Chapter 4 Sanctuary
The Last Safe Place
The journey north took three days.
They traveled without royal banners, ceremonial escorts, or comfortable carriages. The Crown Prince of the Moonbound Kingdom crossed his own land dressed in the plain clothes of a traveling scholar, his expensive cloak exchanged for a weathered wool coat that smelled faintly of cedar and smoke.
If anyone had seen them on the road, they would have assumed they were two ordinary travelers heading toward the mountains before winter arrived.
That illusion was exactly what Caelan wanted.
They avoided the main roads whenever possible, choosing narrow forest trails that twisted through ancient pine woods and rocky hills. They rested only when darkness made further travel dangerous, and even then, Caelan never truly slept.
Every few hours Rowan would wake to find the captain quietly standing watch, his sword resting across his knees while his sharp gray eyes studied the surrounding darkness.
The man barely seemed human.
He never complained.
Never questioned.
Never relaxed.
He simply protected.
By the afternoon of the third day, the forests began giving way to towering mountain cliffs.
The air grew colder, carrying the clean scent of snowmelt and evergreen trees.
Birds circled lazily above distant peaks while waterfalls tumbled down rocky slopes polished smooth by centuries of flowing water.
Rowan slowed his horse beside a narrow ridge overlooking the valley below.
He had almost forgotten how beautiful the northern mountains were.
“I came here once,” he said quietly.
Caelan guided his own horse alongside him.
“When?”
“I was ten.”
He looked toward the endless forests stretching beneath them.
“My mother insisted we spend part of every summer away from court.”
Caelan followed his gaze.
“You liked it.”
“I didn’t want to leave.”
For a little while, Rowan allowed himself to remember.
He remembered climbing trees without worrying about etiquette.
Fishing in mountain streams while soaking his clothes.
Laughing when his father slipped on wet rocks and pretended it had happened on purpose.
Back then, the sanctuary had felt like a family retreat.
Now it was becoming a refuge from assassins.
Caelan pointed toward a distant cluster of stone buildings hidden among towering pines.
“There.”
At first glance, the sanctuary looked abandoned.
A weathered stone wall surrounded several small buildings, all partially hidden beneath climbing ivy and moss. A modest watchtower overlooked the valley, while a narrow river flowed beside the property before disappearing into the forest below.
Nothing about the place suggested royalty.
That was intentional.
Centuries earlier, the sanctuary had been built as a secret retreat where members of the royal family could disappear during times of war.
Very few people even knew it still existed.
As they approached the wooden gates, Rowan noticed faded carvings of crescent moons decorating the stone archway.
His grandmother had once told him every royal heir visited the sanctuary before becoming king.
He had never expected to arrive like this.
Caelan dismounted first.
“I’ll check inside.”
“You think someone found us?”
“I assume nothing.”
He drew his sword before disappearing through the partially open gate.
Rowan waited beside the horses, listening to the gentle rush of the nearby river.
The peaceful sounds felt strangely unreal after everything that had happened in the capital.
Children had been laughing only moments before the explosions.
Now…
He closed his eyes.
He could still hear the screams.
“Clear.”
Caelan’s voice broke through the memories.
“The buildings are empty.”
Together they led the horses through the gate.
The sanctuary had clearly been abandoned for years, yet it remained remarkably well preserved.
The main lodge stood at the center of the courtyard, built from gray mountain stone with a steep wooden roof designed to withstand heavy snowfall. Smaller buildings surrounded it, including a stable, storehouse, bathhouse, and tiny chapel overlooking the river.
Nature had reclaimed parts of the grounds.
Wildflowers grew between cracked stone paths.
Vines climbed abandoned walls.
Birds nested beneath old roof beams.
It felt peaceful.
Almost sacred.
Caelan immediately began inspecting every building with practiced efficiency.
Windows.
Locks.
Cellars.
Escape routes.
Even after confirming they were alone, he continued checking for hidden dangers.
Rowan smiled faintly.
“You really don’t know how to stop working.”
“I’ll stop when we’re safe.”
“We’re surrounded by mountains.”
“We’re surrounded by places someone could hide.”
Rowan laughed softly.
“I suppose that’s true.”
Within an hour, they had settled into a simple routine.
Caelan cleaned the main lodge while Rowan searched the old pantry.
To his surprise, several sealed containers of dried grains, herbs, and preserved fruit remained untouched inside the underground storage room.
“The supplies are still usable,” Rowan called.
Caelan appeared beside the cellar entrance.
“Enough?”
“For several weeks if we’re careful.”
“Good.”
“I also found blankets.”
“Better.”
“And a bottle of thirty-year-old mountain whiskey.”
For the first time since leaving the capital, Caelan actually laughed.
“A remarkable discovery.”
“It might be the greatest treasure here.”
“I’ll reserve judgment until I taste it.”
The sound lingered warmly inside the quiet sanctuary.
It was strange hearing the usually serious captain laugh.
Stranger still that Rowan wanted to hear it again.
As afternoon faded toward evening, they worked together repairing broken shutters and clearing dust from the main rooms.
The rhythm became surprisingly comfortable.
Neither man spoke constantly.
Neither needed to.
There was something peaceful about working beside someone who understood silence.
When the fire finally crackled inside the old stone fireplace, Rowan felt warmer than he had in days.
Perhaps because the sanctuary already felt less like a hiding place.
More like a home.
That evening they shared a simple meal of soup, fresh bread baked from stored flour, and mountain herbs gathered from the garden outside.
“It isn’t exactly palace cuisine,” Rowan admitted.
Caelan tasted another spoonful.
“I’ve eaten far worse.”
“You’ve probably eaten battlefield rations.”
“I have.”
“Worse than this?”
“They once served dried fish that tasted like leather.”
Rowan smiled.
“I’ll try not to take offense.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“The soup is much better.”
After dinner, Rowan carried empty bowls toward the small kitchen.
As he reached for another stack of firewood, a wave of dizziness swept unexpectedly through him.
He caught himself against the table before falling.
Caelan was beside him almost instantly.
“What happened?”
“I’m fine.”
“You nearly collapsed.”
“It passed.”
Caelan frowned.
“You’ve barely slept.”
“I’m simply tired.”
That wasn’t entirely true.
The exhaustion felt different.
Deeper.
His body felt unusually warm despite the mountain air.
His heartbeat seemed slightly faster than normal.
Subtle changes.
Easy to dismiss.
Except Rowan knew exactly what they meant.
The escape from the capital.
The stress.
The missed doses.
Everything had accelerated the suppressants’ decline.
He quietly excused himself before Caelan could ask more questions.
Inside his bedroom, Rowan locked the door and removed the small leather pouch hidden beneath his clothes.
Only six suppressant capsules remained.
He stared at them for a long moment.
Six.
Normally they would have lasted nearly two weeks.
Now…
He wasn’t certain.
Mira had warned him.
The medicine wasn’t failing because the formula had weakened.
His body simply wasn’t responding anymore.
No amount of determination could change biology forever.
Carefully, he returned the pouch to his pocket before rejoining Caelan outside.
The captain looked up from sharpening his sword.
“You feeling better?”
“Much.”
It wasn’t a complete lie.
The dizziness had faded.
The worry remained.
The following morning arrived bright and unusually warm for the mountains.
Sunlight shimmered across the nearby river, making the crystal-clear water sparkle like scattered glass.
“We’ll need fresh water,” Caelan said while repairing one of the stable doors.
“I’ll collect it.”
“I can.”
“You’ve been working since sunrise.”
“So have you.”
“I promise I can carry a bucket.”
Caelan hesitated.
Finally he nodded.
“I won’t be far.”
Rowan smiled reassuringly before taking two wooden pails toward the riverbank.
The mountain water flowed swiftly over smooth stones, cold enough to numb his fingers almost immediately.
He knelt carefully beside the river and began filling the first bucket.
The peaceful sound of rushing water eased some of the tension that had followed him since leaving the capital.
For a few precious moments, he allowed himself to simply exist.
Not as Crown Prince.
Not as a hidden Omega.
Just Rowan.
He reached into his pocket to make sure the leather pouch containing his suppressants remained secure.
His fingers brushed the worn drawstring.
Then…
The knot slipped.
Everything happened too quickly.
The pouch slid from his grasp.
It struck a wet rock.
Bounced once.
Then disappeared into the rushing current.
“No!”
Rowan lunged forward instinctively.
His hand broke the icy surface, grasping at empty water as the small leather pouch spun helplessly between the rocks.
For one desperate heartbeat, he almost caught it.
The river pulled it away.
Faster.
Farther.
Until it vanished beneath the foaming white water downstream.
Rowan remained frozen where he knelt.
The only sound was the relentless rush of the mountain river.
Slowly, he lowered his dripping hand.
The pouch was gone.
Along with almost every suppressant he had left.
Only a single emergency capsule remained inside the hidden compartment sewn into the lining of his coat.
One.
Enough for perhaps a day or two.
After that…
His next heat would come.
And there would be nowhere left to hide the truth.
The Truth in the Air
The sanctuary should have felt secure.