Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 162: Protect

Chapter 162: Protect

My heart threatens to beat out of my chest the moment the king begins his grand descent down the stairs, and it’s not because of him. No, it’s because of the person he has on his arm, the one figure I’ve dreamt of night after endless night for the past two years. My beloved star.

The world narrows to just him, and for a moment, it’s as if time itself has come to a halt. He’s even more beautiful than I remember, and the sight of him steals the breath from my lungs. Those familiar, gentle green eyes are scanning the crowd, searching with an urgency that makes me want to cry out, to shout for him, to tell him I’m here.

He’s dressed in something frilly and ridiculous, a white shirt with so many layers of lace and fluff that it hides the delicate curve of his neck. It’s laughable because I know how much he hates clothes like that—preferring thin, simple silk shirts that feel like freedom against his skin. His hair is styled in an overly elaborate updo, a feminine tangle of curls that I know he despises, and yet, none of it can detract from his breathtaking beauty. Even in that ridiculous attire, he shines brighter than any star. My beloved star.

My hands clench, fury and longing crashing together inside me. The king’s grip on his arm, his audacity to hold Noelle like that—like he has any claim to him—ignites a rage so deep I can barely breathe through it. The king is saying something, some pompous announcement that means nothing to me because I can’t think. All I can do is feel, the tidal wave of emotion threatening to drag me under.

Then, Noelle’s eyes finally meet mine. Relief floods his gaze, and it strikes me like a lightning bolt, nearly bringing me to my knees. I want to run to him, to close the distance between us, to sweep him up and promise that we’ll never be apart again. My body moves on instinct, and I take a step forward, heart pounding with desperate hope.

But a hand on my arm stops me, and I turn to find Duke Remiro, his grip firm yet not unkind. "Thorne," he says quietly, his voice laced with something like understanding. "From the first flash of emotion I’ve seen on your face that’s not anger, I’d wager that newly announced prince must be your husband."

The words slice through me, and I barely hold back a snarl. My instincts are screaming at me to go to Noelle, to fight anyone who stands in my way. But the Duke’s next words hit even harder. "Don’t forget," he says, his voice steady and unyielding. "You have a daughter now. You can’t just rush in without thinking of her safety."

I flinch, the weight of responsibility slamming into me. He’s right, damn it. As much as I want to throw caution to the wind and tear Noelle away from this place, I have to think. I have to protect our daughter, even if it means swallowing this agony.

My gaze locks onto Noelle one last time, and the desperation in his eyes nearly undoes me. He’s being pulled away, his hand reaching back, his eyes pleading. It takes every ounce of strength I have to force myself to walk away, my heart breaking into pieces with every step.

It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, leaving him there, knowing he’s suffering just as much as I am. But for our daughter, for the promise of a future where we can be together safely, I have to hold on. Even if it tears me apart inside.

I rush out of the grand hall, the heavy doors swinging shut behind me as I gasp for air, my hands trembling around the grip of my cane. Callan follows close on my heels, his footsteps a rapid echo of my own frantic pacing. My lungs burn as I try to steady my breathing—inhale, exhale—but my heart thunders too wildly in my chest to calm.

Callan is speaking to a knight, one of Duke Remiro’s men, I think. His voice is low, urgent, and I can barely make out the words over the rushing sound of blood in my ears. Moments later, Callan turns back to me, his face set with a seriousness I’m not used to seeing from him.

"Lily Palace," he says, his eyes narrowing in determination. "He’ll guide us."

I don’t waste a moment. We fall into step behind the knight, slipping through inconspicuous routes and shadowed corridors. The opulence of the palace’s hidden hallways blurs past me, nothing but a backdrop to the fierce anxiety roaring through my veins. Today, I can’t afford to be calm. Today, everything I care about hangs in the balance.

We arrive at Lily Palace, a building that’s luxurious and surrounded by greenery and flowers. The air is thick with tension, and the sight of twice the number of guards stationed at every entrance and window only makes my heart race faster.

Callan glances at me, a rare seriousness softening his usual carefree demeanor. "Go," he says, his voice steady with resolve. "I’ll distract them."

For once, I don’t find him annoying. For once, I’m grateful. Without a word, I slip away, my feet carrying me toward the side of the palace, into the cover of the lush garden. Callan strides confidently toward the guards, his voice ringing out in some elaborate distraction, and I waste no time.

I make my way past several guards, knocking them out as silently as possible. My strikes are quick, precise, and I leave a path of unconscious bodies in my wake. It’s a testament to the restraint I’m forcing on myself—my mercy today is sparing their lives, but only just.

I find an open window, slipping inside with as little noise as I can manage. The interior is grand, draped in finery, but I don’t care about any of it. I just need to find him—and now, I have a way to do it. The familiar pull of Noelle’s pheromones guides me, faint but unmistakable, and I follow the trail like a man possessed, searching room after room. Each door I open feels like a breath held and released, anticipation clawing at me, desperation only mounting.

Then, upstairs, I hear it. The sweet, soft sound of a baby’s babble, followed by the lightest peal of laughter, and I freeze. My heart lurches, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of emotion so intense I can barely breathe. I’m terrified. Terrified of what I might find, terrified of what this means, of the life waiting for me just beyond that door.

I force myself forward, each step heavy with nervous energy. My fingers are trembling as I reach for the handle. I turn it slowly, carefully, and slip inside the room.

And there, in the soft light of the nursery, is the sight that nearly brings me to my knees.

There on the floor, Mona is playing with a toddler, her hair cascading around her face as she coaxes giggles from the little girl. My breath catches in my throat at the sight. Mona—she’s grown taller, her frame slightly more mature but her features still soft with youth. The light in her eyes is wary, though, and she moves with instinctive, protective grace, scooping up the child and clutching her to her chest. The motion is fluid, practiced, and it makes something inside me ache.

Then, she looks up, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, her lips parted in the beginning of a question. When she finally takes in my face, recognition flares in her gaze. Her mouth trembles, and she whispers in a voice so small, so fragile, that it makes my heart splinter, "Mr. Husband?"

I can’t help the sad, exhausted smile that breaks across my face. Tears well in her eyes, and she doesn’t hesitate—she rushes into my arms, the child still held close, and I wrap them both up, pulling them against my chest as though I can shield them from the entire world.

"Sshhh, it’s okay now," I murmur, my voice thick, one hand cradling her head while the other brushes against the soft curls of the child. Mona’s sobs shudder through her small frame, and I feel the dam of my own emotions threatening to break. The little girl in her arms shifts, babbling in curiosity, and I finally look at her.

She’s beautiful, her eyes wide and full of innocence, tiny hands reaching curiously toward my face. My throat tightens with overwhelming emotion, but I force myself to stay calm. This isn’t the time to break down, not yet. We need to leave, to get somewhere safe.

"Let’s go," I say, my voice steady even as my heart races. Gently, I take the toddler from Mona, cradling her in my arms as if she were the most precious treasure in the world—and she is. I feel her warmth, hear her soft, trusting babble, and I

swear I’ll protect her with every breath I have left.