Chapter 138 Mercy and Judgment
Chase's POV
I pulled her against my chest, holding her while she shook with silent sobs.
We carried the evidence to where my father and Lord Julian had established command. Both men looked up as we entered, their expressions grave.
"We found proof," I said, laying out the documents. "Everything. The illegal mines, the spy network, the orders for Arthur's assassination."
My father studied the papers with methodical precision, his face growing harder with each page. Lord Julian stood beside him, and I watched grief and fury war across his weathered features as he read Arthur's final investigation notes.
"This is more than enough for a death sentence," my father said finally, his voice carrying absolute certainty.
Through the Bond, I felt Wynter's complex reaction—satisfaction that justice would be served, but also something deeper, sadder.
"Assemble the war council," Lord Julian said, his voice rough with emotion. "We'll hold the trial at dawn."
---
But dawn brought something we hadn't anticipated.
Anne appeared in the great hall just as we were preparing to pass final judgment, and the sight of her made my chest ache. She could barely walk, her body moving with the careful precision of someone whose every step brought agony.
Burns covered her arms and neck—the distinctive pattern of silver torture marking her pale skin. Her face was bruised, one eye still swollen nearly shut, and she moved with fragile determination.
Behind her, Lady Moira followed, looking remarkably composed considering her husband was about to be executed.
"Please," Anne said, her voice hoarse. She dropped to her knees before the assembled lords with visible effort, and I saw fresh blood seep through her bandages. "Please—I know what my father has done. I know he deserves punishment. But I'm begging you—don't execute him."
The hall fell silent. My father's expression remained impassive, but I saw Lord Julian's face soften slightly as he took in Anne's injuries.
"Lady Anne," my father said carefully, "your father's crimes are extensive. The evidence demands—"
"Terminal imprisonment," Anne interrupted, her good eye meeting my father's with desperate determination. "Lock him away for life. Strip him of his title and lands. But please—don't make me watch my father die."
Lady Moira stepped forward then, her voice carrying practiced emotion. "My lords, surely mercy can be shown. My husband made mistakes, yes, but we are willing to make reparations. Bloodrock's resources could be quite valuable to your territories. Perhaps an arrangement could be reached—"
"Mother, stop," Anne said sharply, disgust flickering across her battered face. "This isn't about deals."
Lady Moira's mask slipped for just a moment, annoyance flashing before she smoothed it away. "Anne, darling, I'm simply trying to help—"
"You're trying to save yourself," Anne said flatly, then turned back to my father. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm asking you to show the mercy he never showed others. There are potions—memory suppressants—that could make him forget his past completely. Let him live, but take everything that made him who he was."
Before anyone could respond, the hall's side door burst open and Jax stumbled in, supported by Fang. His legs were still healing, wrapped in splints and bandages, but his face burned with intensity.
"No," Jax said, his voice rough but carrying absolute conviction. "No mercy. He dies. Today."
He pulled free from Fang's support and dragged himself forward, his eyes locked on Draven. The sound of his splinted legs scraping across stone was terrible in the sudden silence.
"You don't understand," Jax said, his voice breaking. "None of you understand what he took from me."
He stopped a few feet from Draven, his whole body shaking. "I was three years old. My pack—the Thornwood clan—we were small. Maybe sixty people total. We lived in the forest borderlands, keeping to ourselves."
His hands clenched into fists, tears streaming down his face. "Draven wanted our land. Not for strategy. Not because we were a threat. He wanted the timber—the old growth forest where my people had lived for generations. So he came with his soldiers and burned everything. Our homes. Everyone."
Through the Bond, I felt Wynter's horror.
"My mother tried to hide me in a root cellar," Jax continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "But the soldiers found me. They dragged me out in front of Draven. I remember his eyes—cold, amused. He looked me up and down and told his men to leave me. 'He's just a pup,' he said. 'He won't live long on his own.' He thought I was harmless."
He looked at Draven with an intensity that burned. "Sixty-three people died that day. I was the only survivor—not because I escaped, but because Draven let me go. Too arrogant to finish the job. Too certain a child could never become his enemy. But I did."
The hall was absolutely silent.
"So no," Jax said, his voice hardening. "No mercy. He dies. For my mother. For my father. He dies, or there's no justice."
He pulled a knife from his belt and took a step toward Draven.
"Jax, wait," I said, moving to intercept him. "This isn't the way."
"Get out of my way, Sterling," Jax said, his grey eyes burning. "I've waited twelve years for this."
"I won't let you become a murderer," I said firmly. "Not like this."
Fang appeared at Jax's side, his hand closing around Jax's wrist. "Boss," he said quietly. "Think. If you kill him like this, you become the monster. You prove everything they've said about Rogues."
"I don't care," Jax said, but his voice wavered.
"Yes you do," Fang continued. "You've spent years proving them wrong. Don't throw that away for revenge."
My father rose from his seat. "Enough," he said, his Alpha command cutting through the tension. "I've heard the arguments. And I've made my decision."
The hall fell silent.
"Lord Draven Kaine," my father said, "you stand accused of murder, trafficking, illegal mining, espionage. By all rights, you should face execution."
I saw hope flash across Anne's face.
"However," my father continued, "I am mindful of the arguments for mercy. Not for your sake—you deserve none. But for your daughter, who has shown more courage than you ever possessed."
He turned to Lord Julian. "What say you?"
Lord Julian was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. "Arthur was my friend. He died trying to expose Draven's crimes." He paused, his eyes finding Wynter. "But Arthur believed in mercy. In redemption. So I support Lady Anne's proposal. Terminal imprisonment with memory suppression. Let him live, but let him lose everything."
My father nodded, then turned to me. "Chase. As my heir, you've earned the right to voice your opinion."
The question caught me off guard. Through the Bond, I felt Wynter's support.
"I think Jax is right that Draven deserves death," I said slowly. "But I also think justice isn't just about what the guilty deserve. It's about what the innocent need. Anne needs her father to live. The Rogue children need to see that the system can show compassion. So I support terminal imprisonment with memory suppression. Not because Draven deserves mercy, but because we need to be better than he was."
My father studied me, and I saw something that might have been pride flicker across his face. Then he turned to Jax.
"And you? You have more right than anyone to demand blood. What is your judgment?"
Jax stood silent, shaking, the knife still clutched in his grip. Through the Bond, I felt Wynter holding her breath.
"I hate this," Jax finally said, his voice raw.