MEET CASPIAN MERROW
744 Words
Caspian Merrow — Inner Dialogue During the Record
Caspian listened to his moral record the way a man listens to a list he already knows by heart.
Manipulation.
Recruitment.
Silence.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes—not because the charges were unfair, but because the delivery was so painfully self-righteous.
Yes, yes, he thought dryly. I was awful. Can we skip to the part where everyone pretends they’ve never benefited from lying before?
He’d never been cruel for the sake of cruelty.
That distinction mattered to him, even if it didn’t matter to the council. He’d been angry. Reckless.
Convinced that authority deserved to be poked just to see what fell apart.
He had been twenty-something and arrogant enough to believe that being clever was the same thing as being right.
And goodness—he’d loved the chaos of it.
The way rules bent when pushed.
The way powerful people grew uncomfortable when challenged.
The way Sebastian spoke about change like it was justice instead of vengeance.
Caspian had thought he was playing at rebellion.
Turns out, he’d been lighting fuses and calling it philosophy.
When the scribe read that he had benefited—connections gained, influence expanded—Caspian nearly laughed.
Not because it was wrong, but because it was painfully accurate.
Of course I did, he thought. That’s the ugly part, isn’t it?
He’d never laid a hand on anyone.
Never kidn*pped. Never crossed the line into blood.
But he’d stood close enough to feel the heat.
And when things got violent, when Sebastian’s smile sharpened into something feral—Caspian had stepped back.
Not forward.
Not enough.
His gaze flicked briefly to Fleur, to Odette.
I regret a lot, he admitted silently.
But not learning. Not growing out of it.
What he truly regretted was the collateral damage.
Children punished for sins they never committed.
A niece born into exile before she ever took her first breath.
A future narrowed by his past stupidity.
When he finally spoke aloud, the humor came easily. It always did.
Smugness was armor. Arrogance was muscle memory.
But beneath it sat something real: a man who had learned the cost of thinking he was smarter than consequences.
Lysander — Watching, Learning, Understanding
Lysander didn’t look away.
Not once.
He studied Caspian Merrow the way one studies fire—aware it could warm or burn depending on how close you stood.
This was not the villain the council had painted for years. Nor was he a hero in exile’s clothing.
He was worse.
He was human.
Caspian didn’t beg. Didn’t grovel. Didn’t try to polish his past into something noble.
His humor was irreverent, his posture relaxed to the point of disrespect—and yet, Lysander could see the calculation behind it.
Every joke was intentional.
Every smirk controlled.
A man who knew exactly how he was perceived—and leaned into it because it was safer than asking for forgiveness.
Menace, Lysander thought faintly.
But not a monster.
And Jasper—calm, grounded, unflinching—was the counterweight.
Where Caspian deflected with humor, Jasper absorbed responsibility without flinching.
Together, they formed something dangerous in youth and strangely balanced in age.
Lysander realized then what unsettled him most.
These men had never been given a trial.
No chance to speak.
No opportunity to be weighed properly.
They had been exiled not because justice demanded it—but because it was easier.
This is the reckoning others never got, Lysander thought.
And the implications stretched far beyond this room.
If the council could be wrong about the Merrows…
How many other families had been buried beneath convenient silence?
The road ahead would be ugly.
Other exiled packs would come forward.
Old wounds would reopen. Traditions would be questioned in ways the council wasn’t prepared for.
Change would not be gentle.
But for now—
Lysander let himself feel relief.
Elora would be able to visit her family.
She would not be forced to choose between her mate and her blood.
She would not have to love in pieces anymore.
As Caspian leaned back and made his smug comment about irony and royalty, Lysander surprised himself by almost liking him.
God help us, he thought. He’s going to be insufferable.
But maybe—just maybe—the kind of man who challenged authority simply because it needed challenging was exactly the kind of uncle a future queen might need.
And for today?
That was enough.
- Writer
