The guards shackled Zephyra back to the wall with iron restraints that bit into her wrists like hungry serpents, leaving her in the cold, damp room with only the sound of her own ragged breathing and the faint, mocking clink of the silver cup being set back on the table. Close enough for her to see its damning gleam, but far enough to remind her it was the noose they planned to hang her with.

The torchlight flickered across the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mock her predicament. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness beyond her cell, each drop a countdown to something she couldn't name but felt approaching like a storm on the horizon.

"What do you plan on doing with her, Draven?" Luca's voice cut through the oppressive silence. "She cannot live. She's a witch who killed your wife, our Luna, and up till this moment, we're unable to find Renna's body."

Draven's body went rigid at Luca's words, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The mention of his wife's missing body was like salt in an open wound, and Zephyra could see the way it ate at him—the not knowing, the absence of closure.

"Have you searched everywhere? The witch kingdom, the borderlands, the sacred groves?" Draven's voice was low, heavy with grief that seemed to press down on him like a physical weight. "They killed my wife, Luca. I need to at least see that she got a befitting end as a Luna. She deserves that much."

Luca's expression shifted slightly, something flickering in his eyes too quickly to catch. "We're doing everything we can, Alpha. The search parties have covered every inch of—"

"It doesn't look like it, Luca." Draven's voice cracked like a whip through the dungeon air. "They killed my wife and I don't even have her body to bury? I don't even have that small comfort?" His hands shook with barely contained rage, and for a moment, Zephyra saw past the cruel Alpha to the broken man beneath.

"We'll work harder," Luca said, but there was something in his tone—a flatness that suggested his heart wasn't truly in the promise.

"You better," Draven cut in, his voice sharp enough to draw blood. "Because if I find out you've been anything less than thorough..."

He didn't finish the threat, but the implication hung in the air like smoke. Then he turned and walked back into the dungeon, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls with the finality of a funeral march.

"I'll ask you a question now," Draven said, his voice eerily calm as he stared at Zephyra who was still hanging from her chains like a broken doll. "And if you answer me honestly, I'll let you go torture-free for the rest of the day."

Zephyra lifted her head with effort, meeting his gaze through strands of blood-matted hair. Even now, even broken and beaten, there was fire in her eyes that refused to be extinguished.

"Where's my wife's body?" He barked, stepping closer and grabbing her jaw with bruising force, his fingers digging into her skin.

Zephyra stared at him for a long moment, something almost like pity flickering in her green eyes. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse but steady. "I've been in this dungeon of yours for five days now, Alpha Draven. Tortured, thrown back and forth into your personal hell, and you think the best thing you can ask me is where your wife is?" She paused, letting the words sink in. "Are you stupid?"

Draven's grip on her jaw tightened until her teeth ground together, until she could taste blood from where her teeth cut into her cheek. "Careful, princess," he said, voice low and trembling—not with fear, but with the kind of rage that had been simmering too long, threatening to boil over. "Your mouth is writing you a death you won't survive."

Zephyra's lips twisted into a blood-stained smile that looked more like a grimace. "Then stop talking about it and do it. Or is the mighty Alpha afraid to kill someone who's telling the truth?"

Something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe, or recognition of something he didn't want to acknowledge. But it was gone too quickly to name, buried beneath layers of grief and fury. He shoved her head back against the damp stone wall with enough force to make stars dance behind her eyelids, then stepped away, pacing once like a caged wolf.

"You had the cup," he said, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "Your fingerprints were on it. You were in my house the night Renna died. You expect me to believe you weren't involved?"

"I expect you to use your brain," Zephyra shot back, her voice cracking but her eyes still burning bright as flame. "I am a princess. Princesses don't serve drinks to Lunas or anyone else. We don't carry cups or trays or touch serving ware. And even if we did, I wouldn't waste my time poisoning someone I've never even met, someone who meant nothing to me."

Luca, who had been lurking in the doorway like a shadow given form, barked out a short laugh that echoed off the stone walls. "You think you're above suspicion because of a title? Here, in this place, titles mean nothing. You're just another prisoner who's going to die."

"Then maybe you should start acting like a man with a brain instead of a dog chasing shadows," she said, turning her glare back on Draven with undimmed defiance.

Luca took a step forward, his face darkening with anger, but Draven's hand shot up, halting him mid-stride. "Leave us."

"But Alpha—"

"Now." The single word carried the weight of absolute command, brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Luca backed out of the cell, shooting Zephyra one last look of pure venom before disappearing into the corridor. His footsteps echoed away, but Zephyra had the distinct feeling he wasn't going far.

Draven waited until the footsteps faded completely, then stepped closer, his presence pressing against her like a weight she couldn't shove off. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with tension and unspoken accusations.

"Five days," he said quietly, almost conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather rather than her impending death. "Five days you've been hanging in here. You haven't begged. You haven't broken. You haven't even tried to bargain for your life." He studied her face as if looking for cracks in her resolve. "I thought maybe... maybe you were just stubborn. But stubborn doesn't explain how my wife's cup has only her fingerprints and yours wrapped around the bowl."

Zephyra's throat tightened, but she forced her voice to remain steady. "I don't care what your tests say. I don't care what evidence you think you have. I didn't kill her."

He studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowing like he was trying to peel her open from the inside, to see the truth hidden beneath skin and bone. The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

"If you didn't kill her," he said finally, voice soft but deadly, "then you know who did."

"I don't," she whispered, her voice growing sharper with each word. "And if I did, I'd still never help you. Not after what you've done to me, to my people."

The tension between them stretched until it hurt to breathe, until the very air seemed to vibrate with unspoken violence. Then Draven stepped back, his expression hardening into something final and unforgiving.

"Then hear me well, Zephyra, princess of the witch kingdom," he said, voice steady as stone and twice as cold. "If you do not confess to killing my wife before the full moon rises, I will kill you myself under its light. Your butchered body will be all your mother gets as a reminder of this war, and I promise you..." He leaned closer, close enough that she could see her own reflection in his dark eyes. "The moon will not be merciful."

He left without looking back, the heavy door slamming shut with a sound like thunder, leaving her alone in the cold, the dark, and the ticking countdown to her death. The echoes of his footsteps faded, but his words remained, hanging in the air like a curse.

Outside her cell, she could hear the guards taking up their positions, their low murmurs barely audible through the thick stone. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—long, mournful, and achingly lonely.

Zephyra closed her eyes and tried not to think about how much that howl sounded like her own heart breaking.