Chapter 8: The Surrender

Rowan didn't move; he stood right in front of me, using his scarred leather and muscle like a wall to protect my body from the fifty executioners at the door. His hands shook lightly as they grasped the hilt of his broadsword.

I glanced at his wrists and felt my breath hitch. The signs of his mania were clear now. Thick purple veins pulsed up his forearms. He was on the brink. If he fought back, the pressure in his head would break what little sanity he had left. He wouldn’t just be fighting Eric; he’d become a mindless beast, and none of us would survive.

"Rowan, don’t," I whispered, pressing my palm against his spine. The heat radiating off his skin was staggering, vibrating with a desperate, wild current.

"Stay behind me, Adele," Rowan growled. The sound was rough, scraped raw by the poison in his blood. "I am the King of Dravenwood. No one dictates terms to me in my own palace."

"Look at your wrists!" I took a small step to the side, trying to keep my voice even despite the fluttering in my chest. "You can't survive a situation like this. Look at Sarlen—Eric will cut his throat before your sword even has time to act."

Elder Eric let out a dry, rattling chuckle. "Listen to the little lamb, Rowan. She understands how this should go. The High Council has spoken. You are mentally unfit to lead; your mind is a hazard to the realm, and your crown is gone."

Theresa further mocked us as her green eyes fixed on me with intense hatred. "Give it up, Rowan. You know how this ends. The odds were calculated weeks ago."

Rowan’s chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow jerks. The air in the room grew suffocating, thick with the scent of ozone and the suffocating pressure of an Alpha pushed into a corner.

"I won't let them touch you," Rowan whispered fiercely, his lips pulling back to bare his fangs. "I won't."

"If you die, they will take me anyway," I said.

I pulled away from his hand, stepping completely out from his shadow to stand right beside him. I forced myself to square my shoulders and met Eric’s gaze head-on. "Stop. Leave him alone."

Eric arched an eyebrow. "And why should I listen to a traitor's daughter?"

"Because you don't want a bloodbath. You want me," I stated, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "You want the Erias lineage. If Rowan drops his sword, I will walk out of here with you willingly. Just let Sarlen live, and let Rowan walk away."

"Adele, no!" Rowan roared, his hand snapping out to catch my arm.

I twisted out of his grip, keeping my eyes locked on Eric. "Do we have a deal, Elder? My life for theirs."

Eric looked at me, then at Rowan’s trembling hands, and finally at Sarlen’s seizing form on the table. A slow, victorious smile pulled at his mouth. "You possess far more survival instinct than your healer father, Adele. We have a deal." He glanced over my shoulder at his men. "Disarm the former King and put the suppression chains on the girl."

"I will tear apart the first man who steps forward," Rowan warned, trying to slide back in front of me, but his left knee visibly wobbled. The black poison from his earlier episode was actively draining him.

"Rowan, please," I whispered, grabbing his hand. I squeezed his fingers tightly, trying to project my own heartbeat, my own frequency, into his palm to soothe the storm in his mind. "If you love your pack, live to fight another day. Do not let him win everything in this room."

Rowan looked down at me. The bright golden flecks in my eyes reflected against the solid, ink-black abyss of his pupils. His jaw tightened so hard I heard the bone click. Slowly, agonizingly, his fingers loosened.

The heavy broadsword clattered loudly against the cold stone floor.

The sound echoed through the silent room like death itself.

Instantly, four hefty executioners lunged forward. Two of them restrained Rowan's arms behind his back, forcing him to kneel. A deep, rumbling growl emanated from his chest. It was a sound so powerful that it caused the floorboards to tremble—but he did not resist the hands pinning him down.

"Good boy," Eric taunted, flinging the velvet scroll onto the blood-stained medical table. "For the safety of the realm, the former King will be placed under house arrest in his quarters. No one enters, no one exits."

"And what about the hybrid beast?" Theresa inquired, gesturing toward Sarlen.

"Lock him in an iron cage in the lower cells," Eric commanded. "He is an undocumented anomaly. We will investigate how her blood altered his cells later. Move him."

Two more guards grabbed Sarlen, dragging his heavy body off the table. Sarlen groaned, his newly formed claws scratching uselessly against the stone floor; he was too weak from the transformation to break their grip.

"Father!" I cried, taking a step toward them.

Before I could move an inch, a massive guard clamped his hands around my wrists. Another lifted a pair of heavy, dark iron chains. The metal was carved with jagged purple symbols that hummed with a strange, static energy—anti-magic runes.

The moment the cuffs snapped shut around my wrists, an explosion of pure agony shot up my arms.

My knees hit the stone. A scream escaped me that didn’t sound like my own. It felt like they were pouring liquid silver into my veins.

The radiant golden light that warmed my skin vanished in a heartbeat. The heavy, protective pulse of my inner wolf fell completely silent, locked behind a wall of cold iron.

I was human again. But now breakable and completely exposed.

"Take her down to the deep research trenches," Eric commanded, his voice muffled by the sudden, intense ringing in my ears. "We need to collect a significant yield of blood before the Pack Summit tomorrow."

The guards hoisted me by my arms, dragging my feet across the smooth stone. I couldn't find my footing; my limbs felt like lead weights. The heavy iron chains clanked loudly against the floor behind me, a rhythmic death knell in the stillness of the corridor.

As they pulled me toward the dark dungeon stairs, I forced my head up, desperate for one last glimpse.

Rowan remained on his knees. He had stopped growling. He was no longer struggling. His gaze was fixed straight ahead—glassy, black, and completely hollow. As they dragged me into the dark, he didn't blink. He didn't look at me. The King of Dravenwood was gone, and only an empty shell remained.