Rise Of The Rogue Queen

Introduction

"What madness possesses you, Vassius? To stain the legacy of the Frostbite Pack with such shame... have you no sense of duty? No pride?" The Alpha King's voice rang out, loud and full of fury, as if it could shake the very walls of the grand hall.

Vassius stood before him, his head bowed, his heart pounding in his chest. "I can't deny it, Father... I love her," was all he could say-his voice quiet, almost pleading.

Before he could brace himself, a deafening slap landed on his left cheek. The sting lit up his face, the force reverberating through his skull. He stumbled but didn't fall. His pride was too stubborn to let him.

The King's voice turned cold, venomous. "Tell me I misheard, Vassius. You.. a prince, entangled with a rogue?" He stepped forward, eyes burning with disdain. "You shame the blood that made you. Tell me, Vassius... how does a boy ruled by emotion expect to rule a pack?"

"Twice-cursed... a rogue and a witch. Her destiny was sealed the moment she breathed near my throne. Her fate is the darkest cell this kingdom holds," the King added.

"I'll do whatever you ask, but let her go. You have my word... she'll be nothing to me from this moment on," Vassius pleaded.

"Yes, Vassius, she'll be nothing to you, because by dawn, her head will hang on a spike outside this palace, so every rogue knows what happens when they touch royalty. Love is a weakness you'll no longer be allowed to carry. I'll erase her from your life-mind, body, and soul," the King said, then turned and left the grand hall.

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Prince Vassius paced the length of the stone corridor, his mind consumed by thoughts of her-the woman locked beneath the palace in a cell carved for the most dangerous of sorcerers. He didn't know how she was faring. Was she shivering in the cold? Was she afraid? His heart ached with every unanswered question. She had always been warmth to him... and now, she sat alone in the dark, condemned.

He was useless to her now, shackled by duty, bound by blood. His father had made it clear: by dawn, her head would adorn a spike at the gates... a warning and a sentence.

Vassius clutched his chest as the weight of that truth caved in on him. The pain was sharp and relentless.

He stumbled into his chambers, rage and grief crashing through him like a storm. He hurled a vase against the wall, the shattered glass raining to the floor, echoing his screams. His knees hit the cold marble, and he broke, sobbing, choking on guilt.

He was a prince. But what use was a title if he couldn't save the woman he loved? If she was to die... perhaps he deserved no better. Perhaps he should meet the blade alongside her.

His tear-filled eyes landed on an envelope buried among the shards of the vase he'd shattered in his rage. He didn't remember placing it there, but an inexplicable pull urged him to reach for it. As his fingers gripped the parchment, fear tightened around his chest. Slowly, he opened it, the familiar strokes of Hecate's handwriting deepening the ache within him.

"No... no... no. You can't die, Hecate... not with this new revelation," he whispered, his voice trembling as he read the words-his heart splintering with each line. The letter was a cry of desperation, a final message from her. She was too far gone, trapped in a fate he had no power to change.

Anguish overtook him as he stormed toward his father's chambers, his mind consumed by the truth he now carried: Hecate was carrying his child. She had written it in the letter, accepting her fate to die. He couldn't lose them both.