Chapter 29 Ashes Beneath the Castle
29\. Ashes Beneath the Castle
The catacombs of Dravenmoor weren’t meant for the living.
They were a labyrinth of carved stone and whispered regret, lined with wolf statues whose eyes gleamed faintly under torchlight. Every step I took echoed like it was trespassing on history itself. The air was thick — not just with dust, but with memory. Old battles. Old blood.
The torches flickered as I descended deeper, the flame bending unnaturally, as though it too was afraid.
And then — a voice, low and steady behind me.
“Still drawn to danger, I see.”
I froze.
The scent reached me before the man did — frost, pine, and the faint metallic tang of moonlight. When I turned, Rowan stepped from the shadows like he belonged there.
Alpha of Silvermoon. General of the North. And, if the book’s tragic romance arc had anything to say about it, the man Aria had once promised her life to.
In other words: the past in painfully attractive leather armor.
“Rowan,” I said carefully. “You look well. Brooding suits you.”
He gave a dry smile. “You haven’t changed.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I’ve developed several new neuroses since last we met.”
He didn’t laugh. His gaze flicked over me, taking in the cloak, the dirt-streaked hem, the exhaustion I’d tried to hide. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly. “Dravenmoor isn’t safe — not for anyone loyal to me.”
“Lucky for you, I’m currently loyal to my survival instincts.”
His jaw tightened. “Which is terrible.”
I opened my mouth for a clever retort but stopped when he stepped closer. The shadows clung to his shoulders like a crown. There was something in his eyes — not anger, not pity, but something heavier.
“I sent that message,” he said, “because you deserve to know the truth before this kingdom eats itself alive.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Define the truth before I start regretting this outfit.”
He ignored the jab, turning instead toward the far wall. The torchlight caught the shimmer of metal — a half-hidden door. I hadn’t noticed it before.
He pressed his palm to a carved wolf’s head, whispering words I didn’t understand. The stone groaned and shifted.
The door opened.
Cold air spilled out, sharp as winter.
Rowan lifted his torch and stepped inside. I followed, because I was either very brave or very stupid — possibly both.
The chamber beyond was circular, smaller than I expected, and filled with the scent of iron and something far worse.
Bloodroot.
I froze. “Oh, no. Not again.”
In the center of the room lay a body—or what was left of one. Armor blackened, flesh half-eaten by decay, and beside it, an overturned goblet glinting faintly red in the light. The scent was unmistakable.
“Galgador,” Rowan said quietly. “The council accused him of treason. Claimed he’d plotted to poison the King.”
He knelt beside the corpse, brushing away the dust. “But he didn’t.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re sure?”
He tilted the torch slightly. The dead man’s lips were stained dark crimson — the color of Bloodroot overdose. “This wasn't an execution,” Rowan said. “This was silencing.”
My stomach turned. “So the real mastermind wanted him dead before he could talk.”
“Exactly.”
The word hung between us, heavy as the dark.
I crouched beside him, studying the scene. The goblet. The angle of the fall. The faint carvings on the floor, etched into the stone by desperate hands.
It wasn’t random.
It was a message.
“Rowan,” I whispered. “Look.”
Scratched into the stone, half-hidden beneath a smear of dried blood, were words carved by a dying hand.
The poison sits closest to the throne.
I stared until the letters blurred.
Closest to the throne. Lucian’s throne.
Which meant—
I looked up sharply. “Darius.”
Rowan’s head turned. “What?”
“Darius,” I repeated, the name burning in my throat. “He’s the one poisoning Lucian. He’s been covering it up, blaming everyone else, using the council to—”
“To seize control,” Rowan finished grimly. “Just like he did the last time.”
“The last time?”
His gaze darkened. “The rebellion. You don’t remember?”
Oh, right. Aria’s memories. The ones I didn’t have.
“Pretend I’ve been in a coma for a few years,” I said. “What happened?”
Rowan looked away, his voice low. “Lucian wasn’t always the monster they painted him as but Lunareth needs to survive the curse so I had no other choice. When his mad father ascended and ran havoc, the council rebelled. His brother and I led the uprising. Darius was supposed to be his ally, but at the last moment, he switched sides. We had no choice but to kill the reigning king; he is killing the Lunareth. ”
My breath caught. “He betrayed them both.”
Rowan nodded. “He whispered poison into the King’s ear — both literal and political. By the time it was over, Lucian had killed his brother with his own hands, and Darius had become his most trusted advisor.”
“God,” I muttered. “So he’s been playing the long game this whole time.”
“Yes.” Rowan’s eyes flicked to the corpse. “And he’s winning.”
The silence pressed in around us, broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere deeper in the catacombs.
I stared at Galgador’s body, at the ghost of loyalty twisted into betrayal. “He tried to warn us.”
Rowan straightened, setting the torch against the wall. “You have to leave, Aria.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Dravenmoor’s falling apart. Darius has already marked you. The moment he suspects you know the truth, he’ll kill you.”
“Right, and then he’ll blame my ghost for treason too. Very tidy.”
“Aria—”
“No.” I shook my head, standing to face him. “I’m not running.”
His eyes hardened. “You can’t save him.”
“Maybe not. But I can try.”
He stared at me — that long, steady look of someone who’s seen too much loss to believe in hope. “You’re doing this for him?”
“Yes.”
“For Lucian?”
“Yes.”
He took a step closer, his voice low. “He claimed you, Aria. Took you from your pack. From me. From your family. From yourself.”
The words cut sharper than he meant them to.
I wanted to tell him the truth — that I wasn’t really Aria, that I was a stranger wearing her skin, that none of this was supposed to be real — but how could I?
So I said the only thing that made sense.
“He didn’t take me,” I whispered. “I stayed.”
Something in his expression cracked — pain, disbelief, maybe even grief. “You love him.”
“I do.”
“Even knowing what he’s done?”
“Yes.”
Rowan’s breath left him like a confession. For a moment, he looked utterly human. Then the Alpha returned — all steel and command. “Then you’ll die with him.”
“Maybe,” I said softly. “But I’ll die on my own terms.”
He stared, jaw tightening. “You always were impossible.”
“And you always cared too much.”
The faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips — one that belonged to another lifetime.
The torch guttered suddenly, flame shrinking as if the air itself had grown thin. The shadows on the walls stretched, warping into shapes that almost looked alive.
Rowan’s head snapped up. “We need to go. Now.”
“Why?”
“Because this place isn’t empty.”
As if on cue, a whisper rippled through the dark — a low, inhuman sound that made my blood freeze.
The torches flared, revealing movement along the far end of the chamber.
Figures. Hooded. Watching.
Rowan cursed under his breath, drawing his blade. “Go!”
“Right, because I love running toward my next trauma—”
He grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward the corridor. Behind us, the chamber erupted in motion — shadows leaping, whispers turning to shouts.
We ran.
Through corridors that twisted and bled stone dust, past broken tombs and wolf statues that seemed to sneer as we passed. The torchlight blurred. My lungs burned.
When we reached the upper stair, Rowan turned, hurling the torch down. Flames exploded, sealing the passage with smoke.
I coughed, gripping the railing. “Do I even want to know who that was?”
“The Council’s eyes,” Rowan said grimly. “He’s been using the catacombs to hide his men. Watching everything.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “I can’t even have a secret lair in peace.”
He glanced at me, something like reluctant admiration in his eyes. “You really haven’t changed.”
We emerged into the moonlight, the castle looming overhead like a slumbering beast. My heart was still pounding, my mind spinning.
Galgador was dead. Poisoned by the same substance killing Lucian. And now I knew who was behind it.
But knowing and proving were two very different things.
Rowan turned to me. “If you stay, you’ll be walking into Darius’s trap.”
I met his gaze. “Then I’ll just have to spring it first.”
He hesitated, as though wanting to say more — to reach for me, maybe — but he didn’t.
Instead, he said quietly, “The next time we meet, it might be on opposite sides of a battlefield.”
“Then I’ll make sure I look fabulous for it.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Still impossible.”
And then he was gone, vanishing into the mist.
I stood there alone, the night cold against my skin, the weight of truth heavy in my chest.
Somewhere beneath my feet, the catacombs whispered their warning.
The poison sits closest to the throne.
I looked up toward the tower where Lucian slept, my voice barely a breath.
“Darius.”