The Archduke's Songbird-Chapter 303: A Great Help

His eyes widened as recognition dawned upon him, freezing him in place. The realization of who he was holding by the throat caused him to immediately release his grip, his rough, calloused hand retracting as though it had been scorched by a sudden flame.

Jessamyn gasped, her lungs greedily pulling in the cold, crisp air that she had been so desperately deprived of. She watched him with wide, unblinking eyes, her breath shallow and quick, still trying to comprehend the rapid shift in her circumstances.

For a moment, the forest around them seemed to hold its breath as well, the snow falling in a soft, almost reverent silence. The man’s gaze lingered on Jessamyn’s face, and she could see the turmoil brewing in his eyes—a mixture of shock, confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite place.

His face, rugged and weathered by the harsh conditions of war, softened as he stepped back, giving her space.

"Your Gra—" he began, his voice trembling slightly before he cut himself off, seemingly realizing that now was not the time for formalities. He took another step back, bowing his head in reverence as if the act of showing her respect was instinctual, despite the circumstances that had brought them together in this desolate forest. "What are—How are you here?"

Jessamyn, still struggling to catch her breath, stared back at him, trying to place his face. The man was a soldier, clad in the unmistakable armor of the Altanian forces. He had recognized her, which sent a fresh wave of panic through her. But how? How could an Altanian soldier, a man who by all rights should have been her enemy, know who she was?

The confusion was clear on her face, and she could only manage a few stammered words in response. "Who are you...?"

His eyes widened with understanding, and he straightened slightly. "Captain Lorca!" A voice called from behind, breaking the tense silence. The man—Captain Lorca—visibly tensed. He looked at Jessamyn, his expression urgent as he quickly raised a finger to his lips, silently pleading for her to remain quiet.

"What is it?" he called out, his voice steady and authoritative as he turned to address whoever had spoken. Jessamyn watched him closely, her mind racing. The name Lorca tugged at her memory, and as the two men engaged in a brief conversation, she finally recalled where she had heard it before. Hamilton Lorca—she had encountered him once before, when she and Jerrick had come to the aid of an Altanian nobleman and his ailing wife. The realization that this was the same man filled her with a strange mix of relief and dread.

The conversation ended, and Captain Lorca turned back to Jessamyn, his expression softened by recognition and perhaps a hint of guilt. He knelt before her, lowering his voice to a reverent whisper. "Your Grace," he began hesitantly, his gaze flicking to her swollen belly before returning to her face. "Do you—"

"You’re Lady Hilbert’s husband, aren’t you?" Jessamyn interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. The memories were clearer now—the sickly woman they had helped, the gratitude in this man’s eyes as he had thanked them profusely for their kindness. "Lord Hamilton Lorca."

"Yes," Hamilton confirmed, offering a small, almost sheepish smile. "But Your Grace...you being here..." His voice trailed off, and he cast a concerned glance around their surroundings. "Have you eaten? You can’t be here. It’s too cold..."

Jessamyn’s heart ached at the genuine concern in his voice, but she knew there was no time for pleasantries. She needed his help, but she also understood the precarious position he was in. "I need your help," she whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of her desperation. "I cannot get caught..."

Hamilton’s face hardened with resolve, but she could see the conflict in his eyes. "I know, Your Grace..." he replied, his voice low and urgent. He glanced around once more, his gaze searching the darkness as if expecting someone to emerge from the shadows at any moment. "Wait here," he instructed before standing and moving away swiftly, his footsteps nearly silent against the snow-covered ground.

Jessamyn watched him disappear into the darkness, her heart hammering in her chest. She clutched her belly, trying to calm herself, trying to reassure the child within her that they would be safe. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an hour as she waited in the freezing cold, her body trembling uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth as she huddled beneath the tree, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

When Hamilton finally returned, he was carrying a warm pouch of water, the heat of it seeping through the thick fabric and into her frozen hands as she drank greedily. The warmth spread through her body, chasing away some of the cold that had seeped into her bones. For the first time since she had found herself in this perilous situation, Jessamyn felt a glimmer of hope.

"You cannot stay out here," Hamilton insisted, his voice firm but tinged with concern. "May I ask, where you are going?"

Jessamyn hesitated, her mind blank. She had no idea where she was going—no clear destination in mind, only the desperate need to escape, to survive. She was supposed to be heading to Elodia, but all she truly wanted was to find Jerrick, to be safe in his arms again. But admitting that to Hamilton seemed foolish, especially when he had already done so much to help her.

"You are going to Elodia, right?" she asked instead, hoping to gauge his reaction.

Hamilton’s eyes widened with surprise, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was clearly struggling with his loyalties, torn between his duty to his King and his gratitude towards the woman who had once shown kindness to his family. Jessamyn could see the internal battle he was fighting, and she knew she had to be careful.

"I cannot travel in the same direction as you for my safety," she added quickly, hoping to ease his fears. "I have no intention of interfering with your mission. I just need to get out of here safely."

Hamilton’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, understanding her predicament. "I’m sorry I cannot do much to help you..." he whispered, his voice laced with regret. He looked down, his eyes lingering on her swollen belly, and Jessamyn could see the sorrow in his eyes. It was clear that he wanted to do more, but the reality of war had tied his hands.

War—how it twisted the very essence of humanity. It turned friends into enemies, sowing seeds of distrust and forcing people to betray their own values. Jessamyn could see the pain in Hamilton’s eyes, the weight of his conscience as he wrestled with the decision before him. War had stripped him of the freedom to choose what was right; it had made him a pawn in a game where loyalty to one’s country came at the cost of personal honor.

She forced a small smile, trying to convey her understanding. "This is enough, Hamilton. I don’t want to be caught by the others. I’ll stay here for the night and be on my way." She held up the warm water pouch, showing him that she was grateful for his help, no matter how limited it was. "By the way, how is Lady Hilbert?"

Hamilton’s eyes brightened at the mention of his wife, and he couldn’t help but smile. "She’s fine...she too is...with child..." His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted back to Jessamyn’s belly, his expression softening with empathy. She could see the inner turmoil in him, the desire to help a pregnant woman alone in the cold clashing with his duty as a soldier.

"Fark this!" he suddenly cursed, rising to his feet with determination. "Stay here. I’ll be back..."

Jessamyn watched him go, her heart heavy with both gratitude and guilt. She leaned back against the tree, clutching the water pouch to her chest as she tried to hold on to the warmth it provided. The snow continued to fall around her, a blanket of white that seemed to want to bury her alive in the cold, unforgiving night.

But true to his word, Hamilton returned a short while later, urging her to follow him quietly. Together, they made their way through the camp, their footsteps muffled by the thick snow beneath them. He led her to one of the mule carts—a large one used to haul food supplies. It was covered, providing some shelter from the elements, and inside were barrels of alcohol, stacked neatly to one side.

Hamilton cleared a small space in the corner, using some spare blankets and straw to create a makeshift bed. He handed her some warm food—a simple but hearty stew—and urged her to rest.

Jessamyn, too exhausted to protest, ate quickly and settled into the warm cocoon he had created for her. For the first time in what felt like days, she was warm, and her breath’s steady rise and fall began to slow as sleep finally claimed her.

Hamilton stood guard outside the cart, his presence a silent promise that she would be safe through the night. Jessamyn slept soundly, her dreams filled with images of Jerrick, hoping he’d find her soon.