AUBREY

I drag myself back to consciousness like fighting through thick mud, my eyes fluttering open to soft candlelight flickering against stone walls. The herbal scent of healing potions hits me first, followed by the quiet crackling of a fire in the hearth. My body feels foreign and heavy, wrapped in clean linen sheets that smell of lavender.

"Aubrey?" Caroline's voice draws my attention to the chair beside my bed. Noah's mate sits forward with obvious relief, her brown eyes bright with concern. "Thank the Moon Goddess you're awake."

I try to speak but my throat feels raw and scratched. Caroline quickly reaches for a pewter cup of water, helping me take small sips until I can finally manage words.

"What happened?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper.

"You've been unconscious for two days," Caroline says gently, smoothing the blanket over my legs. "The healers weren't sure when you'd wake up. Knox has been beside himself with worry."

Knox. The memory crashes back—the battle, finding his parents murdered, fighting side by side against Jax's forces. "The kingdom?"

"Knox has taken control. He's been managing everything while you recovered." Caroline's expression grows more serious. "He's barely left the castle, trying to restore order after..." She trails off, clearly not wanting to upset me with details.

Guilt slams into me like a physical blow. If I hadn't given Jax information about the castle's defenses, about the royal family's routines, Grace and Alexander might still be alive. The kingdom wouldn't have lost its king and queen in one devastating attack. Iris wouldn't be—

"Iris," I gasp, struggling to sit up despite the dizziness. "Is she—?"

Caroline's face tightens with worry. "She's alive, but barely. The healers are doing everything they can, but..." She shakes her head. "We can only hope and pray."

The weight of responsibility crushes down on me. My best friend is fighting for her life because of choices I made. Because I trusted the wrong person, believed in the wrong cause.

"I know this is hard," Caroline continues, "but Knox—"

"He shouldn't have protected me," I interrupt, my voice cracking. "What I did was unforgivable."

Caroline studies my face with growing confusion. "What you did? Aubrey, you fought alongside Knox. You helped save what was left of the kingdom."

Something in her tone makes me realize the truth hasn't come out. Knox must not have revealed my role as Jax's spy, my part in enabling the attack. But why would he protect me after what I cost him?

"Maybe he still cares about you," Aria whispers hopefully. "Maybe he can forgive—"

"Don't." I shut down that dangerous line of thinking. "I don't deserve forgiveness."

The bitter irony isn't lost on me—I spent months deceiving Knox with carefully crafted lies, and now I'm being falsely protected when I finally want to face the truth of my crimes.

"I should get you some food," Caroline says, rising from her chair. "You haven't eaten in—"

Heavy footsteps echo from the corridor outside, followed by raised voices that make Caroline pause at the door. The commotion grows louder, more aggressive, until suddenly the door bursts open.

Asher storms in with several elders behind him, his face twisted with grief and rage that makes my blood run cold. His clothes are wrinkled like he hasn't slept, dark circles shadowing his eyes. Behind him, the council members look equally haggard but determined.

"There she is," Asher snarls, pointing at me with shaking finger. "The traitor who murdered our king and queen."

"Asher, what are you doing?" Caroline steps protectively between us, but he pushes past her roughly.

"I have proof," he declares, producing a leather satchel from inside his jacket. "Letters in her handwriting, arranging meetings with Jax's agents. Testimony from witnesses who saw her passing information. Records showing payments made to her."

My heart sinks as he spreads the fabricated evidence across my bedsheets. The forgeries are crude but convincing enough for people desperate to blame someone for their loss. False signatures that look passably like my writing, doctored parchments, testimonials from "witnesses" I've never met.

"This is ridiculous," Caroline protests, examining the parchments with growing alarm. "These could be faked easily. The handwriting doesn't even match properly, and these documents—"

"Look at the timeline," Elder Morrison interrupts coldly. "She arrives at court, and within months our defenses are compromised. Our royal family is slaughtered. The pattern is obvious."

"Correlation isn't causation," Caroline argues desperately. "You can't condemn someone based on circumstantial—"

"She's a spy," Asher cuts her off, his voice breaking with pain. "She seduced Knox to get close to the royal family, then fed information to that monster who murdered innocent people. Who nearly killed Iris."

The accusation hits like a physical blow because part of it is true. I did spy on the royal family. I did pass information to Jax. But not the way they think, not for the reasons they believe.

"This evidence is clearly fabricated," Caroline continues fighting for me, but I can see doubt creeping into some of the elders' faces. They want someone to blame for their grief, someone to punish for their loss.

Asher's doing this because of Iris. Because his mate is clinging to life and he needs someone to pay for his agony. The evidence is flimsy, but grief makes people willing to believe anything that offers them a target for their rage.

"Take her to the dungeons," Elder Morrison commands the guards who've appeared in the doorway. "She'll await trial there."

I don't resist as rough hands seize my arms, hauling me from the infirmary bed despite Caroline's continued protests. My legs are weak and unsteady, but I force myself to walk rather than be dragged.

The guards escort me roughly through the corridors, their grip tight and unforgiving on my arms. Other castle staff we pass look away quickly, unwilling to meet the eyes of someone branded a traitor.

The dungeon stairs are steep and treacherous, carved from ancient stone that weeps moisture. The temperature drops with each step until my breath mists in the frigid air. Iron torches cast flickering shadows that dance mockingly across the walls.

"Should have known better than to trust an outsider," the first guard mutters as he unlocks a heavy cell door. "Pretty face hiding a rotten heart."

I stumble as they shove me inside, my knees hitting the damp stone floor hard enough to send pain shooting up my legs. The cell is barely large enough for a cot and a bucket, with bars thick enough to hold the strongest werewolf.

"Sleep well, spy," the second guard laughs as he slams the door shut. "Tomorrow the real questioning begins."

Their footsteps fade, leaving me alone in the suffocating darkness. I curl up on the thin cot, pulling the scratchy blanket around my shoulders as dampness seeps through my linen shift.

This is what I deserve. For betraying Knox's trust, for enabling Grace's murder, for almost losing Iris.

***

Hours pass in the cold darkness before I hear footsteps again—heavier this time, accompanied by cruel laughter. Different guards return with torches, their faces twisted with hatred and contempt.

"Look at the traitor," one sneers, rattling his keys against the iron bars. "Murderer of our beloved queen."

"Snake," another spits through the bars, his voice dripping with venom. "You played the innocent so well while planning their deaths."

I don't move from the cot as they enter, don't try to defend myself from their accusations. They're wrong about the specifics, but the guilt weighs just as heavy. I am responsible for Grace's death, just not in the way they think.

"Get up," the second guard orders, grabbing my arm roughly and hauling me to my feet.

A fist connects with my stomach, doubling me over as pain explodes through my midsection. Before I can recover, another blow catches me across the jaw, snapping my head back against the stone wall. Stars burst across my vision.

"That's for Queen Grace," the first guard snarls, driving his knee into my ribs with brutal force. The crack of bone echoes through the cell as agony tears through my chest.

I collapse to my knees, gasping for air that won't come. Blood runs from my nose and mouth, dripping onto the filthy stone floor. But I don't cry out, don't beg them to stop. I deserve this pain. I deserve far worse.

"Look at her," the second guard laughs coldly, kicking me in the side hard enough to send me sprawling. "The mighty spy, reduced to bleeding on dungeon stones."

Another kick, this one to my back, makes me arch in agony. Then another to my stomach that leaves me retching blood onto the floor. My vision blurs as pain consumes every nerve ending.

"Should make sure no more of Jax's spies survive," the first guard growls, pulling a heavy iron club from his belt. The weapon gleams dully in the torchlight, its surface stained with rust and old blood.

Through the haze of agony, I see him raise the club high above his head, his face twisted with murderous rage. This blow will crush my skull, end everything. Part of me almost welcomes it—an escape from the guilt eating me alive.

The club begins its deadly descent toward my head.

"That's enough."

Knox's voice cuts through the dungeon like a blade, cold and commanding. The guard freezes mid-swing, the iron club stopping mere inches from crushing my skull as he spins toward the cell entrance.

"Your Majesty," the first guard stammers, both of them immediately stepping back from my broken form sprawled on the stone floor. "We were just—"

"You were assaulting a prisoner," Knox interrupts, his green eyes blazing with fury. "Touch her again and you'll answer to me personally."

Both guards pale at the threat in his voice.

"She's still Luna Queen," Knox continues, his gaze never leaving their faces. "Her punishment will be decided by me alone."