5. Prison Never Ended

Elowen’s POV

“We’ll see about that.”

Draven’s words followed me down the corridor. I didn't look back. I carried the tray toward the kitchen, keeping my eyes on the glasses arranged across it. My hands were steady, even though his words kept circling in my head.

Liar. Manipulator. Selfish little coward. I had heard worse.

Two years in Blackstone had taught me that words could hurt, but they could also become meaningless when you heard enough of them.

I placed the tray on the kitchen counter. Before I could turn away, Draven appeared in the doorway.

“Elowen.”

I stopped. He walked toward me.

“Come with me.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

I looked at him. He seemed almost disappointed that I wasn't frightened enough.

“You were there that night,” he said. “The evidence was found because of you. You admitted responsibility.”

My stomach tightened. I remembered the room. The shouting. Seraphine crying. Caelan is looking at me.

Please, Elowen. 

I had taken the blame because I thought protecting my family would mean something.

But it didn’t. 

Draven's voice pulled me back, “You destroyed her life and still refuse to apologize.”

I lowered my eyes, “I didn't do it.”

He stared at me.

“What?”

“I didn't do it.”

The words were quiet. No tears. No pleading. Just the truth. Draven's expression hardened.

“You already accepted the punishment.”

“I know.”

“You went to prison.”

“I know.”

“So don't stand here now pretending you're innocent.”

I looked at him.

“I am.”

His jaw clenched.

“You really are going to keep doing this.”

I didn't answer. He stepped closer.

“You know what I think?”

I waited.

“I think prison makes you more stubborn.”

Maybe it had or maybe I had simply stopped wasting my breath.

Draven turned toward the corridor.

“Come.”

I followed because I didn't see a reason not to. We walked past the main staircase and through a quieter section of the estate. The farther we went, the fewer people I saw.

Then we started down. My steps slowed. The air became colder. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

A heavy door stood ahead of us. My chest tightened.

“Where are you taking me?”

Draven didn't answer.

He unlocked the door and the metallic click made something inside me recoil.

I took a step back.

“Draven.”

He looked at me, “You need time to reflect on what you did.”

My breathing changed.

“No.”

He opened the door. Darkness waited beyond it. Not dimness. Darkness. My feet refused to move.

“Please.”

Draven frowned, “You'll stay here until you understand what you've done.”

“I don't want to go in there.”

For the first time, something like satisfaction crossed his face. “Maybe now you'll think about Seraphine.”

He took my arm. I flinched so hard that his hand slipped.

“Don't touch me.”

He stared at me for a moment, then shoved the door wider.

“Inside.”

I couldn't move. The room smelled of stone and metal. My fingers went cold.

“Draven, please.”

He pushed me through the doorway. I stumbled forward. The door slammed shut behind me.

The lock clicked. And the world disappeared.

I stopped breathing. Dark, cold, and metal. 

My back hit the wall.

“No.”

My hands flew to the door. I pulled the handle. It didn't move.

“No, no, no…”

I hit it with my palm.

“Open the door.”

I hit it again.

“Draven!”

My voice broke. The room seemed to shrink around me. My lungs wouldn't fill. I pressed both hands against the door, trying to force it open.

“I didn't do anything.”

My knees buckled. I slid down the door. A sound came from somewhere inside my memory. Metal scraping.

A lock turning. Footsteps walking away. Stop crying. My hands started shaking.

“No.”

I covered my ears. But the voices didn't stop. Nobody is coming. I curled against the door, pulling my knees toward my chest.

“I'll be good.”

My words came out broken.

“I'll be quiet. Please.”

A sharp memory flashed through me, cold water, a dark cell with my own fists pounding against metal until my knuckles split.

I gasped.

“Please open the door.”

Footsteps sounded outside. I lifted my head.

“Draven?”

The footsteps stopped.

“Please.”

His voice came through the door.

“Enough.”

I pressed my palms against the wood.

“I can't breathe.”

“You can breathe just fine.”

“No.”

“You survived two years in Blackstone. You can survive a few hours here.”

My body shook harder.

“I can't.”

“You're doing this again.”

I stared at the door.

“Doing what?”

“Pretending.”

The word cut through me, “I'm not pretending.”

He gave a bitter laugh, “You expect me to believe this?”

I clawed at the door.

“Please open it.”

“You want sympathy.”

“No.”

“You want me to feel sorry for you.”

“I don't.”

“Then stop acting.”

His footsteps moved away.

“Draven!”

He didn't stop.

“Please!”

The silence that followed was worse than his voice. I pressed my forehead against the door. He was gone. Just like before. My breathing became ragged.

I couldn't see. I couldn't think. Couldn't find the present. I was back there. Back in Blackstone. Back behind a locked door and nobody was coming.

Then another sound reached me. Footsteps. More than one person. Voices. 

A door opened somewhere nearby.

“What's happening?”

The unfamiliar voice was deep and commanding. I barely heard the answer.

“She is being punished, Your Majesty.”

My fingers curled against the floor.

“Who?”

“Elowen Veyra.”

Then the man's voice came again.

“Open the door.”

Draven spoke quickly, “Your Majesty, I assure you, this is a family matter. She committed a serious crime against Seraphine and has refused to show any remorse.”

“Open the door.”

“But…”

“That was not a request.”

The lock turned. Light burst into the room. I screamed and threw my arms over my head.

“Stay back!”

The unfamiliar voice stopped everyone. Nobody touched me. I couldn't make myself look up.

“Call a physician.”

Draven spoke behind him, “Your Majesty, she is unstable. She's been like this since returning from Blackstone.”

The man didn't answer immediately. I heard footsteps, but they stopped several feet away.

“Don't touch her.”

Someone behind him moved, “I said don't touch her.”

I slowly lowered my arms. A man stood near the doorway, dressed in black, surrounded by guards and officials.

I didn't know who he was. I didn't care. My eyes dropped back to the floor.

“What happened to her?” he asked.

Draven answered.

“She was convicted and imprisoned for two years.”

“And you put her in here?”

“She needed to reflect.”

“Why?”

Draven hesitated.

“Because she refuses to accept responsibility.”

The man's voice became colder, “Then why is she terrified of the room?”

Nobody answered. I wrapped my arms around myself. The man spoke again.

“How long was she in prison?”

“Two years.”

“Who treated her?”

Draven said nothing.

“And these injuries?”

Still nothing. I heard someone shift behind the man.

“Get the physician.”

“But, Your Majesty…”

“Now.”

The command echoed through the room. No one argued. I kept my eyes lowered, trying to slow my breathing.

AUTHOR'S POV

For the first time since arriving at the Veyra Estate, the Lycan King questioned the story he had been given.

He had been told Elowen was jealous, unstable, and responsible for what happened to Seraphine.

But the woman trembling on the floor did not look like someone seeking sympathy. Her fear had been instinctive and conditioned. And far too real.

For the first time, the Lycan King wondered if everyone in the Veyra household had been telling him the wrong story.