Chapter Three - The Prisoner
589 Words
The dungeon never slept.
Aria lost count of the hours, then the days. Darkness bled into darkness, broken only by the drip of water from the ceiling and the scrape of boots when guards came to shove stale bread and a cup of foul water through the bars.
The silver shackles burned her wrists raw, the wolfsbane turning her veins into rivers of fire. Each breath tasted of ash, her body weakening more with every passing hour.
But her spirit her spirit clung stubbornly to life.
She would not give Elara the satisfaction of breaking.
She pressed her forehead to the cold stone wall, forcing herself to focus. Plans circled in her mind, fragments of escape routes, memories of the healer’s stores where keys were kept, herbs that might dull the poison. Her hands itched for freedom, though her body shook with exhaustion.
Sometimes, the echoes of celebration reached her even here faint strains of music, laughter drifting down from above. They were feasting in her honor, she thought bitterly. Feasting because she had been discarded.
Her chest tightened until it hurt. She had never wanted the mate bond. Never sought it. But to feel it once to see recognition in Kael’s eyes and then have it ripped away? That was a cruelty worse than chains.
The scrape of boots sounded again. She expected the usual guard, a hulking brute who took pleasure in spitting insults when he dropped her rations.
But this time, it wasn’t him.
The man who appeared at her bars was younger, his hair dark, his eyes shadowed with something softer. His scent carried strength, but not cruelty.
He crouched, gaze flicking over her bruises and burns, the raw shackles biting her skin. His jaw clenched.
“They said you were disrespectful,” he muttered. “That you spat in the King’s face.”
Aria lifted her head, her voice hoarse. “That’s what they want you to believe.”
His eyes narrowed. “And what’s the truth?”
She studied him, unsure if this was another trick. But something in his expression steady, searching pulled the truth from her lips.
“She stole my scent,” she whispered. “Elara. She used magic. The bond was mine, but she twisted it.”
Silence.
Then, a sharp curse under his breath.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I know.”
Aria’s heart stuttered. “You what?”
“She isn’t my mate,” he said grimly. “I felt nothing for her. The bond pulled me elsewhere. I thought I was going mad until I saw you. Until I scented it beneath the poison they’ve buried you in.”
His words hit her like lightning. This stranger wasn’t just anyone. He was Elara’s true mate.
Her pulse quickened. Hope fragile, dangerous fluttered in her chest.
He glanced down the corridor, then back at her. “My name is Lucien. I don’t have much time. But know this: you’re not alone. And when the chance comes…” His eyes burned with quiet promise. “I’ll get you out.”
Her throat closed. Tears stung, not from weakness, but from the unbearable weight of being truly believed for the first time.
Lucien rose, slipping back into shadow as another guard’s footsteps echoed down the hall.
Aria sagged against the wall, her heart pounding.
She was still shackled, still poisoned, still branded a liar. But for the first time since the chains had closed around her wrists, she felt the spark of something fierce and unbreakable.
Hope.
- Writer
