The Regret of the Alpha

“Move, girl!”A rough hand yanked Melodie’s arm. The sack of onions split, bulbs rolling across the blood-slick tiles.“I’m just a scullery maid!” she gasped, backing against the wall as silver-armored wolves stormed through the ruined gate.“You’ve got Felix’s eyes,” the captain growled. “That’s enough.”Shackles clicked around her wrists. Torchlight painted everything red as rebels dragged prisoners to the courtyard. Screams mixed with cheers.At the center stood a man—broad-shouldered, scarred, calm as moonlight.Alexander.Melodie froze. It couldn’t be. Not the boy she fed through bars. Not him.“Line them up,” the captain barked.Alexander’s eyes swept the captives. His gaze landed on her and stopped.Recognition flickered.Then—“Her. Dungeon.”Melodie flinched. “Wait—Alexander, it’s me—”“Take her.”“Alexander!” Her voice cracked. “The flute—the bread—the song—”He didn’t blink. “Until judgment,” he said coldly. “No exceptions.”T

“Hey. Wake up.”Melodie’s eyes fluttered open. A guard nudged her with his boot.“You were humming again.”“I wasn’t,” she rasped.He snorted. “Well, someone’s playing ghost music. Boss wants it stopped.”He kicked the straw by her side. “You hiding something?”Melodie remained silent.He grunted and walked off.---That night, once the dungeon fell silent, she sat up slowly.Her fingers trembled as she unraveled broom bristles, weaving them into a makeshift whistle.“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she whispered. “Just enough to stir a memory.”She brought it to her lips and blew.The soft notes floated upward, barely audible.---In the Alpha’s chambers, Alexander bolted upright.He wasn’t dreaming.That sound—raw, aching—cut through the stone like wind through pine.“Who’s there?” he growled, reaching for his sword.But the music faded.---Morning.“Search the cells,” Alexander ordered.“A flute?” Marcus frowned.

“You look tired,” Jessica said, twirling the flute. “Try not to bleed on the notes tonight.”Melodie pressed a hand to her side, hiding the bruise. “You’ve already learned the melody. Why keep practicing?”Jessica’s eyes gleamed. “Because perfection wins crowns. And because it hurts you.”Melodie said nothing. She couldn’t. The child stirred inside her.A life.One she never planned. One she had to protect.---Later, alone in the servant's alcove, Melodie sat with the flute and a broken comb.She carved quietly, scratching more runes into the reed’s inner wall.“B-R-E-A-D,” she whispered. “C-E-L-L-A-R. S-T-A-R-S.”Each letter a piece of memory. A piece of proof.If he ever looked close enough, the truth would sing.---The next morning, bells rang across the keep.Banners fluttered over the towers—Alexander’s new crest: a rising moon over broken chains.Crowds filled the square. Horns blared. Rebels cheered.Jessica smirked at the window

“Burn the traitors,” Jessica declared. “All of them.”Melodie froze as guards seized her arms. The courtyard was already thick with smoke.“Wait—what’s happening?” she gasped.Jessica leaned close. “A little purge. We’ll blame Felix’s remnants. And you.”“But I didn’t—”“That’s the beauty of it.” Jessica smiled. “Truth doesn’t matter. Only spectacle.”---In the square, flames licked the base of a hastily built pyre. Rebels jeered from all sides.Alexander stood atop the steps, silent, watching.“She’s accused of harboring Felix loyalists,” Jessica announced, tossing the flute into Melodie’s bound hands. “Prove your innocence. Play it.”Gasps rippled through the crowd.Melodie stared at the instrument.Felt her unborn child kick.She raised it slowly to her lips—then stopped.Silence.Jessica’s smile froze.“She refuses!” a man shouted.“Guilty!” cried another.Alexander’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.Not yet.---The

“You’ll polish the flute every night,” Jessica ordered, tossing the instrument onto the table. “If it cracks, you’ll sleep outside.”Melodie stood motionless.“And no more wandering. You stay here unless I say otherwise.”“I understand,” she said quietly.Jessica stepped closer. “You lost. I won. So stop looking at him like he still remembers.”Melodie’s eyes didn’t flicker. “I don’t need him to remember. The flute already knows.”Jessica slapped her.---That night, Melodie knelt beside the fireplace, polishing the flute with trembling fingers.Her lips moved silently as she pressed a sewing pin to the inner grain.D-U-N-G-E-O-N. W-H-I-P. F-L-U-T-E. L-O-V-E.One word at a time.---The next morning, Jessica posed before the mirror. “Do you think he’ll notice if I add gold trim to my sleeves?”“I think he barely noticed the music,” Melodie said without looking up.Jessica turned sharply. “What?”“Nothing.”Jessica leaned in. “You want