~Aethelia~
Kael steps forward, and the noise shifts.
He passes the warriors and faces the crowd. The sand is still stained. Wind drags ash across my lips. I taste the dead.
He looks first at Dravion. Long. Hard. Then at Orla. Her face remains still.
When his eyes reach me, he bows his head.
His shoulders shake once. He swallows as if something sharp is lodged in his throat. Duty—or me. I see the choice sitting there.
Then he lifts his face again and straightens into the Alpha.
"We remember our rites," he says, voice steady. "We honor our rules. This is a sacred time. We will not make this a massacre."
An elder coughs. Dravion's jaw tightens. Men whose daughters I injured clench their fists. Someone mutters, "It's unfair."
Kael lifts his chin.
"We will follow the Rite. The law must be obeyed. The firmament decides, not me."
Then he adds, each word deliberate:
"The mate-bond revelation must be performed before any final sentence."
The courtyard erupts.
"Three days of waiting!"
"Three days while she breathes!"
"Three days to mock our dead!"
The noise presses into my skull. My bound hands throb.
Kael does not flinch.
"Three days," he repeats. "Then judgment. Until then, she remains bound and held in custody."
The Gamma's voice cuts through the chaos.
"Bring out the sacred rope."
Behind me, an elder leans toward a young man. He whispers, but I hear him clearly.
"We use the sacred rope to imprison witches like her. It binds only once for seven days. Execution must occur within that time."
Witch.
The word lands harder than the rope will.
I turn and look at him. He stiffens when our eyes meet. I hate that I care.
He continues anyway.
"Any extension beyond those seven days is forbidden. After three days, her head will be cut off."
I know that.
The warriors return with the rope.
It is thick and dark, braided from moon-dried hemp and strips of cured wolf hide. Fine silver threads run through it. Bone beads carved with restraint marks hang along its length.
They prepared it before today.
One warrior seizes my wrists. The rope bites deep.
Another winds it around my waist. My ankles.
Pain shoots up my arms.
Across the courtyard Kael jerks.
His hand flies to his chest. His fingers clutch his tunic as if something inside him tears. Sweat beads at his temple. He turns his face away from me, like looking makes it worse.
They shove me forward.
Before I move, Orla steps close. Her breath brushes my ear.
"It isn't over," she whispers.
When I was a child, she said that after I mistakenly killed someone.
I still do not know what she meant then.
I only nod once.
Faces blur as they drag me across the courtyard. Grief. Hate. A few eyes almost soften—then look away.
A woman shouts, "Demon! You injured my daughter! It shall not go well with you."
My chest hammers like her words are striking me.
My parents stand near the elders. They were not here before.
Their faces are hard.
My mother yells, "You little monster. You killed Evra, the orphan I swore to protect."
Her voice breaks.
"I will never forgive you. I regret raising you."
Her hand trembles as she points at me. Tears run down her face.
I shake my head.
If I stood where she stands, I would say the same.
Maybe worse.
The cell waits beneath Elder Hall, in the same courtyard as Alpha Hall.
Despite the distance, we arrive quickly.
They drag me down narrow stone stairs. The air turns cold and close. Torches line the walls and throw long shadows.
We pass ritual tables carved with old symbols. Shelved ash. Sacred Calabashes. Clay jars sealed with wax.
The corridor narrows.
They shove me into a cell the size of a grave.
Other prisoners watch through their bars.
The rope scrapes stone as they adjust it. A wooden bucket slides across the floor and strikes my ankle.
The bars slam shut.
The lock snaps.
Two warriors remain outside.
I sit on the stone.
Blood dries on my fingers. My cheek burns. The rope cuts deep into my forearms.
The torches gutter. A thin line of light slips beneath the door.
Pain names the hours.
I breathe in.
Breathe out.
Tears slip down my face.
"I don't deserve to live," I whisper. "Death might be the only way to end this—but it is painful to die before I understand why I was given my dreams."
I count the people I killed.
Not numbers.
Faces.
Evra comes first.
Her crooked grin. The way she stole my practice sword. The way she pretended not to be afraid.
Then the memory shifts.
Her body thins. Breaks apart like dust in my hands.
"My cousin," I whisper. "My cousin."
Why does the force inside me always choose harm?
I press my forehead to the wall.
Why did it seize me to strike and not to save? Why during the ritual when it was not the new moon?
Why couldn't Kael stop me before it peaked?
The questions circle.
I have no answers.
The sacred rope burns where it bites. I press against the silver threads.
It hums softly.
When I push my wolf forward, something pushes back.
Something deeper.
The rope is not only binding my body.
It is holding the force inside me.
Hours pass.
I do not sleep.
Then I catch it.
A scent.
Iron. Earth. Something steady.
The door swings open.
Kael steps inside. A small leather bag hangs from his shoulder.
My chest tightens.
The guards hesitate.
He makes one sharp motion.
They leave.
The door closes.
"I told them to go," he says. "No one watches us."
My wolf stirs weakly.
If he stays, the pack may destroy him too.
He kneels in front of me.
"You shouldn't be here," I whisper. "It could damage your standing."
"It might," he says.
"We are in different places."
He shakes his head.
"Don't say that again."
His voice softens.
"We are the same."
My breath catches.
He studies my face like he is memorizing it.
Finally he speaks.
"What do you remember from the moment the possession stopped?"
At first, I feel ashamed to respond.
I sigh slowly.
"I felt something change when you locked eyes with me," I admit. "Not relief—restraint. As if the force inside me was pushed backward, not silenced."
"It wasn't my will," I add. "It never was."
"I know," he says quietly. "I see that now. Your curse may not be a punishment. It may be something placed on you."
His words shock me. I have never imagined that. Why did he understand my curse before I did?
"In three days, if the Rite fails… or if it says you are not mine…" He exhales. "But—"
His voice fades.
"But?" I ask.
He bows his head.
"If everyone turns against you… will you still stand with me?"
The question shakes him. He avoids answering, as if the truth might wound me.
He reaches up. His thumb brushes my cheek.
"I feel it when they hurt you," he says softly, pressing his chest. "Like something tearing."
For a moment he rises as if to leave.
Then he kneels again.
His mouth hovers close to mine.
My breath catches. My body leans toward him before I can stop it.
"I don't know what the next three days will bring," he whispers. "But right now—"
His lips touch mine.
I taste ash.
Evra's name flashes in my mind.
Guilt slams into me.
"I killed her," I choke.
"I know," he says gently.
"And I still want you."
Something inside me shifts.
He kisses me again.
Slow.
Careful.
Asking.
My hands grip his tunic. His heart races beneath my palm.
When he pulls away, he looks afraid.
"I will keep you," he whispers. "Even if it costs me everything."
His voice breaks.
He reaches into his bag and places food beside me.
A small barley loaf. Smoked meat. A flask of water.
"I must go."
"Don't come back," I whisper. Tears fall. "If you feel anything later—ignore it."
He studies my face.
"If you were meant to die," he says softly, "why does it feel like I just found you?"
"Within three days, they will bind us together," he adds, doubt flickering in his eyes.
He nods once. Stands. His hand rests on the latch. One breath. Two. His shoulders rise and fall like he is fighting himself.
Then he leaves.
The door closes.
The lock clicks.
I sit in the dark, shaking.
If the Rite names me his… will it save me—or destroy us both?