Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ARES
T he cement walls of this cell feel like they’re closing in, even though I’ve been in smaller spaces before. What gets to me isn’t the confined space—it’s the waiting. The not knowing what the hell is happening outside these bars while we rot in here like common criminals.
Poe sits across from me on the narrow bench, his dark eyes fixed on some point beyond the wall. He hasn’t said much since they dragged us in here hours ago, just that same brooding silence he wears like armor. But I can see the wheels turning behind those watchful eyes.
“What do you think Logan’s doing right now?” I ask, needing to break the oppressive quiet.
Poe’s gaze flicks to me briefly before returning to the wall. “Hopefully, trying to convince his father to release us.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then we wait for whatever comes next.”
His calm resignation grates against my nerves. I surge to my feet, pacing the narrow confines of our shared cell. “This is bullshit. There is no evidence connecting us to Ander’s death. His father has to know that.”
“Does he?” Poe’s voice is maddeningly neutral. “Or is this exactly what the king wanted all along?”
I stop pacing to stare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Poe finally meets my eyes, something cold and calculating in his expression. “Think about it, Ares. The timing. Right after Logan’s named heir, right after he’s publicly bonded Maya…suddenly we’re arrested for a murder that happened over a year ago?”
The pieces start clicking together in my mind, forming a picture I don’t want to see. “You think Logan set us up?”
“I think Logan’s been keeping secrets from us for months.” Poe leans forward, his voice dropping lower. “The private meetings with the king. The way he’s been acting with Maya. That business with the Inquisitor sniffing around, asking questions about pack dynamics.”
I shake my head automatically, even as doubt gnaws at my gut. “Logan wouldn’t betray us. We’re pack.”
“Are we?” Poe challenges. “When’s the last time he consulted us on anything important? When’s the last time he treated us like brothers instead of convenient muscle?”
The questions don’t have answers I want to consider. Logan has been different lately. More secretive, more isolated. I’d attributed it to the pressure of becoming heir, but what if it’s something else entirely?
“Logan saved my life,” I say, needing to voice the loyalty that’s defined me for years. “More than once. Gave me purpose, a place to belong.”
“I know.” Poe’s expression softens slightly. “He saved me too, in his way. But does that really mean he won’t sacrifice us for a crown?”
“You really think he’d throw us under the bus?” I ask, though even as the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m not entirely certain of the answer anymore.
Poe doesn’t respond immediately. He stares at his hands, flexing his fingers as if he’s testing their strength. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet but certain.
“Look at how he’s treated Maya. Look at how he treats Cillian.” His dark eyes meet mine. “Why would we expect him to show any more compassion to us?”
The words land like punches to my gut. I think of Maya’s hollow eyes after that night in the basement, the way she flinches when Logan touches her. I think of Cillian’s careful distance, the way he’s been walking on eggshells around Logan for months.
“That’s different,” I protest weakly. “Maya’s his Omega. Different rules apply.”
“Different rules,” Poe repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “You mean no rules at all? Save for complete ownership?”
I want to argue, to defend Logan and the pack structure that’s been my whole world. But the certainty I’ve always felt about our brotherhood wavers, replaced by an uncomfortable awareness of just how little say the rest of us actually have in Logan’s decisions.
“So what are you saying?” I ask, dropping back onto the bench. “That we’re expendable?”
Poe’s smile is grim. “I’m saying we only have to look at his track record to know what happens to people who inconvenience Prince Logan.”
The implication hangs heavy between us. Ander. Logan’s own brother, now dead for reasons none of us fully understand. If Logan could kill his own blood...
“What do we do if you’re right?” I ask, hating how defeated I sound.
Poe’s laugh is dark and humorless. “We die. Probably at the hands of whatever assassin Logan sends to ensure we can’t testify about what really happened to Ander.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “You really think he’d?—“
“I think Logan has proven he’ll do whatever it takes to protect his position,” Poe interrupts. “And two inconvenient pack members who know too much about his secrets? We’re liabilities now, not assets.”
The terrible logic of it settles in my stomach like lead. If Logan’s willing to sacrifice us to maintain his claim to the throne, we’re as good as dead. Our loyalty means nothing if it conflicts with his ambition.
But even knowing all that, even facing the possibility of our own execution, part of me still can’t accept it.
“I don’t believe it,” I say, the words feeling like a betrayal even as I speak them. “Logan’s our pack brother. He wouldn’t?—“
“Wouldn’t he?” Poe’s voice cuts through my denial like a blade. “The same way he wouldn’t force a bond on an unwilling Omega? The same way he wouldn’t make Cillian carve his mark into her flesh while she was restrained?”
Each word is a hammer blow against my crumbling faith. I want to argue, to find some defense for the man I’ve followed for years. But the evidence is mounting, painting a picture of Logan I don’t want to see.
“We’re all just pawns to him,” Poe continues relentlessly. “And pawns get sacrificed when the game requires it.”
The cell door swings open with a metallic screech that echoes through the narrow space. My body tenses automatically, every instinct screaming that Poe’s predictions about assassins are about to come true.
Logan stands in the doorway, but he’s not the polished prince we left behind.
Blood soaks through his white dress uniform—dark stains across his chest, spattered on his sleeves, even streaked across his face like war paint.
His golden eyes burn with an intensity I’ve never seen before, wild and dangerous.
“We have to go,” he says, voice rough. “Now.”
I immediately step forward, relief flooding through me. Whatever’s happened, Logan came for us. My doubts about his loyalty evaporate in the face of his bloodied appearance.
But Poe’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm hard enough to leave bruises.
“No,” Poe says, not moving from his position on the bench. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us everything.”
Logan’s jaw tightens. “We don’t have time for questions.”
“We have all the time in the world,” Poe replies, voice deadly calm. “We’re sitting in a jail cell on treason charges, so we’re not exactly in a rush. I want to know why we were arrested in the first place before I make the problem worse by breaking out of the palace prison.”
“My father has turned on us,” Logan snaps, impatience bleeding into his voice. “That’s all you need to know. We have to leave before?—“
“Before what?” Poe interrupts. “Before someone discovers what really happened to Ander?”
The blood on Logan’s uniform catches the dim light from the corridor, and I notice something else—the way his hands shake slightly, the barely controlled tremor that speaks of either rage or fear. Maybe both.
“Poe—” he starts.
“I know you’re hiding something from us. Something big. And I’m not leaving until I know what it is,” Poe insists. “Tell us the truth. All of it. No more secrets.”
Logan narrows his eyes. “There is nothing more to tell you aside from the fact that we have to go.”
I open my mouth to take Logan’s side, to trust him like I always have. But then I really look at his expression, at the way his golden eyes won’t quite meet mine. At the defensive set of his shoulders, the way he keeps glancing back down the corridor like he’s expecting pursuit.
Logan is lying.
The realization feels like a sickness in my gut. After years of following him without question, I can finally see the deception written across his features. The subtle tells I’ve been blind to, the careful omissions that suddenly seem obvious.
“What aren’t you telling us?” I ask.
Logan’s eyes snap to mine, genuine surprise flickering across his face. “Ares?—“
“No,” I cut him off, the word tasting like poison in my mouth. “Poe’s right. You’re lying to us. Even now, with whatever shit is going down, you’re still not telling us everything.”
Something dark crosses Logan’s expression—not anger, but something closer to hurt. The blood streaking his face makes him look like a stranger, a violent apparition wearing my pack leader’s face.
“Fine,” he says, voice dropping to that dangerous register I know means he’s done pretending. “You want the truth? My father knows I killed Ander. He’s always known. And he doesn’t give a shit because he thought Ander was weak.”
The confession hangs in the air between us like a blade. I feel my world tilt, everything I thought I understood shifting beneath my feet.
“The arrests, the investigation—it’s all theater,” Logan continues, his voice growing harder with each word. “A show for the masses while he dismantles the pack system piece by piece.”
“But that’s not all you’re hiding, is it?” Poe asks dangerously.
Logan’s mouth works silently for a moment, and I see the exact instant he realizes there’s no point in continuing the charade. His shoulders drop slightly, the fight going out of him as he leans against the cell doorframe.
“Cillian is an Omega,” he says quietly, the words falling like stones into still water. “He’s been hiding his designation since before he joined the palace guard. I’ve been helping him maintain the deception.”