{Third Person}
Three days later.
The atmosphere within the Alpha Prince's residence had changed.
The curtains in Alexander's private chambers were pulled back, allowing in crisp daylight. The air no longer held the heaviness of illness.
Alexander sat by the window, his posture relaxed, his complexion back to normal. The pallor from previous days had faded, replaced by a cold, steady vitality. In his hand was a stainless cup filled with a deep red liquid.
He took a slow sip before speaking. "The human girl," he said casually. "What is the outcome of her case?"
Jasper stood a short distance away, his hands clasped behind his back. "There has been no conclusion yet, Your Highness."
Alexander's gaze remained on the courtyard outside. "Has the Human Parliament responded?"
"No," Jasper replied.
Alexander lifted the cup again, but just as it neared his lips, Jasper spoke. "Because no letter has been sent to them."
The cup paused midair. For a moment, everything in the room seemed to quieten. Then, slowly, Alexander lowered the cup, and his eyes shifted toward Jasper.
"Explain."
Jasper met his gaze at once. "No official correspondence was dispatched from the palace regarding Lady Caldwell's identity."
A beat passed, then Alexander inquired, "Who is in charge of the case?"
Jasper hesitated briefly before replying, "…The Queen."
A faint scoff escaped Alexander. He set the cup down on the table beside him, the soft clink echoing in the silence.
"So," he said coolly, "that old woman has no intention of resolving it." His fingers tapped once against the table. "She is playing a longer game."
Jasper inclined his head slightly. "That appears to be the case, Your Highness." Then, he continued, "The Council of Elders were present at the palace the day Lady Caldwell was arrested, so they are fully aware of the accusation."
Alexander said nothing as his thumb traced slowly along the rim of the stainless cup.
"The absence of verification from the Human Parliament," Jasper added, "will only agitate them further, and it gives them grounds to question your judgment. And if this drags on," Jasper finished, "they will not separate her case from you. Regardless of the truth."
Alexander's lips curved faintly with less amusement and something colder. "They don't need the truth to hate me," he said quietly. "Only an opportunity."
The Council of Elders already despised him because of his infamous titles: 'The cursed prince' and 'The ruthless one.' To them, this situation was simply another way to express their dissatisfaction with him.
Jasper spoke again, more carefully this time. "It seems Her Majesty intends to use this situation to further weaken your standing and turn the court against you."
Alexander's smirk deepened. His gaze darkened, sharp and calculating. "She wants my attention," he said.
And she sure had it.
Then, he leaned back slightly, his expression settling into something dangerous. "It seems," he added calmly, "it's time to pay Father a visit."
The room fell silent again. Then, Alexander rose to his feet and said, "Let's visit the girl first since it's along the way."
---
Five days. Amara had been counting. That was the number of days she had been in this prison of cold walls, foul air, and restless fear.
By her calculation, the Parliament should have responded by now. The King's letter would have reached them, and confirmation of her identity should already be on its way back.
And at most, she would be released by this evening. This thought was the only thing keeping her steady.
A few minutes later, the sound of approaching footsteps reached Amara's ears, and she snapped her head up.
Three guards stopped in front of her cell. One stepped forward and unlocked the door—the sharp click echoed louder than it should have.
Hope surged through her chest so suddenly it almost hurt. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the weakness in her limbs.
"I—am I being released?" she asked, her voice strained but hopeful.
The guard didn't reply. Instead, he stepped aside, and the other two moved in. Before she could react, her arms were gripped tightly.
Amara's breath caught in her throat. "What are you doing—? Where are you taking me?" Her voice rose despite herself. At least, she was clear now that she was being set free.
The guards continued to ignore Amara as they dragged her out. A cold, suffocating fear sank into her chest. And the deeper they went into the dungeon, the stronger the smell of rot, blood, and decay became.
Amara's steps faltered as her gaze caught sight of dark stains smeared across the stone floor. And her heart began to race uncontrollably.
"No… wait—what did I do?" she demanded, panic slipping into her voice now. "What am I being punished for?"
Still, no form of response came from the guards. They stopped right before the chains hung from above.
Right then, Amara briefly imagined what was awaiting her. But before she could withdraw, her wrists were yanked upwards and chained to the iron links. Her struggle was no match for the bulky men who held her, and she was no match for Werewolf strength.
Her feet barely touched the ground as her arms were held upwards. Her breath came faster, and her mind spiralled.
'Does this mean the Parliament have sent proof, and the result is against me?' Amara thought to herself.
Just then, one of the guards stepped forward, picking up a long whip. The sound of leather dragging across stone made her stomach drop.
"Amara Caldwell," he called, his tone mocking.
Her head snapped toward him.
"Confess now," he said calmly, almost lazily. "Admit that you are not the Caldwell's daughter… and your life may be spared."
The words hit Amara sharply. Her eyes widened in realization. No response had come from the Parliament. Nothing had been proven, yet she was already being punished.
Instantly, anger flared through her fear. "I have nothing to confess," she said. Though her voice was trembling, it was firm. "I am innocent until proven guilty. You have no right—"
The whip cracked through the air and landed on her back. At that moment, a scream tore from her throat as sharp and brutal pain exploded across her back, stealing the breath from her lungs.
Her body jerked violently against the chains. Her fingers curled helplessly as her vision blurred. Sweat broke out across her forehead instantly.
The guard watched her, unimpressed. "You speak too much for someone in your position," he said coldly. "You are also guilty until proven otherwise."
Amara's chest heaved. Her body trembled uncontrollably from the shock of the strike, but her eyes burned as she forced herself to look at him.
"If I am proven to be who I say I am…" she managed, her voice strained and uneven, "can you bear the consequences of your actions towards me?"
The guard scoffed. "When that time comes, I will deal with it," he said mockingly.
Then he lifted his arm again, and the whip lashed down. The second strike tore through Amara like fire.
A broken cry escaped her lips as her body sagged against the chains. Something warm and metallic filled her mouth. A second later, she coughed up blood, and her strength faltered instantly.
The force behind the strike was not human. It felt like her flesh had split open, like something beneath had cracked under the impact.
Uncontrollable tears streamed down her face. It wasn't just from the pain alone, but also from the sheer helplessness of it.
She was a political bride, yet she was being treated like a hardened criminal without any proof or verdict. Bitterness flooded her chest.
Through trembling lips, and barely able to breathe, she whispered hoarsely, "Now… you are… the ones… asking for war…"
The guard laughed loudly in a mocking gesture. "As if Humans could stand any chance against us," he said dismissively, then raised the whip again, higher this time for the third strike.
Just then, a commotion erupted, accompanied by hurried, urgent footsteps. A guard hurried in from the far end, breathless.
"Stop!" he called out.
The whip paused midair.
"His... His Highness…" the guard said, his voice tense. "…is here."
Instantly, the guard wielding the whip exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock, "What! His Highness is here?"