CHAPTER 59 : "Justice Wears Many Faces"
CHAPTER 59 : "Justice Wears Many Faces"
“You have no say in this matter, my Alpha,” Selena said, her voice low and resolute as she hurried after Ethan, who strode swiftly from the castle’s great hall.
Her steps were laboured—her belly round with child, her time of delivery drawing near. Word of the trial had reached her ears, and now her husband, upon hearing the full account, prepared to ride to the Dark Tower in Aria defence.
“I cannot permit her to suffer for a truth she never knew,” he said, his voice weighted with purpose. “Aria is but a frail and unmarked by our laws. Even the smallest punishment could prove fatal.”
He paused then, turning to her. With gentle reverence, he pressed a kiss upon her hair.
“I entrust the affairs of the pack to you, love,” he murmured.
A wistful smile touched her lips, sorrow threading through her heart as she watched him mount his horse, the steed’s hooves striking the cobblestones like war drums. In moments, he was gone, swallowed by the morning mist.
It was then that she felt it—jealousy, sharp and unfamiliar. She had not married him for love, but for title, for standing. She had borne his child for the sake of ambition. Yet now, as the cold wind brushed her cheeks, she realised the truth.
She was falling for a man whose heart belonged wholly to another.
And he, blind to her quiet yearning, had always loved that other—with a depth she had never imagined, and perhaps never could rival.
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She recalled the quiet hours spent in Lord Jaime’s company—the way he had listened, patient and attentive, as she recounted the aching fragments of her life’s tale. Though the memories had brought her pain, they were hers to share at last, no longer sealed behind curses or sealed lips. She could finally speak her truth without blood choking her throat.
Their journey had been cautious, halted midway upon the road. He had hidden her within a merchant’s covered wagon—an unmarked carriage bound for the border, where she might slip past unnoticed among the trader’s wares.
They had nearly succeeded.
But fate, ever cruel, had dealt its hand. Armed soldiers descended upon them, their blades drawn and questions sharp. She was taken. Lord Jaime, thankfully, had not been found by her side. For that, she gave silent thanks—had they been caught together, the penalty for him would have been far graver.
When her eyes opened, they met stone and shadow.
She was in a cell, iron chains clasping her wrists. The chill of the floor seeped into her bones, and a tear slid silently down her cheek.
Was this how it ended? In a forgotten dungeon, her life unravelled by truth?
"My love," came a voice beyond the bars, familiar and tender.
She raised her head, and there stood Ethanasius.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice tight with grief, “do not weep. I came to beg clemency on your behalf, but they have barred me from entering.”
“Do not involve yourself, Ethan,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her gut. “This matter is far greater than you know.”
As her words faded into silence, the sound of boots echoed along the stone corridor. She turned, heart tightening, as another prisoner was dragged into view.
Miriam—her face bruised, her wrists bloodied—was thrown into the neighbouring cell, chains rattling as she collapsed to the ground.
“You speak true, child,” Miriam murmured, her voice low. “It is far bigger than us. All that remains is to await judgment.”
Ethan’s hands clenched at his sides, fury writ plain across his face.
“I shall return,” he said darkly, his eyes meeting Aria one last time before he turned and strode from the chamber.
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The chamber was quiet save for the soft rustle of fine robes as the slaves robed High Lord Rhovan in ceremonial garb. Yet his mind was far from the silks and layers they adorned him with.
Would Alpha Demetrius finally emerge from the shadows? Would he dare show himself to the world? The question lingered, unspoken yet persistent in his thoughts.
"My lord," came a voice from behind.
Rhovan turned sharply. “Where have you been, Varian?”
The young man knelt before him, his head bowed low. “I sought knowledge of Alpha Demetrius, my lord. Word from our spies tells us he fell into slumber days past and has yet to awaken.”
Rhovan waved his hand, dismissing the servants in silence. One by one, they filed out.
“We shall proceed regardless—whether he sleeps or walks among us. If pain befalls his fated mate, he will stir. Of that, I am certain.” His voice hardened. “You’ve done well, Varian. Go now. Prepare the girl.”
Varian bowed low once more and withdrew swiftly.
High Lord Rhovan followed, his steps echoing through the marble halls until he arrived at the great decision chamber. At his entrance, the assembled high lords rose to their feet in deference. He took his seat at the center, a place of power and judgment.
“Let us begin,” he said. “Read the letter.”
A steward stepped forth and unfolded a parchment, his voice carrying across the stone hall:
> High Lords, I have received troubling news that my traders met with difficulty near the border upon their return from business. After inquiry, I was told they were accused of smuggling a prisoner across the realm. I understand the gravity of this and the offence it may cause. I implore you—return my men to me, and I shall see to their discipline myself. I ask this in peace and goodwill.
—Prince Henry D'Aragon
“Humans,” scoffed Lord Alister, disdain sharp in his tone. “They think themselves worthy of our counsel?”
Rhovan raised a hand, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Curb your thoughts, Lord Alister. You know as well as I—we have no choice in this. The humans are under the gods’ protection. To declare war against them would invite divine retribution… and now, while they still hold the secret that could bring about our extinction, we tread carefully.”
Alister fell into a brooding silence as a guard entered, his voice crisp.
“My lord, Alpha Ethan has arrived.”
“Bring him in,” Rhovan said with a nod.
Moments later, Ethanasius entered the chamber. He bowed respectfully to the three high lords before straightening.
“What brings you before us, Alpha Ethanasius?” Rhovan inquired.
“I come to plead mercy for the Luna of the Shadow Fang Pack,” Ethan declared, his voice firm yet respectful. “She is not the one who erred. The fault lies with her Alpha. Let him bear the punishment, not she.”
The chamber stilled.
“If I may,” came the deep voice of Lord Garrick, his gaze sharp as steel, “Is Alpha Demetrius not the one bound to her by fate? Why, then, does he not stand before us? Why has he fled, leaving his Luna to suffer alone?”
“Because he does not love her,” Ethan answered plainly.
“And yet,” Garrick replied coldly, “he killed for her. Shall I remind you of the crimes he committed? He did not come before this council to air his grievances against Lydia Voss. No—he acted on his own. He entered our territory unlawfully, abducted her, and butchered her in the wilds like an animal. Not only that, he severed her head and her limbs, sending each part to the packs with a warning attached. That is not the action of a sane Alpha—it is the work of a mad beast.”
“Aye,” added Alister darkly. “You received a piece, did you not? Did it not enrage you? Did it not offend your pride as a leader?”
Ethan stood his ground. “He shall be punished when he awakens. But the woman—his Luna—played no part in that crime. She is innocent.”
Lord Rhovan's expression turned cold. “Are you the one who passes judgment here, Alpha Ethan?” he asked as he slowly rose to his feet.
Silence descended upon the chamber like a shroud.
“We are the law. We are the teeth of the pack and the keepers of order. It is our duty to ensure that all who live under our rule know the weight of justice—and the cost of defiance. The punishment for such crimes is clear: the death of his mate. Nothing less will suffice.”
He looked toward Ethan with finality. “You may take your leave, Alpha. I have other matters that require my attention.”