<h4>Chapter 704: TEN MILLION FIREFLIESS</h4>
THREE
I didn’t run.
Not that day.
Not the next.
I stayed.
And that, I quickly learned, was the most dangerous choice of all.
I forced myself to breathe through the panic that still sat like a de under my ribs and did what survival had taught me long ago—I performed. I smoothed my face, softened my eyes, and let the fear drain from my posture until I looked like the same tired, grateful daughter they all expected me to be.
When the servants returned, I let them in.
I let them bathe me, dress me, brush my hair until it fell in gentle waves down my back. I smiled when theyplimented my glow. Iughed softly when one of them said pregnancy suited me.
All the while, I watched.
I watched who spoke first when instructions were given and who waited for permission.
I watched who avoided my eyes when my father’s name was mentioned.
Fear wore many faces here.
Some hid it behind obedience.
Others behind devotion.
I noticed how information moved.
Quiet murmurs passed from one servant to another, always upward, never sideways.
I noticed how quickly conversations ended when guards approached.
How doors were never quite left open unless they were meant to be overheard.
This wasn’t a home.
It was a system.
When my father sent word asking how I felt, I replied just as carefully.
Weak.
Still shaken.
Grateful for his concern.
I let myself be seen resting, reclining on cushions with my hand over my belly, ying the part of a woman too fragile to question anything. When training was mentioned, I smiled apologetically and said perhaps in a day or two once my strength returned.
Inside, I rehearsed my lies like prayers.
I’m tired.
I’m dizzy.
The baby needs rest.
I repeated them until they sounded natural even to my own ears.
But at night, when the castle quieted and themps dimmed, I became something else entirely.
I listened.
I pressed my ear to doors, lingered in corridors longer than necessary, learned which staircases echoed and which swallowed sound. I learned which guards rotated at which hours, which ones grewx near dawn, which ones never did.
I started asking questions but never the dangerous ones.
Not directly.
Instead, I asked about supplies going missing. About patrols changing routes. About disturbances beyond the outer grounds. I let curiosity mask intent.
"Are things safe outside the walls?" I asked one maid casually while she folded linens.
She stiffened. "Of course, mydy."
Too quickly.
Another time, while a servant poured tea, I asked, "Do the rebels reallye this close?"
The cup rattled faintly against its saucer.
"I wouldn’t know," she said, eyes fixed firmly on the table. "That’s not something we’re told."
That was answer enough.
I asked about Sofia once, only once.
I framed it gently, as if remembering a passing face.
"There was a maid," I said lightly, adjusting the nket over my knees. "Dark hair. Quiet. I thought she helped me the other night."
The servant’s smile froze.
"There are many maids," she said carefully. "Perhaps you’re mistaken."
I didn’t press.
I couldn’t.
Because every time I drifted too close to the truth, the castle seemed to tighten around me.
Guards appeared where there had been none moments before. Servants became suddenly busy. Doors that had once been unlocked were now barred.
They were watching.
That was when it truly sank in.
This ce didn’t just protect.
It contained.
And still, every night, I watched the window.
I waited.
For the fireflies.
They never came.
Night after night passed in quiet disappointment.
I would sit by the window long after the castle slept, my palm resting on the cool ss, searching the dark for even a single flicker of light.
Nothing.
No glow.
No movement.
No whisper of guidance.
I began to wonder if they had been a one time miracle. Or worse
if I had imagined them entirely.
Hope thinned, stretched fragile.
If I couldn’t find the rebels, I couldn’t find Maelis.
If I couldn’t find Maelis, I couldn’t find the truth.
And if I couldn’t find the truth...
I was trapped.
The realization sat heavy in my chest, making it hard to breathe some nights.
I thought of my mother’s voice, telling me to reach out to bale and trust him.
But how?
I couldn’t leave.
I couldn’t ask.
And I couldn’t risk another disappearance—not now that I knew how quickly punishment followed suspicion.
Some nights, exhaustion won. I would fall asleep with my hand over my belly, whispering apologies to my child for the uncertainty I had brought them into.
"I’ll get us out," I promised again and again. "I just need to know how."
Days passed.
Too many.
Then, on a night when I had nearly convinced myself to abandon hope altogether, it happened.
I was standing by the window, staring out at the empty grounds, preparing myself for another night of nothing when a flicker caught my eye.
I froze.
There.
Just beyond the ss.
A single point of light.
Then another.
Then several.
Fireflies.
My breath hitched so sharply it hurt.
They hovered near the window, pulsing softly, brighter than before, their glow steady and insistent as if they had been waiting for me to notice.
My heart began to race.
They were back.
I nced over my shoulder instinctively, scanning the room for any sign of watchers. The door was closed. The corridor outside silent.
Slowly, carefully, I stepped closer to the window.
The fireflies drifted downward, moving with purpose now, trailing toward the edge of the grounds.
Come.
The message wasn’t spoken but it was clear.
My hand slid to my belly, fingers trembling.
Fear surged.
But beneath it, something else stirred.
Resolve.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This wasn’t imagination.
This was a second chance.
And I knew, with sudden rity, that if I didn’t take it now, if I hesitated again, I might never get another.
I turned away from the window and crossed the room, moving with quiet urgency.
This was my escape
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