Chapter 9 The Alpha Prince?
Meira’s POV
The guards dragged me through the dirt path like I was nothing more than a sack of grain. My feet barely kept up. Every stumble was met with a shove, every gasp with a yank of my arm. I tried to steady my breathing, but fear kept tightening around my throat.
I couldn’t believe this was how my life was going to end, snatched away, tossed into darkness, erased as if I had never existed. And I still couldn’t understand how Aunt Elizabeth Lady Whitmore could send me to the dungeon without even blinking. The woman I served, the house I kept clean, the family I tended to… and this was what I got.
Roxy, I whispered inside my mind, desperate for anything familiar, anything warm.
My wolf responded instantly, her voice wrapping around me like a soft blanket. I’m here, Meira. Breathe. Just breathe, my girl.
I swallowed the rising panic. “I can’t,” I murmured under my breath. “I’m cursed, remember? This is who I am. This is where I belong.”
"No," Roxy said firmly, her voice low and steady. That is what they taught you. Not what is true.
“One of us should be realistic,” I muttered bitterly as a guard shoved me hard enough that my knees nearly buckled. “And it’s not you.”
Roxy hummed softly, a comforting rumble. You survived so much, Meira. You think that was luck? No. That was strength. Your strength.
“Strength?” I almost laughed. “Look at me. I’m being dragged like trash.”
A strong wolf can still be wounded. A powerful girl can still be afraid, Roxy said. Your worth isn’t measured by how gently the world treats you.
I wanted to believe her. I wanted to hold on to her warmth, her certainty. But the truth slammed back into me the moment the guards yanked me toward a waiting carriage—black, old, and harsh-looking.
One of them grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “You know what happens to cursed wolves in the dungeon, don’t you?” he sneered.
I didn’t answer.
His grip tightened. “You’ll wish you died in your aunt’s house.”
Roxy growled inside me, low and dangerous. "Let me out," she urged. Just once. I’ll tear his throat—
“No,” I said internally, shaking my head slightly. “That’ll only make it worse.”
The guard shoved me into the carriage. I hit the wooden bench hard, pain slicing through my hip. The door slammed shut, and the carriage jerked forward with a violent lurch. I grabbed the side to steady myself.
Inside the rattling darkness, Roxy spoke again, gently this time. They fear what they don’t understand. They fear you because you’re different.
“Different?” I whispered. “Or destructive? Everything around me falls apart.”
"You are not destruction," Roxy said. You have potential. But they twisted your story before you could write it yourself.
I closed my eyes tightly. “If that’s true… then why does this feel like the end of my story?”
Roxy sighed. Because right now, all you see is the cage. You don’t see what’s on the other side yet.
The carriage jerked again, almost throwing me into the opposite bench. The driver barked at the horses, uncaring whether I survived the ride or not. By the time the wheels screeched to a stop in front of the royal pack house, my muscles felt like they’d been shredded.
The door swung open. Two guards grabbed me again, one by each arm, and dragged me across the courtyard. My legs struggled to keep pace, scraping against the stone with each pull.
The royal pack house towered above me—dark stone, sharp angles, and windows lit with golden light. It looked beautiful and terrifying at the same time, like a palace built on secrets.
Then I smelled it.
A scent so familiar, so warm, and so intoxicating it stopped me mid-step.
Strong. Earthy. Faint smoke. A thread of something sweet, like pine sap warmed by sunlight.
Roxy’s voice sharpened instantly. Him.
My heart lurched. “No,” I whispered. “Not now. Not here.”
You feel that pull, she insisted. Stop pretending you don’t.
A guard jerked me forward again, ripping me away from the scent.
“Move,” he barked.
But my feet felt heavy, my mind spinning. Why was the scent here? Why so strong? Why did it feel like invisible hands pulling me toward something or someone hidden within these walls?
Roxy nudged gently. He’s close.
“Close?” I breathed. “But why? How?”
Before she could respond, the guards shoved open a heavy interior door. The dungeon entrance.
Cold. Dark. The air smelled like iron and damp stone. A place where hope came to die.
My throat tightened.
“This way,” one guard snapped, dragging me toward the stairs.
I tried to steady myself, to breathe, but every instinct inside me screamed to run. To fight. To climb out of my skin. Even Roxy’s steady presence was trembling now, not from fear, but from something deeper.
"Meira," she whispered. Something’s about to change.
I didn’t understand what she meant. My heart slammed painfully inside my chest. “End of change,” I muttered. “This is where my life ends.”
But Roxy didn’t answer.
The guard yanked me again, but before he could take another step, a voice cut through the hall like a blade:
“Don’t lay a hand on her.”
Everything froze.
That voice.
My breath caught. My heart stuttered.
The guards stiffened, fear slipping into their posture.
And then I saw him.
Blue eyes. Sharp, intense, unmistakable. The same eyes that had stared into mine the night he caught me. The same eyes I’d been trying so hard to forget.
Mr. Sherlock.
Standing tall, dressed in royal attire that only magnified his presence. His expression was unreadable anger simmering beneath a mask of calm authority.
He stepped closer, shadows shifting around him like they obeyed him. “Let her go,” he said quietly, but with enough force to crush bone.
The guards released me instantly.
I stumbled back, dazed, confused, and breathless. My eyes darted between him and the guards, unsure what was happening.
Why was he here?
Why was he stopping them?
Why… him?
Roxy’s whisper came soft as a heartbeat. Mate.
But what startled me most wasn’t him.
It was what the guards called him when they bowed:
“Forgive us, Alpha Prince.”
I froze.
Alpha Prince?
My mind scrambled.
The stranger from the garden, the one who caught me, teased me, smirked at me… Was he the Alpha Prince?
The same man Claribel and Annabelle had been obsessing over?
The same man the pack worshiped?
My stomach twisted, my breath disappearing.
I stared at him. Mr. Sherlock, the man who lied about being a traveler, whom I insulted twice, who held me like I weighed nothing.
The Alpha Prince.
My wolf hummed inside me, thrilled.
'I told you.'