Eryx
I watch the king stand there, looking lost. It is strange to see. Kings are supposed to be certain, powerful, untouchable. But this one, he looks like a man drowning.
And I am the one pulling him under.
I should hate him. I should want him dead. He represents everything I have fought against my whole life. The crown. The rules. The chains disguised as duty. But when I look at him, I do not feel hate.
I feel something far more dangerous.
"You can sit, you know," I say, gesturing to the floor. "Unless kings are too good to sit with prisoners."
He hesitates, then lowers himself to the ground across from me. He keeps his distance, careful not to get too close. Smart. He feels it too, the pull between us. The fire.
"Why did you become a rogue?" he asks suddenly.
I was not expecting that question. Most people ask why I steal, why I fight, why I refuse to bow. No one ever asks why I chose this life.
"I did not choose it," I say. "It chose me."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one I have." I lean back against the cold stone wall. "I was born into a pack. A good one, or so I thought. But when I was sixteen, I realized something. The pack did not want me. Not the real me. They wanted the version of me that fit into their rules, their expectations. So I left."
"And you have been running ever since."
"I have been free ever since," I corrected him. "There is a difference."
Caelan frowns. "Freedom without a pack is loneliness. Lycans need others. We are not meant to be alone."
"Maybe you are not," I say. "But I would rather be alone and free than surrounded by people who want me to be someone I am not."
He goes quiet. I can see my words hitting him, sinking in. He understands more than he wants to admit.
"What about you?" I ask. "Have you ever wanted to be free?"
"I am the king," he says stiffly. "I have more freedom than anyone in the realm."
I laugh. I cannot help it. "You really believe that, do not you?"
"It is the truth."
"No." I shake my head. "You are the least free person I have ever met. You cannot choose who you marry. You cannot choose how you rule. You cannot even choose what you want without asking the Moon for permission first."
His jaw tightens. "The Moon guides us. It knows what is best."
"Does it?" I lean forward, my chains rattling. "Or does the Moon just want to keep you obedient? Have you ever questioned it, Caelan? Have you ever asked yourself what you would choose if the Moon had no say?"
"That is heresy."
"That is honesty."
He stands abruptly, pacing the small cell. I can see the war happening inside him, the clash between what he has been taught and what he is starting to feel.
"You should not talk to me like this," he says. "I could have you executed for speaking against the Moon."
"Then do it." I spread my arms, chains clinking. "Execute me. Prove that you are the king everyone thinks you are. Strong. Decisive. Obedient."
He stops pacing and looks at me. Really look at me. And I see it in his eyes, the crack in his armor, the doubt creeping in.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks quietly. "Why are you trying to make me question everything?"
"Because someone should." I hold his gaze. "Because you deserve to know that there is another way. That you do not have to live your whole life as a prisoner of fate."
"And what would you have me do? Abandon my kingdom? Break the sacred bond? Throw everything into chaos just because I feel confused?"
"I would have you be honest," I say. "With yourself. With her. With everyone. Stop pretending you want this life when every part of you is screaming that you do not."
"You do not know what I want."
"Don't I?" I stand, moving closer to him. The space between us shrinks. I can see his pulse racing in his throat. "You came back here tonight, Caelan. Not to execute me. Not to interrogate me. You came because you cannot stay away. Because when you are with me, you feel something real. Something that is not decided by the Moon or the council or anyone else."
He takes a step back, but his eyes do not leave mine. "You are wrong."
"Prove it." I take another step forward. We are close now, so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. "Tell me you do not feel this. Tell me your wolf is not clawing at you right now, desperate to get closer. Tell me you do not think about me when you are with her."
"Stop." His voice is rough, barely controlled.
"Why? Because it is true?"
"Because it is wrong."
"Says who? The Moon? The council? Or you?"
He does not answer. He just stares at me, breathing hard, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
And then he does something I do not expect.
He reaches out and grabs my shirt, pulling me closer. For a moment, I think he is going to hit me. But he does not.
He just holds on, his forehead almost touching mine, his breath ragged.
"I do not know what to do," he whispers. "I do not know how to make this stop."
"Maybe you are not supposed to make it stop," I say quietly. "Maybe you are supposed to listen to it."
He lets go of me suddenly and stumbles back toward the door. He pounds on it, and the guard opens it immediately.
"I should not have come here," he says, not looking at me.
"But you did."
He leaves without another word, and the door slams shut behind him.
I sink back down to the floor, my heart racing. I told myself I would not care about him. I told myself he was just another king, just another symbol of everything I hate.
But I lied.
Because the truth is, I want him. And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.