. “Then accept my blessing. May you find safety beyond these walls.” She hesitates. “He truly believes it’s the only way.”

I nod, choking on grief. “I know.”

With that, I sling my small satchel over my shoulder and leave the estate’s halls for the last time, silent tears falling.

The gates open, and I pass through, the guard on duty looking pained but saying nothing.

One step onto the overgrown path, and I realize I have no real plan.

The future stretches ahead as a terrifying unknown.

My feet carry me away, each step a fresh wound.

The sky overhead hangs in a somber gloom, thick clouds threatening rain.

I walk until the manor’s high walls vanish behind the dense foliage of the surrounding jungle.

My heart feels as though it’s left a piece behind in that stone fortress, caged with the warlord who demanded my departure.

The path leads to the outskirts of Nagaland, weaving through marshy forests and gnarled roots.

Occasionally, I spot a traveler or a small settlement, but I keep my hood up, face lowered.

Naga roam these lands, along with other creatures, and I’ve no illusions of safety.

But it’s not fear of the wild that eats at me most—it’s the hollow ache of Vahziryn’s rejection, the memory of his warmth replaced by stark emptiness.

I push onward for days, living off sparse rations.

Loneliness crawls through my veins, each morning I wake curled under a makeshift shelter of leaves and branches.

I can’t recall ever feeling this directionless.

Even as a servant, I had a place. Now, my only identity is the woman he cast out.

My tears run dry, replaced by a gnawing hollowness.

Eventually, the path leads me to a rundown waystation near the border of Nagaland.

It’s a cluster of ramshackle huts and a dusty inn, where stray travelers stop before venturing deeper into foreign lands.

My meager coin buys a night’s rest on a pallet that smells of old straw and mildew.

Exhausted, I lie there, staring at the ceiling’s cracked beams, mind swirling with memories: his tail wrapped around my waist, the first time he touched me, the quiet vow in his eyes.

A wave of nausea hits me then, rolling up from my stomach.

I scramble outside to retch, heart hammering.

This has happened more than once since I left, especially in the mornings.

Perhaps the stress is making me ill, or the poor diet of dried rations.

Each time it passes, I feel weaker, drained.

Shaking, I return to my pallet, a faint dread gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. Something isn’t right with my body.

The next day, the sickness intensifies. My limbs feel heavy, and a clammy sweat coats my forehead.

Sipping water from a crude cup, I hunch in the corner of the inn’s single common room, ignoring the curious stares of a few passing travelers.

My mind drifts to improbable worries—what if I caught some jungle fever?

Or is it the heartbreak itself turning my stomach?

As evening falls, I force myself to eat a little soup.

No sooner does it hit my stomach than I gag, rushing outside to empty it all.

That’s when a glimmer of realization surfaces in my dazed mind.

My monthly cycle. It’s late—far overdue, in fact.

I press a trembling hand to my abdomen, dread coiled with a flicker of astonishing hope.

I find a quiet spot behind the inn, away from prying eyes, and crouch there, pressing shaking hands to my belly.

The possibility that I carry his child tears through me like lightning.

My entire body trembles with fear and a faint, miraculous warmth.

Could it truly be? My monthly cycles weren’t always punctual, but this, combined with persistent nausea, can’t be coincidence.

If I am pregnant with Vahziryn’s child, the implications are staggering.

A half-naga, half-human child. The council would brand it an even greater abomination.

Velna and her allies would pounce on such evidence.

My heart hammers, remembering how the council treats any mixing of naga blood with human.

They consider it a grotesque betrayal. Yet I can’t quell a surge of fierce protectiveness.

This child, if real, is ours. A testament to a bond no law can erase.

Stricken with uncertainty, I slump against the inn’s rickety wall, tears burning my cheeks again.

What do I do now? Vahziryn forced me away to spare me from politics, but if I carry his child, I can’t disappear forever.

I sense the child’s existence would uproot every plan he made to keep me safe by distance.

The notion of continuing alone, carrying this baby in the wilderness, terrifies me.

Yet returning to him risks everything. The council’s wrath would ignite anew, Velna’s blackmail sharpened.

But can I bear raising a half-naga child without the father’s protection, haunted by the knowledge I abandoned him as well?

My thoughts swirl in chaos, exhaustion stealing my breath.

After a sleepless night of vomiting and fretful pacing, I accept the truth.

I can’t let fear of the council strip me of the life growing within me, nor can I bear the thought of Vahziryn never knowing.

Even if he pushed me away in a misguided attempt to protect me, this is his child too.

Dawn arrives with pale sunshine cutting through the remaining gloom.

I muster what remains of my resolve, pack my scant belongings, and slip out of the inn.

My limbs still feel unsteady, but a grim determination steels my spine.

My path leads back to him. I must tell him, consequences be damned.

If the child is truly half his, we’ll face the storm that follows.

The alternative is drifting alone in a hostile land, perpetually in hiding.

My journey back is grueling, slowed by bouts of sickness and a heaviness in my limbs.

But each mile I cover, the hollow ache inside me shifts to a fierce resolve.

It’s not just about love or heartbreak anymore.

A child binds us beyond any vow or tradition.

If the council sees it as a crime, so be it.

I won’t let them snuff out this new life.

Days pass in a blur of fatigue and uneasy sleep.

Nights bring nightmares of the council dragging me into shackles, or Velna smirking as she tears my child away.

Still, I persist, forging onward with trembling steps.

My single guiding light is the knowledge that Vahziryn must learn the truth.

No matter his misguided desire to exile me, he deserves to know we’ve created something that transcends the constraints of species or law.

At last, the distant outline of his estate’s walls emerges through the thick canopy.

My heart clenches with mingled relief and dread.

How will he react? Will he be furious I defied his command?

Will he think I’m lying to manipulate him?

My nails bite into my palms as I approach the gates, recalling the moment I left with tears streaming down my cheeks.

A guard stands at the gates, eyes widening in shock when he recognizes me. He hesitates, uncertain whether to let me inside. Before he can decide, the gate swings open, revealing Crick, crossing his arms as he steps forward. His mismatched scales gleam in the sunlight.

“Mira,” he mutters, face dark with concern. “You... what are you doing here?”

I swallow, every muscle quivering. “I need to see Vahziryn. It’s urgent.”

Crick’s gaze flicks over my haggard appearance, the shadows under my eyes, the unsteady grip on my satchel. “He told me you left. Are you sure this is wise?”

My chest feels tight. “Doesn’t matter if it’s wise. It’s necessary.” My hand drifts to my belly in an involuntary gesture. I can’t say the words yet, but he picks up on the motion, a faint spark of realization crossing his features.

“All right,” he concedes, stepping aside. “But be careful. He’s been... volatile since you left. Steer clear of Velna if she’s around.”