Chapter 2

The dungeon was a symphony of rust and stagnant water, its oppressive darkness pressing against my eyes, conjuring shapes that morphed into the ghosts of my own fears. The stone floor felt cold beneath me, and the shackles bolted into the wall were a grim reminder of the kind of prisoner they’d built this room for, me. 

My cheek pulsed where Lucian had struck, a steady thrum synchronized with my heartbeat, as if he’d left a fragment of himself behind to haunt me. I let it throb; it was better than acknowledging the other sensation humming beneath my skin a relentless vibration I couldn’t silence, no matter how hard I willed it to stillness. 

I wouldn’t name it. Names held power, and I refused to grant anything that came from him the strength it sought. 

Footsteps echoed in the darkness, deliberate and paced. A soldier’s stride, not the careless shuffle of a jailer. Commander Cassian emerged from the dim torchlight beyond the bars, his expression grim and chiseled, as if he meticulously guarded every ounce of energy, even his emotions. 

“You’re still breathing,” he stated, a note of surprise underlying his words. 

“Disappointed?” I challenged. 

“Cautious,” he replied, his tone steady as he regarded me like a man assessing a lock with a hidden flaw. “The dagger. You never touched it.”

“I was chained to an execution block, Commander. Ask your guards where my hands were.” 

“I intend to.” His gaze swept over me, cold and calculating. “Vault records don’t release themselves. Someone with clearance moved that human blade two nights before the King died. If I find the name on that release order, your neck stays where it is.”

“And if you don’t find it?” 

“Then it stays where it is anyway,” he said with a finality that sent chills down my spine. I watched him turn and retreat into the shadows, taking with him the only warmth in the room, leaving behind the sting in my cheek and the unsettling hum I refused to acknowledge. 

I convinced myself that his skepticism was inconsequential. Wolves might doubt a mere human, but I wore their hesitance like paper armor; beautiful, but utterly useless against real danger. I hated Lucian too much to seek anything from this Citadel, including mercy disguised as procedure. 

Hours later, they dragged me up into blinding daylight that stung my eyes. My legs trembled from the stillness and gnawing hunger. They marched me into the war room, where the old King’s crown rested on a velvet cushion untouched by human hands. Lucian loomed over a map spread across the table, his granite-like presence imposing, his golden eyes devoid of compassion. 

“Your proof mysteriously vanished,” he said, his tone flat, devoid of greeting or warmth. “Cassian discovered a torn ledger page proof that someone with vault clearance released the blade before my father died. It was in your possession for less than an hour before it vanished on the bridge. How convenient for a woman who claims to be innocent.”

His words struck me like a slap. “Convenient for whomever wants me dead,” I shot back, the chains on my wrists biting into my skin. “Someone in this castle is working tirelessly to hide that page from you, Prince. Have you considered that I'm not the one you should be fearing?"

Lucian finally glanced at me, his golden eyes hardening. “I’ve considered that you could be either an assassin or a distraction for one. Either way, you remain exactly where you are until I decide otherwise.” 

“Almost sounds like you’re doing your job instead of nursing a grudge,” I retorted, urgency and defiance fueling my words. 

Something flickered in his eyes, a glimmer of vulnerability before it vanished, leaving his expression even more unreadable, the tension radiating off him palpable. 

“Take her back down,” he ordered the guards, turning toward the window, dismissing me as if I were merely a nuisance. “And find out who stole that ledger page before I conclude that everyone within these walls has something to hide.” 

They hauled me back toward the darkness of the stairs. I didn’t struggle this time. I had learned what fighting cost me, and the ache in my cheek still reminded me of that lesson. 

As we reached the dungeon stairwell, Cassian caught up with us, his face taut with something that looked like frustration mixed with fear, an expression I had never seen before on a man who usually exuded composure. 

“A servant bumped into me on the bridge,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “Spilled wine, mumbled an apology, and vanished before I could gather myself. When I checked my coat, the page was gone. No blade. No scuffle. Just…gone.”

“Either I have a spy in this Citadel working to keep me shackled,” I said, “or someone here is desperate to hide the truth. Which scenario terrifies you more, Commander?”

He remained silent, the weight of his indecision heavy in the air. It was a danger unto itself, a looming shadow that only deepened the uncertainty of my fate.

They hurled me back into the cell, the door slamming shut with a familiar, resonant clang that echoed through the darkness. I sank down against the cold stone wall, allowing the hatred to seep into my bones, solidifying into something I could use to forge my resolve.

No matter how the energy coursed under my skin, it changed nothing. My determination burned brighter than ever. I intended to witness each of them lose everything they clung to, starting with the prince who believed a mere slap and a locked door could equate to control.  This was just the beginning.