Episode Seventeen
1188 Words
Part 28: A New Kind of War Room
The morning after was a new world. I woke, as I had before, to the solid, warm presence of Draven at my side. He was already awake, his golden eyes open and watchful in the gray light, but he was not the mountain of rage and fear from the previous night. He was still, and when his eyes met mine, there was a new, calm, and profound acknowledgment.
"King and Queen," I had said. He had accepted. The air in the lodge was no longer charged with the frantic energy of a new, unstable bond. It was heavy with the silence of purpose.
We did not speak. We rose, washed, and dressed as a unit, a silent, economical partnership. He donned his black Alpha's leathers. I, in turn, bypassed the fine, green wool of yesterday. I chose the practical, dark leathers and tunic his mother had worn—the clothes of a warrior. I was not just a Luna to be protected; I was a partner in a war. I braided my hair back, my fingers quick and sure. I was armoring myself.
When I turned, Draven was watching me. His gaze was intense, appreciative, and held a new, quiet respect. He simply nodded, once. "Come. Kaelen will have a report from the cells."
The council chamber was cold. Kaelen was already there, pacing in front of the carved map, her face a mask of frustration.
"Alpha. Luna," she bit out, the word Luna still costing her. "The prisoner is silent. We followed your orders. No food, no water. He just... sits there. He hasn't said a word."
"He's a fanatic, Kaelen," I said, my voice quiet. All three of us were standing around the map, a tense triangle of power. "He wants us to torture him. It proves his loyalty. It makes him a martyr."
"Then what do you suggest?" she snapped, her patience gone. "We let him sit there until his 'King' arrives to free him? He needs... motivation." Her hand drifted to the hilt of the knife at her belt.
Draven’s gaze flicked to me. It was not a test. It was an invitation. You asked me to teach you. Now, show me.
My heart gave a heavy thump. This was it. I was no longer just the rogue. I was the Queen.
I looked at the map, at the vast, dark territory of Shadowcleft. "We're... we're attacking the wrong target," I said, my voice finding its strength. "We're trying to break the strongest link. We're attacking the mountain."
"Silas is the only one who knows anything," Kaelen argued.
"He's the only one who knows the plan," I corrected, looking up at her. "But the brute, Torg... he knows the details. He knows the routes they took. He knows where they got their supplies. He knows how many they really are. Silas is the head. Torg is the body. And right now, the body is crippled, in agony, and terrified."
Kaelen scoffed. "He's a half-wit. An animal. You'll get nothing but grunts."
"An animal," I agreed, "is the easiest thing in the world to tame. You just have to find the right leverage. Right now, he's in a cold cell, in unimaginable pain, waiting to die. He has no reason to talk. So, let's give him one."
Draven's eyes narrowed, his gaze intense, focused entirely on me. "Go on."
"We move him," I said, the plan forming, cold and clear, like my old hunting strategies. "We take him out of the high cells. We put him in a warm room. We have the Healer not just tend his wounds, but... ease them. Give him something for the pain. Bring him a full tray of hot food. Give him ale. Give him water."
Kaelen stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. "We reward him? For attacking our pack? For crippling our food supply?"
"We break him," I said, my voice dropping. "A fanatic, like Silas, thrives on deprivation. It fuels his righteousness. But a brute, like Torg, only understands pain and comfort. For two days, we have only given him pain. His Alpha, Silas, has done nothing to save him. He's been abandoned."
I stepped closer to the table, my fingers tracing the route I had taken through the pass. "And then, when he's warm, when his belly is full, when his mind is clear from the pain... I will go and talk to him."
"You?" Kaelen’s voice was sharp with disbelief.
"Not you," I said, my gaze meeting hers, cold and steady. "You are a Beta. You are an enforcer. He will see you as a threat. And not Draven—he is the Alpha. He will see him as the executioner."
I looked at Draven, my partner. "He will see me. The woman who crippled him. The one who spared him. I'm not his judge, Kaelen. I'm his opposite. Silas is the 'King' who demands sacrifice. I'm the 'Queen' who just offered him comfort. He won't know what to do. His loyalty is already broken. I'm just going to give him a new one to latch onto."
There was a long, ringing silence in the chamber.
Kaelen was pale, her mind clearly racing, seeing the ruthless, counter-intuitive cunning of the plan. She was a warrior of the fist. This was a strategy of the mind, and it unnerved her.
Draven was not smiling. He was watching me with a look of such profound, intense pride that it felt more intimate than a kiss. He had seen the viper. Now, he was seeing the strategist.
He turned to his Beta. His voice was the pure, absolute command of the Alpha.
"Kaelen," he ordered. "You heard your Luna. Move the prisoner. See to his every comfort. Post two guards on his door, but tell them to be... polite. I want him treated like a guest. And I want the Healer to make sure his pain is managed."
Kaelen looked like she wanted to argue. She looked like she wanted to scream. But she was, above all, a loyal soldier. She saw the united front. She saw her Alpha, fully, completely, and terrifyingly, standing with his mate.
"Yes, Alpha," she bit out, her voice clipped. She turned on her heel and stormed from the room, her fury a palpable, sour scent left in her wake.
The heavy door banged shut, leaving Draven and me alone in the quiet chamber.
He didn't move for a long moment. Then, he reached across the map, his hand covering mine where it rested on the table. His thumb stroked the back of my hand, a gesture of quiet, profound approval.
"You are a natural, Lyra," he murmured, his voice low. "I rule by fear and strength. They obey me because I am the mountain. But you... you have just shown me how to rule by thought. You've taken your first prisoner."
"I haven't even spoken to him yet," I whispered.
"You don't have to," Draven said, a dark, dangerous smile touching his lips. "You've already broken Kaelen. Torg will be easy."
- Writer
