Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lucian
The stone staircase descends into darkness, and each footfall echoes through the cold corridors like a death knell.
My boots click against wet rock as I make my way deeper into the palace dungeons, the air growing thicker with each step.
Then, the smell hits me—dampness, rot, desperation. It clings to everything down here.
But none of that matters. Not the stench, not the shadows, not the way the torchlight flickers against the walls like dying hope. All that matters is getting answers.
I find them in the third cell from the end, exactly where the guards told me they’d be. Two figures are huddled in the dim light filtering through the iron bars, and the sight of them makes a feeling of satisfaction unfurl in my chest.
Alpha Gareth sits on the stone bench, his once-commanding presence reduced to a pathetic and broken one.
His gray hair hangs in greasy strands around his face, and his clothes are stained with who knows what.
But his eyes—those calculating, gray eyes that I remember from our first meeting—still hold that spark of arrogance.
Even here, even now, he thinks he’s better than he is.
Harper crouches beside him, her once-golden hair matted and tangled, her face streaked with tears and dirt. She has wrapped her arms around herself like she’s trying to hold the pieces together, and when she sees me approaching, she springs to her feet so fast she nearly loses her balance.
“Prince Lucian!” Her voice, desperate and pleading, cracks on my name. “Oh, thank the Goddess, you came!”
She rushes toward me, her hands grabbing the cold, iron bars as she presses her face between them. Her blue eyes are wide and hopeful, filled with the kind of frantic pleading that makes my stomach turn.
“I knew you’d come,” she breathes, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I knew you’d realize—about us, about what we could have together. You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you? About wanting me?”
The delusion in her voice is almost painful to hear. Even now, even after everything, she still believes in some fantasy where I choose her over Astra. Where I’m here to rescue her because I’ve finally seen her worth.
“Please,” she continues, her voice starting to sound frantic, “get me out of here. I’ve been waiting, hoping you’d remember how good we could be together. I know I can make you happy, Prince Lucian. I know I can—”
“Shut up, Harper.”
The words stop her rambling instantly, and she flinches as if I’ve slapped her. Behind her, Alpha Gareth finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of hatred and resignation.
“Your Highness,” Gareth says, his voice hoarse but still carrying that mocking edge I remember. “How delightful. Come to gloat over your prisoners?”
I ignore him, my gaze moving between father and daughter with cold calculation.
Harper is still staring at me, optimism and desperation warring in her expression, while Gareth watches me with the wary attention of a wild animal that has found itself in a cage with something even more dangerous than itself.
“I have questions,” I say simply. “About Astra’s family.”
Gareth’s laugh is harsh and bitter. “Questions? That’s rich.” He leans back against the stone wall, his expression shifting to one of scornful defiance. “In case you haven’t noticed, Your Highness, I’m already slated for execution. Why the hell would I answer any of your questions?”
“Because,” I say, stepping closer to the bars, “you can either answer them willingly, or I can have my guards drag your daughter to the torture chambers, and you can listen to her scream while I ask them again.”
The blood drains from Harper’s face so quickly I think she might collapse. She stumbles backward, her hand flying to her mouth as a small, terrified sound escapes her. The confidence, the hope, the desperate flirtation—all of it evaporates in an instant, leaving behind raw, primal fear.
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head frantically. “No, no, no. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t—”
“Try me.”
Gareth’s entire demeanor changes instantly. The mocking arrogance disappears, replaced by a sharp and calculating expression. His eyes dart between me and Harper, and I can tell exactly when he realizes I’m not bluffing. He knows I’ll do exactly what I’ve threatened, without a second thought.
“You bastard,” he snarls, but there’s less venom in his tone now. More resignation.
Harper starts crying openly, great sobbing gasps that echo through the dungeon. She has backed herself up against the far wall of the cell, staring at me like I’m a monster from her worst nightmares. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s exactly what I’ve become where Astra is concerned.
“Please,” Harper chokes out between sobs. “Please. I never hurt her. I never—”
“Quiet,” Gareth snaps at his daughter, then turns back to me. His jaw works for a moment as he weighs his options. “Fine. I’ll answer your questions. But I have a demand.”
I raise an eyebrow, waiting.
“Harper goes free. Send her back to what’s left of our pack. She’s innocent in all this.”
The laugh that escapes me is cold and humorless. “Innocent? Your daughter is hardly innocent, Gareth.”
“She’s a talented healer,” he says desperately, leaning forward. “Young, powerful, useful. I’m just asking you to spare her life. Send her away from here, away from court politics and royal vengeance. Let her live quietly somewhere she can’t cause any more trouble.”
I study him for a long moment, observing the way he’s not looking at Harper as he bargains for her life. Even now, even facing death, he’s playing political games. But this may be the easiest way to get what I need.
“Fine,” I say eventually. “I’ll let her go. And if you answer my questions truthfully, I’ll let her live.”
Relief floods Gareth’s features, but Harper cries even harder. She realizes what this means—that she’ll never see her father again, that this will be goodbye forever.
“Harper,” I call out, my voice cutting through her wails. “Come here.”
She shakes her head frantically, pressing herself harder against the wall.
“Now.”
Reluctantly, moving like someone walking to their own execution, she approaches the bars. Her father stands, too, and suddenly they’re embracing, clinging to each other like people who are drowning.
“I’m sorry,” Gareth whispers into her hair, his voice cracking for the first time since I arrived. “I’m so sorry, little star. For everything.”
Harper is bawling too hard to respond, just holding on to him like she can stop time through sheer force of will. It’s almost touching, in a twisted way. Almost enough to make me feel something approaching sympathy.
Almost.
“Say goodbye,” I tell them flatly. “You’ll never see each other again.”
Harper’s sobs turn into a howl at that, high and keening. She clutches at her father’s shirt, her knuckles white with the force of her grip.
“Papa, no. Please, I can’t—I won’t—”
“Be strong,” Gareth murmurs, pulling back to look at her face. “You’re stronger than you know. Find somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. Make a life for yourself away from all this.”
“But I don’t want to! I want to stay with you!”
“You can’t.” His tone is firm now, final. “This is how it has to be.”
I signal to the guards waiting at the top of the stairs. Two of them descend quickly, their armor clanking against the stone steps.
“No!” Harper screams as they unlock the door and reach for her. “No, please! Lucian, please!”
She tries to fight them, clawing and kicking as they pull her out of the cell. Her nails leave scratches on the iron bars as they drag her away, her desperate cries echoing through the dungeon.
“Arrange for a portal,” I tell one of the guards. “Have a witch send her back to Silver Stone territory. Whatever’s left of it.”
“Lucian!” Harper’s voice is raw with anguish. “Please! I can be useful to you! I can—”
But the guards are already carrying her up the stairs, her pleas growing fainter with each step until finally, mercifully, they fade to nothing.
Silence settles over the dungeon like a shroud. Gareth slumps back onto his bench, suddenly looking every one of his years. The bravado is gone now, leaving behind a broken and hollow shell of a man.
“Satisfied?” he asks bitterly.
“That depends on your answers.” I move closer to the bars so he can see every line of hatred etched into my features. “Tell me about Astra’s father.”
Gareth’s laugh is indignant. “Her father? He was nobody. Just some rogue bastard that her mother spread her legs for when she was feeling rebellious.”
Rage flares hot and bright in my chest, but I keep my voice level. “Details.”
“What details? He was a drifter, a nobody with no pack, no status, no worth. Elena thought she was so clever, running off with him to spite me. To avoid marrying me like her father had arranged.” His voice grows more venomous with each word. “She always thought she was too good for reality.”
“Did Astra’s father abandon them?”
Gareth shrugs. “Probably got bored. Or maybe he realized what kind of trouble he’d gotten himself into when Elena’s father came looking for them. Either way, he wasn’t around when we brought her back.”
The careful casualness of his tone makes me press harder. “What happened to him?”
“How should I know? Rogues die all the time. Could have been anything.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Gareth meets my gaze, and there’s a cold look in his eyes. “It’s the only answer you’re getting about him.”
I file that away for later investigation. “How did Astra’s mother die?”
Now Gareth smirks, and the expression is so full of malicious satisfaction that it takes every ounce of my control not to crash through the bars and strangle him where he sits.
“Illness,” he says simply. “Very sad. Very tragic.”
“Bullshit.”
His smirk widens. “That’s what the records say. Poor Elena, wasting away from grief and sickness. Such a shame.”
“Tell me the truth.”