Episode 3
1060 Words
Authors POV
The moon hung low over the Royal Crescent, bleeding silver through the open arches of Alpha Drogo Draven’s fortress. The night was quiet, save for the faint howl of wolves beyond the castle walls. Inside, the Alpha sat at his desk, sharpening a blade that didn’t need sharpening. His thoughts were sharper than any weapon.
“Still polishing ghosts?” came a voice from the doorway.
Rhea leaned against the frame, arms crossed, her dark braid falling over one shoulder. Her eyes were steady, calm, but questioning.
Drogo set the blade down. “You shouldn’t be here this late.”
“You shouldn’t be up this late either,” she replied softly. “You haven’t slept since the Vale raid.”
Drogo’s jaw tightened. “That’s done. The king gave the order.”
Rhea stepped closer, her boots whispering against the stone. “So you killed them? Just like that?”
He looked away. “They were traitors. Alder received proof that Vale was planning a coup. He wanted the throne for himself.”
Rhea frowned. “Proof? Or just whispers?”
Drogo’s silence was her answer.
“Brother,” she said quietly, her voice gentler now. “You always said justice isn’t killing who the king points at. Did you even look for truth before you drew your sword?”
Drogo stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. “Do not question my loyalty to the crown.”
“I’m not,” she said firmly. “I’m questioning whether the man who used to believe in loyalty shouldn’t blind him.”
Their eyes met and hers was full of quiet defiance, his clouded with something he couldn’t name. Regret? Guilt? He didn’t know.
Rhea sighed. “The child survived, didn’t she?”
Drogo’s gaze hardened. “She’s in the dungeons.”
“What will you do with her?”
“What I must.”
Rhea watched him, sadness flickering behind her calm. “Be careful, Drogo. Even wolves choke on the blood of the innocent.”
When she left, the room felt colder. The Alpha’s hand lingered on his sword, but for the first time, his grip wasn’t steady.
***
Far below the fortress, beneath heavy iron gates and damp stone, Cyn Vale lay curled on the dungeon floor.
Her wrists were bruised where chains had bitten into them, her lips cracked, her body weak. Every breath burned like fire. Yet her eyes, those violet, storm-touched eyes, still glowed with fury.
The darkness pressed in, but her mind was sharp as a blade. They took everything. My father. My mother. Rynn…
Her brother’s name felt like a knife in her chest.
“I’ll make them pay,” she whispered to herself. “Even if it kills me.”
Her voice trembled, but her resolve did not. She traced the faint scar on her wrist, the mark of the oracle’s curse. It pulsed faintly under the moonlight streaming from the bars above. Her wolf was there, somewhere deep, trapped beneath that curse. She could feel her heartbeat, but not her power.
Her stomach growled painfully. She hadn’t eaten in days.
Then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Not the heavy boots of guards, softer, lighter.
Cyn’s head jerked up.
The cell door creaked open, and a woman stepped inside carrying a tray of food and a small lantern. The warm light filled the small space, revealing her gentle face.
“Easy,” the woman said softly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Cyn narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Rhea,” she said, setting the tray down. “I’m here to clean your wounds.”
Cyn gave a humorless laugh. “You all burn my world down, then feed me so I can die slower. Touch me, and I’ll bite.”
Rhea didn’t flinch. “You’re hurt, not dead. That’s reason enough to try.”
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Rhea gently dipped a cloth in water and moved closer. Cyn stiffened as the cool fabric brushed her arm.
“You don’t have to pretend to be strong all the time,” Rhea murmured.
“I’m not pretending,” Cyn said bitterly. “Strength is all I have left.”
Rhea’s eyes softened. “You remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Who?”
“My brother,” Rhea said quietly. “He hides his pain too. But sometimes… it breaks through.”
Cyn scoffed but said nothing. When Rhea finished, she set down the bandages and whispered, “Try to eat something. Please.”
When she left, Cyn stared at the bread and stew. Her pride screamed to starve, but her body betrayed her. She ate, slowly, angrily, and tearfully.
***
Up above, in the torch-lit corridor, Drogo stood watching Rhea walk out of the dungeons.
“She’s the last Vale,” Kael’s voice came from behind him, calm but sharp. “Alder will want proof she’s dead.”
Drogo didn’t turn around. “You’ll have it.”
Kael stepped closer. “He’s already asking questions. He trusts you, Drogo, but trust fades fast in the Royal Crescent.”
Drogo’s jaw tightened. “Do not lecture me about loyalty, Kael.”
“I’m just reminding you,” Kael said smoothly, “that mercy doesn’t buy safety.”
Drogo turned to face him then, eyes like steel. “And fear doesn’t earn respect.”
Kael smirked, but his gaze lingered. “Just make sure the girl doesn’t become your weakness.”
He walked away, boots echoing through the hall.
Drogo’s hand went to his chest. His heartbeat was steady, but deep inside, something stirred, something ancient and wild. His wolf.
It had growled the moment he saw the girl. The same moment her scent reached his, familiar yet forbidden.
He had ignored it, buried it. But now, it clawed at his mind.
Why her? Why now?
He didn’t have the answers. Only the memory of her eyes in the dark, violet and unyielding, like the storm that had never ended inside him.
***
That night, the fortress was silent, but neither the Alpha nor his prisoner slept.
One plotted revenge.
The other fought a war within himself.
And between them
, fate waited. It was quiet and patient, like the moon over blood.
- Writer
