“Father, please—she is ill. Order the door to be opened!” Tristan’s voice cracked with urgency as he stood before the iron bars. His golden eyes burned with something deeper than anger, something instinctive, primal. He could feel it—the faint scent that clung to me. Like the delicate trace of a newborn pup’s blood.
But Alpha Conri’s face hardened like stone. “No, son. She is not leaving that cell until the night of the festival.” His voice carried authority that filled the damp corridors, echoing off the cold walls.
Tristan clenched his jaw, his fists trembling at his sides. “Father, I will obey your every word as your heir. But this—” his voice faltered, raw instinct pressing him forward, “—this last request, I beg you to grant.”
Alpha Conri turned away, his expression unreadable. His
