Chapter 196

Chapter 196
Citlali's POV

Prince Snow seemed to notice my tension, but he didn't comment on it, just settled back in his own chair with that same careful gentleness.

"How have you been finding your accommodations?" he asked, "I know the conditions are... less than ideal right now, but we're planning to expand the facility. Eventually, everyone will have private rooms. It's just temporary, this overcrowding."

I stared at him, trying to process the absurdity of the question.

"It's fine," I said flatly, my voice stripped of any emotion that might give him satisfaction.

He studied me for a moment, as if trying to gauge whether I was being truthful, then seemed to accept my non-answer and moved on.

"The war," he said, his expression growing more somber. "Things haven't been going well lately. For us, I mean."

I felt my body tense further, felt Moira surge forward in my mind with sudden, fierce attention.

"Our forces are in retreat, overall," Prince Snow continued, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass. "Last month, at the battle in Silver Valley, we lost three thousand men."

The words should have filled me with triumph, with savage satisfaction that our people were winning, that the humans who'd started this war were finally paying the price.

But all I could think about was what three thousand human deaths meant in terms of wolf casualties, because battles didn't have one-sided losses.

"That's what you get," I said coldly, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "For starting a war you couldn't win."

I expected anger, expected him to lash out at my insolence, to remind me of my place.

But instead, Prince Snow just nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful rather than offended. "Perhaps you're right," he said quietly. "Perhaps we brought this on ourselves."

He took a sip of his wine, and when he spoke again, his voice was even softer. "Of course, the wolf forces suffered heavy losses as well. I heard your people also suffered heavy casualties in that same battle."

My heart stopped.

Prince Snow must have seen something in my face, because his expression shifted to something that looked almost like regret.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it. Those were your people. Your... your family, maybe."

I couldn't speak, couldn't force words past the lump in my throat, could only sit there and try to breathe through the crushing weight of fear and grief.

Prince Snow set down his wine glass and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression growing distant.

"This war," he said, his voice heavy with something that sounded like genuine regret. "It was a mistake from the beginning. A terrible, costly mistake."

I looked at him, trying to understand where he was going with this, what game he was playing.

"My father believes that wolves are a threat," he continued. "That your people must be eliminated or controlled, that there can be no peace as long as you exist. He's convinced that this breeding program is the solution—create a new generation of warriors with wolf abilities but human loyalty, and use them to end the war once and for all."

He shook his head slowly. "But I think he's wrong. I think humans and wolves could coexist peacefully, if we just... if we could find a way to talk to each other instead of killing each other."

The words were so absurd, so divorced from the reality of what was happening in the cells below, that I felt laughter bubbling up in my throat—bitter, hysterical laughter that had nothing to do with humor.

"Coexist peacefully?" I repeated, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Like this? By locking us in cages and forcing us to breed? By raping us until we produce the perfect soldiers for your army?"

Prince Snow flinched, and I saw pain flash across his face.

"Citlali..." Kira said softly, a warning in her voice.

But I was done being careful, done biting my tongue, done pretending that any of this was acceptable or understandable or anything other than monstrous.

I leaned forward, ignoring the way my manacles clinked, ignoring the warning in Kira's eyes, focusing all my attention on Prince Snow.

"You say you care about those women down there," I said, my voice low and intense. "You say you love a wolf woman, that you think we could live in peace. So tell me, Your Highness—if you really believe all that, why don't you just let us go?"

The question hung in the air like a blade, and I watched as the temperature in the room seemed to drop, as Prince Snow's expression transformed from gentle regret to something much colder and harder.

He set down his wine glass with deliberate care, the movement slow and controlled, and when he looked at me again, all the warmth had drained from his eyes.

What I saw there wasn't anger, exactly.

It was something worse—a deep, bone-crushing helplessness mixed with pain so profound it made my breath catch.

"Because I can't," he said, his voice low and rough, each word seeming to cost him something. "Because I don't have that power."

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, and I heard something in it that I hadn't expected—genuine anguish, genuine despair.

"I'm just a prince," he continued, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs. "Not the king. This program, this whole nightmare—it was my father's idea, my father's command. I'm just the one executing it."

Beside him, Kira's hand found his, her fingers lacing through his with desperate strength, and when I looked at her I saw tears gathering in her eyes.

But I couldn't let it go, couldn't accept that as an excuse, not when women were being violated in cells just corridors away.

"So you just go along with it?" I demanded, my voice sharp with accusation. "You just follow orders and tell yourself you're helpless? That makes it okay?"

Prince Snow's eyes snapped to mine, and for the first time I saw real anger there, saw the careful mask crack to reveal something raw and wounded beneath.

"Okay?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "You think I think this is okay? You think I sleep well at night, knowing what's happening down there?"

He stood abruptly, moving to the window with jerky, agitated movements, and stood there with his back to us, his shoulders rigid with tension.

"I hear them," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every night, I hear them crying. I hear the guards laughing, hear the nobles bragging about their conquests. I know exactly what's being done to those women, and I know that I'm complicit in it."

"But what am I supposed to do?" he continued, and now there was desperation in his voice, a kind of frantic helplessness that made him sound much younger than his years. "If I defy my father, if I try to stop this, I lose everything."

He turned back to face us, and I saw his gaze go to Kira.

"Including her," he said quietly.