Rejecting Her Rogue Prince

The Questioning

Cold panic floods me as the sound of voices pierces the air. I whip my head toward the rogue, but he doesn’t even glance at me. His eyes are trained on the steps, his shoulders squaring, his body coiling, every inch of him bristling with lethal energy.

With no other choice available, I dart for the shadows, crouching behind a barrel in the corner of the dungeons. The damp stone bites through my silk dressing gown as I press myself low between the barrel and the wall.

Goddess, I was so stupid to come here.

There is no doubt in my mind that they will find me, and when they do, the secret will unravel because the rogue will tell them why I’m here. He’ll drag our hideous bond into the open and twist it into a tool he can use to claw his way out of his chains, I’m sure of it.

Nerves wrack me to my very bones as I think of the catastrophic fallout this awful mess will cause.

Goddess, to see Robert’s face when he finds out. Will he think me a monster too for being connected with such a beast? After all, why would the Moon Goddess pair us unless she considered us a compatible match?

I should have known something like this would happen. I should have known that the life I had was built on borrowed time. I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment, forcing myself into some semblance of calm as the footsteps come to a stop.

“STAND BACK, ROGUE!” My father’s order causes me to jump slightly. I know him to be a man of authority, of course, but he has never raised his voice to Sybil or I, not ever.

“Has the rogue said anything?” A voice I don’t recognize asks.

“No, nothing. I put my best warriors to work on him after his capture, but he refuses to talk or reveal the location of his pack, even after significant torture,” Father answers.

I peek around the edge of the barrel to see my father, along with his Beta and a few of his warriors, gathered around the cell, watching as the royal guards charge inside.

They grab the rogue by his arms, pinning them tightly behind his back. He thrashes against them, managing to shake his arms loose enough to throw a series of wild punches. A blow lands on an unfortunate guard’s face, knocking him to the ground, and brief panic ensues. The sound of raised voices echoes around the dungeons, and I steal the opportunity to breathe, my eyes still glued to the scene.

Eventually, they force the beast down onto bended knee, tying his arms behind him with another length of chain.

“He’s ready now,” one of the palace guards announces, breathless from the struggle.

The envoy waits for a moment, examining the rogue before he steps into the cell to stand over him.

The beastly rogue doesn’t cower or submit; instead, he glares at the envoy with that same blazing defiance in his eyes.

“State your name, rogue,” the envoy demands, pacing the cell.

Silence is his response.

The envoy doesn’t seem fazed by this, though. He continues, “Upon the order of King Edmund Falcrest, you are hereby commanded to state the whereabouts of your rogue camp.”

I watch with bated breath, unsurprised when the rogue spits on the ground by the envoy’s feet. “Go f**k yourself.”

The envoy stops this time. He pauses for a moment before lifting his hand to issue a silent order. One of the guards reacts immediately, pulling a pistol from his belt.

My whole body stiffens, my fingernails clinging to the wooden barrel.

“You should choose your words wisely, or the third bullet you take this evening will be your last,” the envoy advises calmly. “One dead rogue equals one less problem in our kingdom, and so I will not hesitate to give the order. You have one more chance to tell us who you are and where your pack is camped.”

Oh Goddess!

I cover my mouth to mask my breathing, convinced either it or my raging heartbeat will surely give me away.

Suddenly, the door at the top of the stairs opens once again, and another set of footsteps approaches.

My gaze darts to the right, where Robert now appears, stepping into the dungeons with a grey-haired man dressed in royal finery. It’s not an envoy nor a guard—it’s the king’s own personal advisor. I recognize him immediately from palace events we have attended.

“Sir Rodric.” My father bows his head in acknowledgment. “I trust Alpha Robert here provided you with a thorough debrief.”

“He did. It’s good to see you again, Harland. Though not in these unfortunate circumstances,” the king’s chief advisor replies. “His Majesty sends his condolences for your losses.”

My father bows again, and Sir Rodric turns his attention to the cell, taking in the scene which has remained on pause since his arrival.

“Has he given up the name of his leaders?”

“No.”

“His pack whereabouts?”

“No. I believe it is unlikely that he will break, my lord,” the envoy answers.

“Then you know what to do.”

Sir Rodric’s voice is cold, clipped, the sound of complete finality. The envoy nods, and silence falls again, the weight of the order settling like frost in the air.

Suddenly, I taste blood. My tongue stings where I’ve bitten it, and still I can’t seem to unclench my jaw. My wolf is prowling beneath my skin, pacing, snarling, desperate to be free.

Her outrage growls against my bones. She wants to go to him—to the killer, the monster who brought ruin to our doorstep.

Our mate.

The word itself feels like a curse.

The rogue lifts his head then, as though he’s felt my turmoil clawing its way toward him. For the first time since the guards arrived, his eyes meet mine, and something inside me stops.

The room falls away. The guards, my father, even Robert— they’re all shadows at the edges of my vision. It’s just him. Those eyes filled with the same cold defiance.

I should hate him.

I do hate him.

But the bond doesn’t care. It pulls tight, binding me to a heartbeat that shouldn’t matter anymore. Soon he’ll be dead, and the bond will sever, but he doesn’t look afraid. He doesn’t even flinch as the envoy c***s the pistol and raises it to his head. Instead, his gaze stays locked on mine, steady, accepting.

The sound of the hammer clicking back slices like a deep wound inside, and my pulse trips over itself. My wolf is now howling, thrashing against the cage of my ribs.

Do something! My instincts scream at me.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

And then the envoy’s finger tightens—

“WAIT!”

I let out a puff of sheer relief as Sir Rodric’s order echoes through the dungeons.

The rogue’s face twitches, his gaze tearing from mine to watch as Sir Rodric dashes inside the cell.

There’s bewilderment in the air as the silence stretches, the men glancing at one another questioningly as Sir Rodric grabs the rogue’s hair, tugging it away from his forehead.

“By the Moon’s Grace,” he mutters under his breath, his face agog, his eyes as wide as saucers. “All of you out! Everyone out. Now!”

The envoy looks to my father and back again. “But, my lord—“

Sir Rodric ignores him. “Out!”

The envoy gives the orders to his men, and they hastily exit the cell, leaving Sir Rodric alone.

“What is your name, Wolf?” he demands, looking down at the rogue with renewed determination. “The name you were given at birth? The name of your family?”

The rogue’s jaw tightens, but behind his defiance, I can sense his confusion. It dawns on me that he’s just as clueless as everyone else.

“WHAT IS YOUR NAME, BOY?”

My heart clenches, waiting.

But he doesn’t reply.

To my surprise, Sir Rodric doesn’t answer with violence; instead, he steps back, visibly shaken.

“This man is not to be harmed. On my orders,” he murmurs, shooting a look at my father. “Alpha Lockwood, is that understood?”

My father frowns but acknowledges respectfully.

“I need your fastest rider. I must send word to the palace at once,” Sir Rodric continues, taking one last look at the rogue before exiting the cell and striding toward the stone steps.

My father follows quickly. “What is this about? The rogue attacked my pack, Sir Rodric. He attacked my daughter’s wedding! The punishment for such a deed has long been established!”

Sir Rodric stops, looking around the room cautiously before dragging my father off to the side. I crouch down further behind the barrel. I am now unable to see, but I listen intently to their private discussion.

“Harland, no harm will befall that man if he is who I think he is,” Sir Rodric explains quietly. There's silence for a moment before he continues. “Old friend, I believe you may have just found the long-lost Prince Killian Falcrest.”