Five

LILITH'S POV

My palms scraped against rough stone as I pushed upward. Muscles quivered, refusing to obey. Still, I forced myself to rise. Staying down meant surrender.

I made it to my knees. The wind cut across the yard, ice against my sweat-slicked skin. Each breath sent fresh lightning through my branded back. Copper filled my mouth where teeth had torn flesh.

The remaining humans clung to the yard's perimeter like moss on stone. Some met my gaze. Others found sudden interest in the ground. None stepped forward to call this out for what it was. Barbaric.

I stretched my lips into something that resembled a smile.

"You think this is new?" My voice echoed off the walls, stronger than I'd expected. "You think their cruelty is something they were taught?"

Silence answered.

"It isn't," I rasped, steady despite the fire coursing through my veins. "It's in their blood."

I straightened, feeling scabs crack and fresh warmth seep down my spine. "Today it's me. Tomorrow it'll be one of you."

Their eyes flickered—some with shame, some with fear. The truth cut deeper than any lash could reach.

Boot heels clicked against stone behind me.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

"How inspiring," the captain's voice dripped with mockery. "The little rat still squeaks."

He circled around, blocking my view of the others.

"Get the brand," he called over his shoulder.

My lungs seized.

A soldier stepped forward, gripping a rod whose tip glowed angry orange in the fading light.

"What are you doing?" The words scraped past my throat.

The captain crouched, bringing his face level with mine. His breath smelled of wine and something rotten. "I thought one mark was enough. But apparently not."

I said nothing. Couldn't.

"You were very loud today." His eyes glittered like wet stones. "Made quite the scene. So let's make it official."

The soldier positioned the brand above my collarbone, where thin skin stretched over bone.

When the iron made contact, my body convulsed. Lightning shot from the point of contact, the world flashing white behind my eyes. Something in my throat tore but no scream escaped. I wouldn't give them that.

Owned seared itself into my flesh, a permanent collar I'd never remove.

The world tilted. Vision blurred. Through the swimming haze, I glimpsed the captain's smug satisfaction and the faces of the others. I recognized horror mingled with something else. Something like reverence.

Then darkness claimed me.

***

Damp stone pressed against my cheek when consciousness returned. The cell reeked of mildew and old blood and something else. The sour residue of countless hopeless nights.

Every breath sent fresh waves of agony through my chest. Anyslightest movement awakened the twin brands—back and collarbone—as if the iron still pressed against my skin.

I rolled to my side, a groan escaping before I could swallow it. The movement nearly dragged me back into oblivion.

"Why didn't you kill her?"

The voice came from beyond the bars. A lycan soldier, younger than most in the hellscape we were in was the one speaking. I looked at him. Really looked at him. His armor hung loose on narrow shoulders and his eyes darted away from mine down the corridor, nervous when our eyes met.

I closed my eyes. Even breathing hurt.

"I wish I could. Every soldier here knows I wish I could shut this bitch up. But I can't. Not unless the prince approves it. Orders." The captain's voice drifted from somewhere down the hall, flat with boredom.

"Since when?" the young one pressed.

"Since he and the King got tired of the rebellion spreading." The captain replied with a sigh. "You think killing slaves doesn't light a fire under the rest of them? Prince Kelvon wants them scared. Not desperate."

Silence stretched between them.

"But she challenged you in public," the soldier whispered.

"And I branded her in public," the captain replied, his tone harder now. "Let them worship her all they want. She still bleeds."

Then their footsteps faded away.

I lay shivering on the stone, despite the fire still raging beneath my skin.

So that was it.

I lived because Kelvon said so.

Not mercy. Not guilt.

A calculated decision to keep the others in line.

A spider crawled across the wall, pausing at a crack before disappearing into shadow. I tracked its path, focusing on anything but the throbbing pain that pulsed with each heartbeat.

Owned.

They wanted that word to be my shame. My silence. And though I wished I could pretend it meant nothing, the truth burned deeper than the brand itself. I really was nothing but an insignificant mass of flesh breathing for their sick and twisted purposes.

***

KELVON’S POV

The citadel's stone walls breathed winter despite the season. Each footfall echoed through the corridor like a death knell. The guards flanking the chamber doors stared through me, gazes fixed on some distant point beyond my shoulder, studiously avoiding the dried blood flaking from the joints of my armor.

I hadn't washed it away. Couldn't. Allen's blood had seeped into every crevice, becoming part of the metal itself.

The doors swung open without command or announcement.

Darkness greeted me. Heavy curtains blocked the afternoon light, leaving only the hearth's dying embers to illuminate the chamber. The air hung thick with mingled scents—aged oak, iron-tinged ink, and the bitter herbs our healers crushed for pain. The kind that never dulled anything for beasts like us.

My father sat motionless by the fire, a shadow carved from stone. No crown adorned his head, yet authority radiated from him like heat. His fingers drummed against the chair's worn arms—a soldier's hands, still restless for battle even as the rest of him withered.

War had consumed him from within. His once-massive frame had collapsed like a fortress under siege, shoulders curved where they once stood square. Deep lines scored his face, and silver hair hung limp past his collar. Only his eyes remained unchanged, cold and cutting as northern ice.

"You asked for me," I said, my voice splitting the silence.

He gazed into the flames, as though reading prophecies in the coals. The silence stretched until I thought he hadn't heard.

"I did what you asked," I added. The words scraped my throat raw.

A single nod. "I know you did. I had my eyes watch."

I pivoted toward the door.

"Stop." Not a shout, but a command that froze my feet to the floor. "We're not finished."

I turned back, jaw muscles bunching beneath skin.

His gaze traveled over me, measuring. "Now that those childish dreams are dead," he said, "we can make sure they stay buried."

Something beneath my ribs twisted. I kept my face carved from marble.

He settled deeper into his chair, eyes narrowing to slits. "Your mother poisoned your mind with softness. She told you humans were worth saving. That goodness was sacred. That your blood," He spat the word like venom. "was special because it carried both."

Then there was the dismissive shake of his head. "She was a fool."

My fingers curled inward, nails biting half-moons into my palms.

His lips curved upward at the sight. "The best thing you can do now, Kelvon," he said, "is marry."

"What?" The word burst from me, unbidden.

"You heard me."

He rose from his chair with deliberate slowness, each movement a reminder that even as death stalked him, the throne remained his.

"I hate a world where I can't trust my own son with the fucking crown," he said, voice like gravel. "Your emotions make you weak. Your obsession with kindness. With love." He nearly choked on the word. "That's not what builds kingdoms. Bloodlines do. Alliances do."

"I am not interested in the prospects of marriage," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

"I say you are."

"I can't marry. Not now."

"You will." Each syllable fell like a headsman's axe.

I studied him then. I tried to truly see him. The hollow beneath his cheekbones. The tremor in his hands when they moved. Time had become his enemy, and he knew it. That knowledge drove him now, desperate to control what would outlast him.

"And what if I said I have a mate?" My words hung in the air between us. " What if I said my mate is human?"

He paused, just for a heartbeat. Then laughter erupted from his chest, a harsh, empty sound. "Of course there is that possibility. Of course my bastard son will nourish that idea, and it is for that sole reason I do not want it to happen."

I held myself still, though the word 'bastard' sliced deeper than any blade.

He closed the distance between us. "Your mother was a chosen mate, human and weak, but she was just fine as my Luna."

"You burned her body," I said through clenched teeth.

"She was human," he snapped, spittle flying. "What else was I supposed to do? Parade her through the halls like a queen? She knew her place. She bore a son and died like she was supposed to."

The air rushed from my lungs as though he'd struck me. My vision dimmed at the edges, blood roaring in my ears. Every muscle strained toward violence, yet I remained still as stone.

"You will marry someone worthy," he continued, oblivious to or uncaring of my rage. "A Lycan queen from a bloodline that matters. Someone who can secure your rule over both the humans and the scattered packs. You will do it because I say so. You will do it because this kingdom needs strength. Not weakness disguised as one."

"I won't," I said.

Shadows deepened across his face. "Why?"

Silence answered him.

He waited, counting heartbeats. When it became clear no explanation would come, he turned away, stalking to the window. With one sharp movement, he thrust the shutters open. Winter air surged into the room, setting the flames dancing wildly in the hearth.

His back remained to me as he spoke. "I've already sent letters. To the families that matter. The ones with history. The ones with power. Whether you like it or not, you will make your choice and keep this rule strong."

A flick of his wrist dismissed me. "Get out of my sight."

I left without another word.

The doors closed behind me with the finality of a tomb being sealed.

My feet carried me forward, past impassive guards, beneath the hollow-eyed portraits of dead kings who'd believed their bloodlines made them divine.

My heart thundered against my ribs like a prisoner demanding release.

He could threaten. He could scheme. He could burn everything I valued to ash.

But he couldn't reach what had taken root inside me.

The girl in the mine had looked at me as though I were the monster legends had promised. And perhaps I had become that creature.

But she still belonged to me.

Not because fate decreed it.

But because I willed it so.

And I would not let him discover her—or take her from me as he had did many other things. My beast agreed.