Chapter 55: The Carriage

Azura’s POV

The world hadn’t moved.

That’s what it felt like, standing there with Torin’s words still hanging in the air between us, warm and dangerous like smoke from a fire that hadn’t gone out. My skin was prickling, that strange crawling sensation that started at the back of my neck and worked its way down my spine.

I turned slowly.

And there he was.

He was still standing near the stables, close enough to Isadora that anyone watching would think they were a couple. His hand rested at her waist, casual and possessive, a touch that should have meant nothing to me. But his eyes weren’t on her.

They were on us. On Torin.

From across the courtyard, I couldn’t make out his exact expression. The distance was too great and the morning light fell at the wrong angle. But I didn’t need to see his face clearly. I could feel the heat of his stare pressing against my chest from thirty feet away.

"Why is he looking at us like that?" I murmured, barely realizing I’d said it out loud.

Torin followed my gaze. He was quiet for exactly one second, then looked away like the sight of Rhydor’s anger was something he found boring. But the easy warmth that had been in his voice moments ago was gone, replaced by something harder and quieter.

"Don’t worry about him," he said.

Simple words. But the edge underneath them told a different story entirely.

Isadora was saying something to Rhydor, her lips moving quickly, her hand on his arm. He wasn’t listening to a single word. His jaw was locked tight, his gaze fixed, like the rest of the world had gone silent and the only thing that existed was the space between him and us.

Then Silas’s voice cut across the courtyard like a blade.

"Alpha! We’re ready to move out!"

The spell broke.

Rhydor’s eyes shifted toward Silas. He gave a single sharp nod, then turned back to Isadora and said something low, his words swallowed by the noise around us. The stamping of horses, the shouts of warriors, the heavy thud of supply crates being loaded onto carts.

Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead.

A small thing. A quiet gesture. It felt like a hammer to my ribs.

I looked away before he could pull back. I stared at the ground instead, breathing slowly through my nose, keeping my face blank. I would not let him see it.

Liona made a sound beside me, low and restrained, not quite a growl but close enough.

"I could go over there," she muttered.

"Don’t."

"I’m just saying it wouldn’t take much to..."

"Liona."

She pressed her lips together and stayed put.

When I looked up again, Rhydor was already walking toward his horse. His strides were long and purposeful, his back already turned to Isadora. He didn’t look back at her. Didn’t glance over his shoulder, didn’t offer a wave or a smile or any of the small things people give when they actually hate leaving someone behind.

He just walked away.

Isadora remained near the stable doors, arms wrapped around herself, watching him go. Even from this distance, I could see the hurt in the way she held herself, the careful lift of her chin.

A small, bitter part of me thought, good. Let her feel it.

I immediately felt terrible for thinking it. But not terrible enough to take it back.

"Come on," Torin said, stepping closer. The playfulness was back in his voice, though it sat a little differently now. "Let’s get you two settled before Rhydor reorganizes the entire group and forgets the two of you exist."

Liona laughed, and some of the tightness in my shoulders loosened.

We followed him across the courtyard toward the carriage. It wasn’t elegant. It was built for long roads and rough terrain, the wood dark and solid, the wheels thick with iron reinforcements. Function over everything else. Two large horses were already hitched to the front, stamping impatiently.

Torin pulled the door open and stepped to the side.

"Ladies," he announced, with an exaggerated ceremony.

Liona bit her lip against a smile. He helped her up the steps, steady and patient, and I watched the blush crawl up the back of her neck as she scrambled inside and sat down quickly, tucking her hands in her lap like she needed something to do with them.

Then he turned to me, offering his hand.

"Your chariot awaits, my lady."

"It’s a carriage," I told him.

"A chariot is just a fancy carriage with fewer walls."

"That’s not even close to being true."

"It could be true. We’ll never really know."

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth moved. I took his hand, his grip warm and steady, and stepped up into the carriage. The inside smelled of cedar and old dust, the padded benches worn smooth from years of use. Wooden boxes were tucked under the seats. Small windows on each side with leather flaps that tied open for air.

Simple. But it would do.

Torin was about to close the door when a shadow fell over it.

I looked up.

Rhydor sat on his horse just outside, looking down into the carriage. The morning light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the straight bridge of his nose. His expression gave away absolutely nothing.

His eyes found mine immediately.

Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. The whole noisy courtyard kept going around us, but inside that look, everything went strangely quiet.

Then he turned to the coachman sitting up on the box.

"Keep it safe," he said. Cold and commanding, like he was talking about goods. "No stops unless I say so."

"Yes, Alpha."

Seriously?

His eyes came back to mine for one more second. Then he pulled the reins and rode away toward the front of the group without another word.

I stared after him.

Keep it safe. Not keep her safe or keep them safe. ’It’. Like the carriage was the only thing worth mentioning. Like Liona and I were just contents inside a box, things to be moved from one place to another without damage.

I turned away from the window and looked at my hands in my lap.

Stop it, I told myself. Stop looking for something in a man who already told you exactly what you are to him. Meaningless.

Liona was watching me with that expression of hers, the one that said she’d seen everything and was being polite about it.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

"Fine," I said, and made sure it came out steady.

She nodded and let it go.

The carriage lurched forward without warning, and we both grabbed our seats at the same moment. The frame groaned as the wheels rolled over the uneven courtyard stone, then smoothed out as we hit the dirt road.

Liona laughed, bright and startled, catching herself on the bench edge.

"Here we go," she said, breathless.

"Here we go indeed," I agreed quietly.

I leaned toward the window and untied the leather flap, letting the morning air come in. The pack house was already shrinking behind us. Those heavy stone walls that had felt like a cage for so long looked smaller with every second. Pack members lined the road, some waving, some just standing still with that expression people wore when they were trying to hold a moment in their memory.

My eyes found Genevieve before she found me.

She stood on the front steps, perfectly still among all the movement. Her silver hair caught the breeze, and she held herself the way she always did, like the world moved around her and not the other way around. Our eyes met through the window, and she didn’t wave, didn’t call out. She just looked at me for a moment, then gave a single slow nod.

Be safe.

I nodded back. And then she was gone, swallowed by distance and dust.

****

The trees closed in on either side of the road. The noise of the village faded and was replaced by the rhythm of hooves, the creak of the carriage, and the occasional voice of a warrior riding past outside. The world became smaller and simpler, just the two of us swaying on worn benches with golden light slipping through the open window.

We sat in comfortable quiet for a while. I watched the trees and tried not to think too hard about anything.

Then Liona shifted.

"So," she said. "Torin."

I looked at her. "What about him?"

She chose her words carefully, I could see it in the slight pause before she spoke. "I think he likes you. Really likes you."

I opened my mouth to dismiss it and then stopped. Closed it again. Thought about the way he’d said ’you deserve better’ this morning, the sincerity underneath the easy smile, the way he’d looked at Rhydor with quiet challenge in his eyes.

"Even if that’s true," I said carefully, "he’s not my type."

Liona raised an eyebrow. "Your type."

"I mean it. And even if he did have feelings, I’d turn them down. I can’t do that to him or to myself. My life is already a disaster, Liona. I’m not dragging someone kind into it."

She was quiet for a moment, studying me. "You’d really say no? To someone who actually cares whether you’re breathing?"

"Yes." I looked out the window. "Because he deserves someone who can give him a whole heart. Not whatever I have left."

Another pause. Then, so softly it was almost swallowed by the sound of the wheels: "Really?"

"Really." I looked back at her. "But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you get his attention. So don’t worry about that part."

Her head snapped up. The blush came back instantly, spreading all the way to her ears, and she looked away quickly like that would hide it.

"Azura..."

"I saw you this morning," I said, and I was smiling now, a real one. "You were glowing when he helped you up those steps."

"I was not..."

"You absolutely were. Your whole neck and face went red."

She groaned and pressed both hands to her cheeks. "It was warm outside."

"It was early morning."

"The sun was bright."

"Liona."

She dropped her hands, and the laugh that came out of her was half embarrassed and half something softer, something hopeful. It was the best sound I’d heard all day. We spent the next stretch of road talking about nothing important, her laughter filling the small space between us, and for a little while, the weight I carried felt lighter.

And then the carriage stopped.

Not slowly. Not gradually. It stopped hard and suddenly, jerking us both forward in our seats. I grabbed the bench edge, my heart jumping into my throat.

Liona and I looked at each other.

Outside, the easy chatter of the warriors had gone sharp and urgent. Horses shifted. Someone barked an order I couldn’t make out. And then, cutting through everything else, came a sound that made the hair on my arms stand up.

Silence.

Complete and total silence.

The kind that had weight. The kind that meant something was very wrong.

I reached for the leather flap on the window, my fingers not quite steady.