Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 157: Idiot

Chapter 157: Idiot

The soft cooing sound pulls me from a restless, shallow sleep. I blink a few times, disoriented and tired, my body already on high alert. Cooing? A bird? The sound is out of place in the usually quiet palace chambers. Reflexively, I turn to check on MiMi. She’s nestled peacefully in her crib, a little smile playing on her lips, as if she’s dreaming of something wonderful. The sight softens my heart. At least she’s having a good dream. I run a gentle hand over her tiny fingers, feeling the tension in me ease—only slightly.

But now, the noise is bothering me again. The culprit. My eyes snap to the window, and I see it—a flash of familiar green and blue feathers. I narrow my eyes in disbelief. Could it be? Grape? That fat, greedy bird?

I move to the window, still half-convinced I’m dreaming or hallucinating from lack of proper rest. But there, perched on a nearby tree branch, is a bird that can’t be mistaken. It’s definitely Grape, with his plump body and that infuriatingly condescending gleam in his beady little eyes. I swear, no other bird in existence has such a disdainful expression.

My heart stutters, and hope flares in my chest. Grape’s presence can only mean one thing: Ben is here, in the capital. And if Ben is around... then Thorne must be here too. Thorne. Just the thought of his name sends my heart into a frenzy. Thorne must be looking for me. My hands shake slightly as I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside me. If Thorne is here, then hope isn’t lost. My faith in him has never wavered, but the waiting, the endless days of uncertainty, have worn me down.

But the king, that cunning tyrant... he wouldn’t make it easy. He wouldn’t let Thorne find me, not without a fight. He must think he’s hidden me well enough in the royal palace, but Thorne will never give up. I know he won’t.

I rush around the room, searching for something—anything—that might entice the greedy creature closer. My hands land on a plate of fresh fruit, and I pick it up.

"Look at what I have here," I say in a sing-song voice, holding the plate out to the bird. Grape’s eyes glimmer with recognition, and I can’t help but smile. The way he eyes the fruit hungrily is exactly the same as I remember. Only that stupid, gluttonous bird could look so offended and greedy at the same time.

He swoops down, flying right into the room, and I waste no time slamming the window shut behind him. Relief crashes into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. The scent hits me then—Thorne’s pheromones. They cling to Grape’s feathers, faint but unmistakable. The warm, familiar scent wraps around me, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. My knees give out, and I sink to the floor, tears streaming down my face.

Thorne. He’s here. He’s really here. I’ve always known he would come for me, never doubted it, not for a second. But living in fear, in captivity, wears a person down. The relief is so overwhelming, so powerful, that I start laughing even as I cry. My chest aches, but I don’t care. I grab Grape and bury my face in his feathers, inhaling that precious, familiar scent. The bird squawks indignantly and flaps his wings, but I don’t let go. I laugh harder, feeling years of tension break loose.

After what feels like an eternity, my tears finally dry up, and I take a shaky breath. I’m still clutching Grape, who has given up his struggle and is now eyeing me with an annoyed glare. I gently release him, wiping the remnants of tears from my face.

I need to think. Thorne must know I’m somewhere in the capital, but if he knew exactly where—if he knew I was being held in the royal palace—he’d already be here, tearing the place apart. That means he’s still searching, and I have to be careful. The king is as clever as he is cruel. Any slip-up on my part could lead to him locking me away even more securely or moving me somewhere Thorne will never find.

I stand up and glance back at the window, my pulse quickening when I notice a guard outside, eyes lingering too long on my room. Suspicion is a dangerous enemy here. I force myself to calm down, taking deep breaths. I have to get a message to Thorne, but I can’t make it obvious.

I rummage through the small writing desk, finding a scrap of paper and a pen. Carefully, I write one word: Banquet. It’s the king’s birthday in two weeks, a rare opportunity that might give Thorne the opening he needs. I roll the paper into the tiniest scroll possible and tie it securely to Grape’s leg. He lets me do it without protest, too busy pecking at the grapes I’ve laid out.

I spend the rest of the night restless, anxiously waiting for the morning light. Every creak and sigh of the old palace makes me jump, but I force myself to hold it together. MiMi needs me calm. When dawn finally breaks, I get up and begin my routine, playing the part of a composed, devoted parent. It’s a role that I have perfected, and now, more than ever, it must be convincing.

I leave MiMi with Mona, who has always been a steadfast presence, a loyal ally in this twisted place. She takes MiMi from me with a gentle smile, and I murmur a few words of gratitude. Then I head down to the kitchens, careful to appear relaxed, unbothered, and completely ordinary.

I make MiMi’s porridge myself, as I always do, refusing to let anyone else touch her food. I don’t take risks with my daughter’s safety. I’m meticulous in every step, and no one would suspect that I’m planning anything more than a healthy breakfast. But while I work, I quietly slip some strands of dried grass from my pocket. The same dried grass that is spread thickly around this place, that I used to start countless winter fires with Thorne. It’s highly flammable, igniting quickly with even the smallest spark.

I can still picture those cold nights on our hill, Thorne’s deep laugh as we huddled by the fire, wrapped in warmth and safety. It’s that memory that gives me the strength to keep going.

Only a few strands would be enough to start a blaze, but I use a whole handful, shoving them into the firewood stove when no one is watching. Then I grab MiMi’s porridge and leave, walking casually, as if nothing is out of place. I barely make it back to my room before a loud explosion rocks the palace.

Chaos erupts immediately. I hear the startled shouts of chefs and servants, the pounding of footsteps as everyone rushes to the kitchen to see what happened. I break into a run, heading straight to my chambers, my heart thundering. When I arrive, Mona is there, clutching MiMi tightly to her chest, shielding her. Relief washes over me at the sight. My daughter is safe.

"Thank you," I whisper to Mona, my voice raw. She nods, her expression fierce with protective determination. I set the porridge down and head to the window. As expected, the guards have left their posts to help with the commotion. I hurry to my closet and retrieve Grape, who is perched there, looking at me with a familiar air of disdain.

Mona’s eyes widen in recognition, but she quickly masks her surprise. I give her a playful wink and, with a final whisper of encouragement to the bird, I shoo Grape out the window. He takes off into the sky, disappearing into the distance, carrying my message. I watch until he’s safely gone before I let myself relax.

Now, I can breathe. I turn back to MiMi and scoop her into my arms, her small hands reaching for my face. I smile at her and begin feeding her breakfast, tuning out the chaos coming from downstairs. The palace staff is still scrambling to contain the damage, but here in our little bubble, it feels almost peaceful.

An hour later, the head guard comes knocking at my door. My instincts flare, and I pull MiMi close to my chest, holding her protectively. "Yes?" I say, my voice cold and unyielding.

"Your Highness," the guard says, his tone suspicious but carefully controlled. "Some of the servants reported seeing you flee the kitchen shortly before the explosion."

I meet his gaze, icy calm. "I was making my daughter’s porridge," I remind him. "I do it personally every morning, as you well know."

The guard’s eyes narrow. "I mean, but—"

I cut him off sharply. "Are you asking me why I ran to my child when I heard an explosion?" My voice rises, laced with outrage. "You’re questioning why an Omega father’s first instinct is to protect his daughter at the first sign of danger?"

He flinches at my anger, caught off guard. "I understand," he says quickly, his demeanor shifting uneasily.

"What you should be doing," I continue, my voice dripping with disdain, "is ensuring that this never happens again. Instead, you’re here, accusing me of... what? That I somehow timed the explosion of the firewood oven, throwing in oil that conveniently decided to ignite minutes after I left?" I shake my head. "You may be the king’s loyal dog, but I would expect at least a sliver of intelligence."

The guard looks chastened, backing away. "Excuse me, Your Highness," he mumbles, retreating from the room. I don’t bother responding, only pat MiMi gently on her back, calming her.

Idiot.