Chapter 17 The Prisoner’s Tale
17\. The Prisoner’s Tale
If there was one thing Dravenmoor Castle had plenty of—aside from dramatic torches, endless hallways, and the faint smell of wolf musk—it was prisoners.
I mean, every corridor seemed to lead to either a library of cursed knowledge, a secret council chamber, or a dungeon. And since I’d already done the library thing (and make out to a certain terrifying Alpha in said library thing), naturally the next box on my medieval fantasy bingo card was “visit the dungeon.”
Except Lucian would sooner let me juggle silver daggers in his war council than step foot down here. Which is why I wasn’t asking him.
I was asking Darius.
“Let me get this straight,” the Beta drawled, leaning against the stairwell wall like he’d been born to make people feel stupid. “You want me to sneak you into the dungeons. To talk to one of the Alpha's prisoners. And you think this is a good idea?”
“Yes,” I said brightly. “Because nothing bad ever happens in dungeons, right? Totally safe. Five-star reviews on Trip Advisor.”
He stared at me. No smirk. No laugh. Just that unamused, wolfish squint that screamed how are you still alive?
I threw my hands up. “Look, I just want answers. You people keep dropping ominous hints about Silvermoon rebels and betrayals and curses. And Rowan—” My voice tripped over his name. Rowan, the reason I was even in this story, the main character who will kill Lucian, the villain who had broken the internet fandom in half. “I need to know what happened to him. What really happened. Not the Lucian version. The other side.”
Darius tilted his head, assessing me like he was weighing my worth on an invisible scale. Then he sighed. “You’re going to be the end of him.”
“Of Lucian?”
“Of all of us.” He pushed off the wall. “Fine. You want to meet a prisoner? Let’s hope you’re ready to hear the truth you’re begging for.”
The dungeons of Dravenmoor were not your Disney-princess variety. No singing rats, no quirky skeletons playing cards in the corner. Just cold stone, dripping water, and the unmistakable stench of despair.
Chains clinked with every step, and my sandals squeaked like traitors announcing my every move. The torches sputtered, casting shadows that looked far too enthusiastic about strangling me.
Darius led the way, his wolf aura making the air thick and heavy. At least the guards didn’t question us. When the Beta walked, doors opened. Chains unlocked. People moved.
We stopped in front of a cell at the far end. The prisoner inside was nothing like I expected.
Not a snarling beast. Not a half-mad rebel frothing at the mouth.
A man.
Gaunt, yes. Shackled, yes. But his back was straight, his eyes clear, and when he looked at me—really looked—it was like he could peel the skin off my thoughts.
“This is him?” I whispered.
“Leader of the Silvermoon assassination last week,” Darius said flatly. “Some call him Elias. Others just call him a pity survivor.”
The man’s cracked lips curled. “And what do they call you, lapdog?”
Darius didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened. “Speak with respect.”
“Respect,” Elias echoed, voice dripping with scorn. Then his gaze shifted to me. “And you. The little human pet who is supposed to stand by our Alpha yet betrayed him. Why are you here?”
I clutched the bars, my palms cold. “I want to know about Rowan. About the rebellion. About Lucian.”
Elias laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. “Ah. So the wolf hasn’t told you everything. Of course he hasn’t. Tyrants rarely do.”
The word Tyrant snapped through the air like a whip.
Darius growled low, but I held up a hand. “Please. Just tell me your side.” I need to know. I want to know.
Elias leaned forward, chains clinking. His eyes burned with something rawer than hatred—something older. “We rose against him because he left us no choice. Lucian was not born with mercy in his bones. He was born with hunger. Always hungrier than the rest. Always taking, never giving. When the packs begged for fairness, he answered with fire. When Rowan begged for peace, Lucian answered with blood.”
My throat tightened. “But—”
“You're Rowan's luna, Aria. You are his before that tyrant claimed you, you know what he is fighting for,” Elias cut in, voice sharp as broken glass. “Do you forget what Lucian did when his brother dared to oppose him? He put a blade through his heart and called it justice. We watched the light leave his eyes while the Tyrant claimed the throne.”
The words hit me like stones. I staggered back, shaking my head. “No. No, that’s not—he—Lucian saved you all. He’s not—”
“Not what?” Elias hissed. “Not a monster? You saw him at the council, didn’t you? You saw what happens when the mark burns and the Tyrant takes the reins. Don’t lie. You’ve seen.”
I had. The blood. The savagery. The way he’d looked at me like he didn’t even recognize me.
Elias’s voice dropped, almost gentle. “He’ll destroy you too. Everyone who touches him burns.”
Something cracked inside me. A part of me wanted to scream that Elias was wrong, that Lucian had saved me time and time again, that I’d glimpsed a man beneath the monster. Another part—stubborn, frightened—wondered if I’d been wrong all along.
What if the fandom had been right? What if I was the fool—falling for the villain instead of fleeing him?
Darius’s hand landed heavy on my shoulder. “That’s enough.”
Elias smirked, leaning back into his shadows. “Run while you still can, Aria. Or you’ll be just another ghost screaming in his head!”
The guards locked the cell again, and Darius practically dragged me back toward the stairwell.
I was silent the whole climb up. Not my usual awkward, bumbling silence. A silence that felt like carrying a weight too big to set down.
At the top, Darius stopped. “Don’t believe everything that comes from a prisoner’s mouth.”
I turned on him, anger flaring. “But don’t I deserve to know? To at least hear the other side? I can’t just blindly trust him when half of Dravenmoor thinks he’s a monster!”
Darius’s face softened, which was somehow worse than when he was stern. “Your grace. Monsters can still protect what they love. Heroes can still kill. Sometimes the difference is nothing more than whose story gets told.”
I swallowed hard. My hands trembled.
Because wasn’t that the truth of it? I wasn’t part of this story. Not really. I wasn’t born in this world. I wasn’t bound to its oaths, its loyalties, its grief.
I was just…a reader.
A reader trapped in a book, standing between a villain painted in blood and rebels painted in loss.
And now I had feelings. Stupid, reckless, traitorous feelings.
That night, I stood alone in the moonlit garden, staring out at the endless forest. The air smelled of pine and smoke, a kingdom always braced for war.
I hugged myself, trying to quiet the storm inside.
Lucian’s laugh. Rowan’s name. Elias’s accusation. Darius' loyalty. My own heart, confused and betraying me every time I thought of silver eyes softening, just for me.
“Who’s the real villain?” I whispered to the night.
The wind had no answer.
But deep inside the castle, I swore I could hear Lucian’s footsteps echoing. And for the first time, I didn’t know whether they meant safety…or ruin.