Chapter 61 Photographic Evidence - Aleksandr’s POV
The room had been ransacked. Drawers pulled open, their contents spilled across the floor. The bed linens torn away, pillows slashed open, feathers scattered like snow across the dark wood. The vanity mirror smashed, glass shards glittering in the afternoon light. And there, in the centre of the destruction, a scattered array of glossy photographs.
I knelt, my knees suddenly weak, and gathered one of the photos. My own face stared back at me, cold and focused, a silver knife in my hand. Behind me, strapped to the punishment frame in the castle dungeons, Marcus Blackwater's back bore the fresh marks of my blade.
"No," I whispered, gathering another photo, and another. Each one worse than the last, each one documenting my administration of justice to the man who had abused Amelia for years. Justice I had delivered in secret, never intending for her to see this side of me, to know what I was capable of.
'She saw,' Skoll moaned, his anguish a mirror of my own. 'Mate saw us punish. Mate afraid now.'
I gathered the photos with trembling hands, my mind racing. How had Amelia obtained these? Who had taken them? The punishment of Marcus had been witnessed only by Kane and the royal executioner, both sworn to secrecy about the proceedings. And why was her room destroyed? Had she done this herself in her haste to pack and flee? Or had someone else been searching for something?
My breath caught as another possibility struck me. What if she hadn't left voluntarily? What if the disarray wasn't from packing but from a struggle?
I bolted from the room, the photos clutched in my fist, and headed for the security office in the western wing. The head of security, a grizzled wolf named Thorne, straightened to attention as I burst through the door.
"Your Highness," he said, his surprise poorly concealed. "What can I—"
"Amelia Lovelace," I interrupted. "I need to see any footage of her from the past three hours. Now."
Thorne nodded sharply, moving to a bank of monitors. "Any particular area of interest?"
"Her suite. The corridors leading to it. Any exits." My voice sounded strange to my own ears, tight and thin with barely contained panic.
Thorne's fingers moved over the keyboard, screens flickering as he pulled up various camera feeds and rewound them. "Here," he said after a moment. "Two hours ago, east corridor leading from the royal suites."
I leaned closer, my heart in my throat. There was Amelia, her dark hair pulled back in a simple braid, wearing a blue dress I'd complimented just days ago. She walked quickly, head down, a small bag clutched in her hands. Nothing in her posture suggested distress or coercion. She moved like someone with purpose, with a destination in mind.
"Follow her," I commanded, my voice rough.
Thorne switched cameras, tracking her progress through the castle. East corridor to main hall, main hall to grand staircase, grand staircase to entrance foyer. And then, most damning of all, out the main doors and down the castle steps, where she disappeared from view.
"The perimeter cameras," I said, desperation clawing at my throat. "Show me her leaving the grounds."
But those cameras revealed the same story: Amelia walking alone, unhurried, until she passed beyond the castle gates and vanished into the city beyond.
"Did anyone report this?" I demanded, rounding on Thorne. "A royal guest leaving unescorted?"
Thorne shifted uncomfortably. "The guards at the gate said she had a pass, Your Highness. They assumed she had permission. She's not... she's not technically a prisoner, is she?"
No, she wasn't a prisoner. She had always been free to leave. But I had believed—foolishly, arrogantly—that she wouldn't want to. That what we had built together over these past weeks meant as much to her as it did to me.
The photos crumpled in my fist, evidence of the monster she had discovered lurking beneath my carefully controlled exterior. Of course she had fled. Anyone would.
"Your Highness," Thorne ventured cautiously. "Shall I send guards to find her? Bring her back?"
I stared at him, hollow with the realisation that I had no right to do that. "No," I said finally. "She's made her choice. We will respect it."
'NO!' Skoll howled, thrashing in our shared consciousness with such violence that I physically staggered. 'FIND MATE! SOMETHING WRONG!'
But what else could it be? The photos, her ransacked room, her departure with a packed bag—it all painted a clear picture. Amelia had discovered what I truly was, what I was capable of doing to those who crossed me, and she had run.
I left the security office without another word, moving through the castle in a daze. Guards and servants flattened themselves against walls as I passed, perhaps sensing the storm of rage and grief building inside me. I made it to my office on autopilot, closing the door with a soft click that belied the violence I wanted to unleash.