Chapter 13: Begging for Freedom

(Penny’s POV)

Sunlight woke me, real sunlight, not the weird silver moonlight that had haunted every night since I arrived. It slanted through the high window in narrow golden bars, painting stripes across the furs and the stone floor. For a heartbeat, I forgot where I was. I stretched, expecting my lumpy mattress, my alarm blaring some generic chime, my phone buzzing with Mia’s morning memes.

Then reality crashed back.

The bed was too big. Too warm. Too scented with pine and smoke and him.

Genesis.

I sat up fast. The crimson dress was gone, replaced sometime in the night with soft gray leggings and a loose tunic that actually fit. Someone had left them folded at the foot of the bed. Clean. Simple. Mine in a way that crimson never would have been.

I pulled the tunic over my head. It hung to mid-thigh, soft wool that didn’t itch. The leggings were snug but comfortable. No more corset lacing. No more feeling like a packaged gift.

I padded barefoot to the window.

The valley sprawled below, mist burning off the river, wolves and humans moving through morning routines. Children chasing each other near the keep walls. Guards changing shift. Smoke rising from dozens of chimneys.

It looked peaceful.

It wasn’t.

Because I was the ticking bomb in the middle of it.

The door opened without a knock.

Genesis stepped in, freshly bathed, hair damp and tied back, wearing a dark tunic and leather pants that looked like they’d seen battles. No bandages visible. The scar on his cheek stood out sharper in daylight.

He carried a tray: bread, cheese, sliced apples, a mug of something steaming.

“Eat,” he said, setting it on the table.

I stayed by the window. “I’m not hungry.”

“You will be.”

I crossed my arms. “We need to talk.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. Waiting.

“I want to go home.”

His expression didn’t change. “I know.”

“Then help me.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re the prince. You have power. Resources. You know this world better than anyone.”

“I know it well enough to know you can’t just walk out of it.”

I stepped closer. “There has to be a way. A portal. A spell. A witch. Something. In every story I’ve ever read, there’s a way back.”

“This isn’t your story anymore.”

“It’s exactly my story,” I shot back. “I wrote the rules. I wrote the prophecies. I wrote you.”

He pushed off the doorframe. Closed the distance in two strides. Stopped just short of touching me.

“Then you know what happens if a Luna leaves.”

I swallowed. “The clans die out. The wars never end. The alphas go feral. I get it.”

“Do you?” His voice dropped. “Do you understand what that means for the people down there? The children who won’t survive another generation? The mothers who bury stillborn pups? The warriors who fight every moon because the beast inside them has nowhere else to go?”

I looked away. “That’s not my responsibility.”

“Isn’t it?” He caught my chin, gentle but firm, and turned my face back to his. “You saved me. Twice. You could have run. You didn’t. You stayed. You bandaged me. You argued with me. You looked at me like I was more than teeth and claws.”

My throat tightened. “I’m a nurse. It’s what I do.”

“No.” His thumb brushed my jaw. “You’re more than that. And you know it.”

I pulled away, gently. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I.”

Silence stretched.

Then I tried a different angle.

“I saved your life,” I said quietly. “You owe me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I saved yours last night.”

“Before that. In the cave. If I hadn’t patched you up, you’d have bled out. You said it yourself, my scent helped you heal faster. That’s debt.”

He exhaled through his nose. “You guilt-trip like a seasoned elder.”

“I’m desperate.”

He studied me for a long moment.

Then he turned away. Walked to the window. Looked out at the valley.

“I hate this throne,” he said after a while. “I hate the traditions. The expectations. The way my father looks at me like I’m the last piece in his puzzle. I was planning to step down. Let the council choose a new alpha. Walk away.”

I stared at his back. “You were going to abdicate?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it. Walk away with me. Help me find a way home. We both get out.”

He laughed, low, bitter. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“Because even if I walk away, the prophecy doesn’t. You’re still here. Still a Luna. Still the last hope. My father will hunt you. Kael will hunt you. Every rogue pack between here and the edge of the world will scent you and want you.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “Then let me go alone.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He turned. Eyes fierce. “Because I’m not leaving you to die out there.”

The words hung heavy.

I took a step toward him. “Please, Genesis. I’m begging you. I don’t belong here. I have a life. Friends. A job. A stupid little apartment with bad Wi-Fi and a coffee maker that leaks. I want it back.”

His jaw worked.

I kept going, voice cracking now.

“I saved you. I could have left you in that clearing to bleed out. I didn’t. I dragged you to a cave. I used my med kit. I stayed. Now I’m asking you to do the same for me. Help me leave. Help me go home.”

He closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them, something had shifted, resignation, maybe. Or resolve.

“There’s a witch,” he said quietly. “In the forbidden marshes. Old magic. Older than the clans. She can open doorways between worlds. But it’s dangerous. The journey takes days. Through rival territory. Through wild lands. And if she refuses…”

“I’ll take the risk.”

He searched my face.

Then nodded, once.

“Fine.”

Relief flooded me so hard my knees almost buckled.

“But on one condition,” he added.

I tensed. “What?”

“We leave tonight. Quietly. No one knows. Not my father. Not the council. We travel as two wanderers. No royal escort. No protection beyond what we carry.”

“Okay.”

“And when we reach her, if we reach her, and she opens the door…you don’t look back.”

I swallowed. “I won’t.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my head.

“And if she can’t open it,” he said softly, “you stay. You accept what you are. What this world needs.”

I held his gaze.

“I won’t promise that.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, sad, almost.

“I know.”

He turned toward the door.

“Rest. Eat. Pack light. We leave at moonrise.”

He paused in the doorway.

“Penny.”

I looked up.

“Thank you,” he said. “For saving me. Even if it was only to guilt me into this.”

I managed a small, shaky smile.

“You’re welcome.”

The door closed.

I sank onto the edge of the bed.

Freedom, maybe.

Or just another chapter in a story I couldn’t control.

Either way, tonight we ran.

Together.