Chapter 4

~Serah POV~

My hands ached, raw from the dagger's hilt and the blade slipped, slicing my palm. "Again!" Tristan barked.

Blood dripped onto the dirt as I bit back a curse. "I'm pregnant, you should take it easy on me."

"Neither excuse nor weakness matters in war." His crimson eyes narrowed. "Again!"

I gritted my teeth, lifted the dagger, and slashed at the wooden dummy. My arms trembled, but the blade cut true. Tristan finally nodded. "Better, you may yet survive long enough to see vengeance."

I dropped onto a log, breathing ragged. "You enjoy torturing me, don't you?"

He smirked. "I enjoy shaping something useful out of wasted potential, note that."

"Charming." I pressed a cloth into my bleeding palm. "And here I thought you cared."

"I don't." His voice was flat, but he handed me clean bandages all the same.

I caught the flicker in his eyes as I tied the cloth, he cared about me more than he wanted to admit. Nights bled into weeks and my belly grew, small but undeniable. Every time I faltered, Tristan's harsh words forced me upright and every time I curled up whispering to the child inside me, I reminded myself: I will endure for us both.

Yet one question gnawed at me. "Why help me?" I asked one evening as the fire crackled.

Tristan leaned back, the cloak pooling around him. "Because vengeance is sweeter shared, I've always looked forward to this day."

"Or is it because I'm a sh*t against Jethro," I countered.

His smile was sharp. "Both can be true."

I shook my head. "I don't trust you a bit."

"Good." His eyes gleamed in the firelight. "Trust makes you weak and suspicion keeps you alive, so don't trust anybody for your own good."

For once, I had no retort and the following morning, one of Tristan's scouts rushed into camp, panting. "My lord, there's news from the capital, Jethro Veylen has announced Lady Lydia as his bride and the wedding will be held under the blood moon."

A hush fell and my pulse thundered. Tristan's gaze flicked at me. "How fitting, he throws away one woman, parades another... what an idiot."

I forced a bitter laugh. "I suppose my mourning period lasted shorter than I thought."

Inside, I burned with pain and anger because he had truly erased me. Cast me out like refuse, and now he would wed Lydia, my stepsister, the one who'd smiled at me with false sweetness while stealing everything from me. I rose to my feet, shaking. "He doesn't deserve to be happy."

Tristan's smile sharpened. "Then make him suffer!"

"How?" My fists clenched. "I'm powerless, a pregnant exile."

"You are a wife scorned and that alone is a weapon sharper than steel." He leaned closer, voicing a low growl. "Crash his wedding, tear the mask from his face before his adoring court."

I exhaled slowly, the image of Jethro's smug grin shattering under my defiance, Lydia's veil ripped away, the nobles gasping, which ignited something savage in me. But then my hand went instinctively to my stomach. "I can't risk my child's life."

Tristan studied me. "Then bide your time and strike when the blade will cut deepest."

That night, I dreamed of Jethro, his hand in mine, his lips whispering vows, then Lydia stepped between us, tearing my hand away as blood poured from my palm, staining her white dress.

I woke up screaming. Tristan was at my side instantly, blade drawn. "What is it?"

"Just a dream," I gasped, clutching my stomach. The baby shifted inside me, a faint flutter.

Tristan's eyes softened briefly before he masked it. "Dreams are warnings, don't ignore them."

I stared at him, startled. "You almost sound like you care."

His mouth twitched. "Don't mistake caution for affection." But as he turned back to his bedroll, I saw the way his hand lingered near me, as if ready to catch me if I fall.

The next day, while practicing with the dagger, a sharp pain ripped through my abdomen and I cried out, collapsing. Tristan was there in a flash, scooping me into his arms. "What is it?"

"The baby..." My voice cracked.

He cursed under his breath, carrying me inside, and the camp healer rushed forward, hands glowing with muted magic.

"She is stressed," she muttered after a tense moment. "The child is strong, but the mother pushes herself too far."

Tristan's gaze darkened. "You'll rest, no more training for now."

I shook my head weakly. "If I stop now, I'll never be strong enough."

"Strong mothers keep their children alive, dead mothers do not! So think Serah." His voice was sharp, but I smelled fear in it.

I blinked at him. "You look… worried."

He set me down gently, scowl deepening. "I'm not, just trying to make sure you're fine, that's all."

But when he turned away, his clenched fists betrayed his word. The camp buzzed days later with fresh whispers, a merchant had passed through with scandalous news that Jethro had ordered hunters to search the outskirts for me.

"Why now, what did he want from me again?" I muttered, pacing.

Tristan's jaw tightened. "Because he fears your silence more than your voice, perhaps he realizes a scorned wife is never truly gone."

The thought chilled me because what if he found me? What if he tried to take the child... not out of love, but to claim his heir? Will Lydia now be the mother to my child? Because I know he won't keep me after giving birth. No! That can't happen, I won't let it!

Tristan watched my fear with calculating eyes. "If he comes, you must be ready to defend yourself else..."

I cut him off. "And if I don't?"

His answer was blunt. "Then I'll be ready to defend you then."

That night, as I sat by the fire, a rustle echoed from the treeline. Tristan's hand went instantly to his blade. "Stay here."

I froze, listening as footsteps too light to be soldiers but sound too quick approaching a figure burst into the muddy space, bleeding, eyes wild. He's a messenger. He collapsed at Tristan's feet. "My lord... the hunters..." He coughed blood. "They know, she's with you, and they're coming here."

My blood ran cold.

Tristan's eyes snapped at mine. "Pack nothing, we leave now!"

My heart raced, hand clutching my stomach. "Where to?"

"Anywhere Jethro's reach cannot follow." His tone left no room for argument.

But as he pulled me into the shadows, the camp scrambled around us. One thought seared into my mind: Jethro would continue hunting me and the next time our paths crossed, it would not be as bride and groom, it would be as predator and prey.