Chapter Seventeen

In one swift, practiced motion, her arms were pulled upward and bound together above her head.

Another rope flung over the iron beam in the ceiling.

Baron pulled hard.

Elowyn’s feet lifted off the ground.

She choked on a breath as her back straightened from the tension. She was shocked by the strange turn of events.

“Wh-what is this?” she whispered.

Azpen approached and tied a soft cloth over her mouth.

“Don’t want you screaming.” He murmured.

Her toes just brushed the floor. Her arms burned. Her ribs screamed.

Baron stood in front of her. “This is what happens when you show up weak. When you walk around smelling like failure. You don’t belong here? Then we’ll beat the hell out of you.”

He pulled some more and she was swinging gently. She whimpered a begging but it sounded as nothing.

She squirmed.

Minutes passed.

Sweat rolled down her back. Her arms ached. Her shoulders burned. Tears blurred her eyes.

No one said a word.

She tried to adapt. She really tried to adapt but the pain was maddening and unbearable.

Azpen sat back on his chair, watching with his head cocked sideways. The two seniors shared a lighter and smoked silently, u bothered by the scrawny prince's whimpers.

Baron didn’t move. Just watched.

Just let her hang.

Elowyn bit into the cloth, trying not to sob.

Trying not to scream.

Her body trembled.

The clock at the corner seemed louder now.

Baron finally moved.

He walked closer and stared into her eyes.

“You’re not breaking?” He muttered.

Azpen scoffed. “Yet.”

Her lip trembled. Her chest heaved.

Then a soft, small sound escaped her throat.

Another whimper.

Her knees buckled — but the ropes held.

Baron went back to sit down and the tears burst out finally.

Elowyn felt like she'd die. Tears. Sweat. Pain. She continued to squirm. Time went by and at the end she began to cry out into the cloth in her mouth.

The two seniors looked her way.

Elowyn continued to squirm.

Finally, Baron reached up and undid the knot.

She fell forward — onto the ground, against her will.

She curled in.

Eyes red. Arms numb. Chest shaking.

Neither of them spoke again.

Azpen turned out the lantern.

Baron dispersed.

Silence.

And for the first time....

Elowyn didn’t want to cry anymore.

She just wanted to survive.

★★★

★★★

The night was cold.

Riven Thorney didn’t sleep like others.

He observed.

He sat on his bed across the room, back against the wall, legs drawn up, watching the candle stub flicker in the corner. He remembered the scrawny prince.

He didn't belong here.

That much was clear.

But what interested Riven wasn’t his weakness.

It was his scent.

Strange.

But not erased.

When he walked in that first day, he hadn't seen a prince. He'd smelled a crack in the surface of something.... crafted. Like a wolf-shaped puzzle missing two fangs.

He had smelled him from afar.

A surge of something old. Not just strange blood. Something deeper. Older. Forbidden.

He’d smelled fear too.

But not the coward’s kind.

The survival kind.

He didn’t even know what that was yet.

That made it stranger.

★★★ ★★★

In the stillness after cruelty, truths rise to the surface.

Baron lay back with his forearm across his face, back pressed against his pillow, eyes open.

Azpen sat on the floor, cross-legged, absently tossing a ring of keys into the air and catching it.

Neither of them spoke.

The punishment was over. Elyan Froste had cried. His strength had cracked. His thin legs gave out.

Still.

Baron felt.... nothing.

Or so he told himself.

“He didn’t scream till the very end.” Azpen murmured.

Baron grunted.

“Even I thought he’d break sooner.”

“He will.” Baron said coldly. "He just doesn’t know how yet. So, we must strengthen his back for it.”

Azpen tilted his head. “He’s trying. I’ll give him that. I mean, looking at his size.”

“He’s faking.”

“Or maybe he’s fighting something in a way we don’t see.”

Baron’s arm twitched. He hated that. Hated the doubt.

He sat up.

“He’s a distraction." He muttered. “Scentless, scrawny, useless — and still... I smell something off him. And it pisses me off.”

Azpen finally looked him in the eye.

“Maybe that’s because your wolf knows something you don't?”

A beat passed.

Baron stared at the ceiling.

If Elyan ever rose… if his wolf ever caught fire…

Would he obey him?

Or ruin everything?

He clenched his jaw.

“I’m going to break his back if he doesn't get stronger.” Baron whispered.

Azpen didn’t respond.

Because deep down, he wasn’t sure Baron could.

★★★

★★★

Elowyn had quite a time massaging all the sore areas with the balm Azpen had given her.

Classes seemed worse and she went along in silence.

Elowyn sat on the stone edge of the dining hall stairs after morning drills, arms still sore, scent glands blocked.

She hadn’t eaten.

No one had offered. Not even out of pity.

Then a shadow fell over her.

She blinked up.

That same boy from dinner yesterday. She'd given him chicken, too.

Muscular. Buzzed hair. Too rugged for this place. He said his name was Tobias.

He was the one who had laughed when the bird escaped. The one who hadn't even hissed a “thanks” during the chicken fiasco. The one who'd said nothing when she was being humiliated.

Now?

He placed a roll of bread and boiled eggs on her tray. Some juice.

No smile.

No comment.

Just a muttered. “You need this, chicken prince.”

Then he walked off.

Elowyn stared.

And for the second time in two days.... she felt slightly.... noticed.

Not adored.

Not protected.

Just acknowledged.

And in this place?

That was a rare currency.

A soft smile slowly began to creep up her face but she swallowed it and stared down at her tray.

★★★

★★★

Across the dining hall, Baron Ortega lifted his head slightly.

His tray was untouched. His pack laughed and tore into their meat and bread like wolves starved.

But his eyes weren’t on them.

They drifted — casually, at first — scanning the room out of instinct. A count. A habit.

Then he stilled.

Empty seat.

Elyan Froste wasn’t at his table.

He didn’t frown. Didn’t move.

But his jaw flexed once.

His eyes continued to scan.

Out of view, past the pillar and the gathering crowd, Elyan sat outside on the stair ledge, clutching a bread roll and eggs like they were treasure stolen from gods.

Baron didn’t need to see him to feel it. His scent still lingered faintly near his table — thinner than usual. Fainter.

Elyan Froste hadn’t eaten.

A slow exhale left him.

Then, without warning, he grabbed his meat and tore into it like the thought had never occurred.

He scowled.