Chapter 208

The shock fully takes over my mind, keeping me from fully understanding for several long moments.

Caleb is… disbanding the harem? It’s something that I always wished would happen, but never actually thought it would. My heart starts to race as foolish hopes fill me. Did Caleb do this for me?

No, no I have no proof of that.

“Where did you hear this?” I ask Bethany.

“All of the servants are talking about it,” Bethany says. “The entire harem is packing their bags. Cars and other transportation are being arranged.”

“But you didn’t hear it from Caleb?” I ask.

“Well… no. But, who else could have given the order?”

Her words don’t inspire confidence in me.

Given how terrible of a political move this would be for Caleb, I’m not sure this isn’t just some terrible rumor that someone started. Any moment now, I expect a messenger will storm through the wing, telling everyone to unpack and calm down.

“Until I hear it from Caleb’s own mouth,” I say, “I just can’t believe it.”

It is simply too good to be true.

As much as I want to believe it, I doubt Caleb would send his harem away for anyone or any reason.

Even me.

Tristan blinks his eyes open as his guards fiddle with the door of his cell. His entire body is battered and bruised. Though his werewolf healing closed most of the arrow wounds riddling his body, many have come down with infection.

When he isn’t fighting off a fever, he’s fighting to stay awake. His body is gradually weakening. They don’t over him much to eat other than the occasional bowl of chicken broth or a crust of bread.

As the Alpha King’s right hand, he is a valuable prisoner. He wishes they realized that should be reason to treat him better. He’d be no use to anyone if he died.

Walking into his cell, Tristan recognizes one of his usual guards. He’s a gruff, burly man with a thick beard and thinning hair on top. None of the guards use their names around him. He is only supposed to know them as Sir.

In his head, he’s taken to calling this one Barrel, on account of his barrel-chest.

Typically Tristan is accustomed to only seeing him nowadays when it’s time to be fed. They’d given up torturing Tristan some time ago, perhaps realizing that his oath to his Alpha keeps him from every betraying him.

Not that Tristan would, even if he could. Still, the break from torture is a relief. He’s still not sure his broken fingers healed right.

“On your feet. The leader wants to speak with you,” Barrel says.

He’s fooling himself if he thinks Tristan is capable of doing that on his own. His latest fever might have broken, but he’s still too exhausted to lift his head, let alone his entire body.

Fortunately, he does have just enough energy to laugh.

Barrel growls as he comes closer and harshly kicks Tristan on the side.

Tristan winces and groans. But truly, this is just one more ache among thousands.

Barrel, realizing Tristan is still not standing, reaches down, grabs him by the shoulders, and yanks him to his feet. Tristan knows he’s lost weight and muscle for Barrel to do so, so easily. It’s like Tristan is made of nothing but paper.

Barrel props him upright, but Tristan, so exhausted, cannot stay standing on his own and starts to fall.

Finally, it seems as if Barrel realizes Tristan is as weak as he seems. Barrel, cursing, throws one of Tristan’s arms over his shoulder and then half-carries, mostly-drags Tristan out of the cell.

Tristan forces his eyes open as he’s dragged through the stronghold. He memorizes the turns and stairwells, where he counts the stairs. As weak as his body is, his mind is still strong. When Caleb comes to rescue him, he is going to be able to provide as much information to his King as he can.

There is no doubt in Tristan’s mind that Caleb will not leave him to this fate. Neither will Harper, who likely even now is scheming somehow. He just hopes she does not needlessly endanger herself.

Barrel drags Tristan into a large sitting room of some type, with a large set of windows on one side of the room. Those windows are drawn open, revealing a balcony beyond.

Past that, Tristan sees mountains. He memorizes everything he can see, in case he needs to start describing landmarks to help Caleb pinpoint his location.

Samuel is there, as well as a few other rebels.

Barrel drops Tristan in a hard wooden chair. As soon as he’s down, Barrel ties Tristan’s hands behind his back, like he has any strength to actually attack anyone.

“I doubt you’ve heard the latest news,” Samuel says. He’s looking out the open windows, his back to Tristan, yet Tristan knows he is the one being addressed all the same.

Tristan keeps his mouth shut, though, knowing this conversation is not intended to go two ways. Samuel should know by now that he won’t be getting any information from Tristan. Perhaps Samuel wishes to intimidate him, or maybe try to break him again.

Tristan’s mind won’t be broken, no matter what happens to his body.

“False King Caleb canceled his marriage, right in the middle of the ceremony,” Samuel says.

Thank the gods, Tristan thinks. Annabelle was all wrong for Caleb, and no doubt the incident had its toll on Harper.

The question, however, was why Samuel would feel the need to share this news with Tristan.

“I ask you, Tristan, given your knowledge of the king,” Samuel says, turning. “How long do I have before Caleb tries to make Harper his bride?”

Ah. Another question about Harper. After the initial interrogations failed, Samuel took to simply asking Tristan questions, much like this. Most of those questions related to Harper.

Tristan has no idea how he could so successfully run an entire rebellion when his mind seems utterly preoccupied with his ex-fiancé.

Normally, Tristan would refuse to answer anything, but he sees no harm in this.

“Traditionally, the King would not marry one of his harem,” Tristan says.

Samuel glares at Tristan. “But Caleb isn’t a traditional king. Do you think he will marry her, or will he simply cast her aside like he has all the rest?”

“I don’t know,” Tristan says, though he has a pretty good guess.

Samuel’s face scrunches up as he takes a threatening step towards Tristan. “Don’t fuck with me. Just answer the question.”

Samuel’s annoyance emboldens Tristan, who can tell he’s getting under Samuel’s skin.

“Does it matter?” Tristan asks. “She has no interest in you. If you plan on kidnapping her, it won’t matter if she is married or not.”

“She has been manipulated,” Samuel growls. “When she is free of that palace and the false king’s influence, then she will remember reason.”

“She seemed happy the last time I saw her,” Tristan says. Glancing at the other rebels in the room, Tristan continues, “Perhaps it would be better for your cause if you stopped obsessing so much over a woman who does not want you, and focus on the rebellion itself.”

“That’s enough!” Samuel shouts. He storms forward and strikes Tristan across the face.

It stings, but Tristan still feels victorious. Around the room, the rebels glance at each other, and Tristan can see the suspicion in their eyes.

They are starting to doubt to their leader.