The Regret of the Alpha

“Move, girl!" A rough hand yanked Melodie's arm. The sack of onions split, bulbs rolling across the blood-slick tiles. “I'm just a scullery maid!" she gasped, backing against the wall as silver-armored wolves stormed through the ruined gate. “You've got Felix's eyes," the captain growled. “That's enough." Shackles clicked around her wrists. Torchlight painted everything red as rebels dragged prisoners to the courtyard. Screams mixed with cheers. At the center stood a man—broad-shouldered, scarred, calm as moonlight. Alexander. Melodie froze. It couldn't be. Not the boy she fed through bars. Not him. “Line them up," the captain barked. Alexander's eyes swept the captives. His gaze landed on her and stopped. Recognition flickered. Then— “Her. Dungeon." Melodie flinched. “Wait—Alexander, it's me—" “Take her." “Alexander!" Her voice cracked. “The flute—the bread—the song—" He didn't blink. “Until judgment," he said coldly. “No exceptions." The guards dragged her away. “You remember me," she whispered as stone swallowed the light. “You have to." --- Chains clinked as she collapsed onto damp straw. The cell was narrow. Cold. Familiar. The past bled through the dark: whispers, lullabies, a hand reaching blindly. “I never left," she murmured to no one. A guard snorted. “Tell that to the Alpha. You're just another rat in his trap." --- Outside, Alexander stood on the crumbled balcony, fingers curled around the rail. “Who was that girl?" asked Beta Marcus. “Felix's bastard," Alexander said without turning. “Pretty. Dangerous. Want me to—?" “No." His voice was low. “Let her rot." --- In the cell, Melodie curled into herself. He had looked straight at her. And still… nothing. “I should've let you starve," she muttered. But the lie tasted bitter. --- Flashbacks flickered behind her eyes— “Are the stars really that far?" “Farther than you can walk." “Will I ever see them?" “I'll bring you music to drown the screams." She touched her stomach. Empty. Still. But her heart beat defiant. “Chains won't keep me silent," she whispered. --- In the war room, the new Alpha's council erupted in shouts. “We've taken the keep—now what?" Alexander didn't answer. His fingers traced the edge of something in his pocket: an old, cracked reed flute. “Burn the traitors," someone shouted. He stood. “Later. First we clean the dungeons." His voice was calm. But in his chest, something thrashed. --- That night, Melodie sat against the wall, blood drying on her wrists. She hummed softly, the tune wobbling but true. Up above, Alexander jolted awake, heart pounding. He knew that sound. But the dream faded before he could hold it. ---