Chapter 111 Freya's Guilt

Chapter 111 Freya's Guilt
Freya POV.

I sit in my cell awaiting trial. Through my window, I can see them. The Alpha and Luna. The trial begins in two hours.

I've been imprisoned since the conspiracy was discovered. Locked in this cell for three days. Lilith is in the dungeon level below. I hear her screaming at night. Proclaiming innocence. Cursing everyone.

I'm not screaming.

Below my window, Logan and Rune walk through the courtyard. His hand rests on her lower back. She leans into him. Fits against his side.

They pause beneath an old oak tree. Logan says something I can't hear. Rune laughs. The sound carries even to my cell. He smiles. Reaches up. Tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She catches his hand before he can withdraw. Presses a kiss to his palm. Never breaks eye contact.

My breath catches.

Such a small gesture. So casual.

I tried to destroy this.

"I told myself you were manipulating him," I whisper to the empty cell. "That your Oracle magic corrupted his mind. That you were using him for power."

But watching them now. The way they move together. Unconsciously synchronized.

"I was wrong."

My own mating was political arrangement. Practical alliance between packs. My mate was honorable. Strong. Dutiful. We did our duty. Produced Marcus. Maintained alliance.

But we never had this. This magnetic pull. This desperate need to be close. This easy intimacy.

My mate died fifteen years ago in a border skirmish. I mourned. Appropriately. But I didn't feel diminished. Incomplete.

The way Logan would feel if he lost Rune.

Through the window, I watch them disappear into the fortress. Still touching. Even walking, his hand stays on her back.

My son Marcus saw what I refused to see.

"They love each other, Mother. Really love each other. That's worth protecting."

I called him naive. Too young to understand pack politics.

But Marcus was right.

Viktor approached me six months ago. Showed me visions. Twisted images. False. Of Rune causing devastation. Of Logan as mindless puppet. Of the pack burning.

"Your Alpha is corrupted by Oracle magic," Viktor whispered. "Help me save everyone."

He knew exactly what to say. Played on my resentment. My jealousy. My fear.

I believed him.

Helped poison the Luna. Conspired against my own pack.

Below, Logan emerges from the fortress again. Scans the courtyard. Looking for something. Someone.

His expression shifts. Eyes darting. Jaw tightening.

Then Rune appears from the training grounds.

His entire face changes. Eyes brighten. Shoulders relax. Mouth curves.

She runs to him. Actually runs. He catches her. Spins her once before setting her down. Kisses her desperately.

Pack members pass them. Smile at the display instead of being scandalized.

And I almost destroyed it.

Worse. I helped Viktor plan to corrupt it. To turn their bond into a weapon. To use their love to enslave all werewolves.

Footsteps in the corridor. Guards approaching.

"Time to prepare for trial," one calls through my cell door.

I stand. Smooth my dress. My hands shake.

"What's the sentence for treason?" I ask the guard.

He meets my eyes. "Death, usually. Sometimes exile if the Alpha's merciful."

I nod.

"Do you regret it?" the guard asks quietly. He's young. Marcus's age.

"Every moment. I was blind. Jealous. Wrong."

"Then say so. At trial. Acknowledge it. Maybe the Alpha will show mercy."

The guard unlocks my cell. "Come. They're gathering in the arena."

I follow him through stone corridors toward judgment.

Through a window, I catch one last glimpse of Logan and Rune. He's pressing her against a wall in an alcove. Kissing her like she's oxygen and he's drowning. Her hands are in his hair. Holding him close.

They're stealing a moment before the trial demands their attention.

I look away.

They deserve every stolen moment. Every desperate kiss. Every hour of happiness before Viktor's threat becomes reality.

Soon I'll stand before them in that arena. They'll judge me for betraying them.

I'll tell the truth. Admit my guilt. Accept whatever sentence comes.

The guard leads me toward the arena. Toward judgment.

My hands won't stop shaking. My throat is tight. My chest constricts with each breath.

But I keep walking.

Toward whatever comes next.