– Vengeance’s Lash

“Get up.”

A boot slammed into Melodie’s ribs.

She coughed, curling tighter. “Why?”

“Because the pack wants blood.”

Two guards dragged her out of the cell and into daylight. The courtyard stank of smoke and sweat. A post waited in the center—splintered, stained.

“Name?” a soldier barked.

“Melodie,” she said through cracked lips. “Scullery maid. Nothing more.”

“Felix’s eyes say otherwise.”

They tied her wrists to the post. A woman in the crowd shouted, “She watched while my village burned!”

“I didn’t—”

The first lash cut her off.

---

Up on the marble steps, Alexander stood motionless.

“She screams like her father’s victims did,” Marcus muttered beside him.

Alexander didn’t answer.

His eyes locked on her face—bloodied, bruised, familiar in a way that unsettled him.

“She’s tougher than the others,” Marcus noted. “Still hasn’t begged.”

“She won’t,” Alexander said quietly.

---

Lash after lash.

Melodie clenched her jaw. Pain blurred into rhythm. She counted the cracks in the wood. Thought of constellations she once described to a blind boy.

“I brought you food,” she whispered into the woodgrain. “I played so you could sleep.”

Another crack.

“You said you’d remember.”

---

That night, she lay trembling on the cell floor.

Her back burned. Her lips bled.

Still, she hummed the lullaby.

A guard passing by paused. “You’re insane.”

She smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

---

Meanwhile, Alexander paced his chambers.

He pulled out the flute.

Held it.

Listened.

A memory tugged—cold chains, warm bread, a voice in the dark.

“I can’t remember her face,” he murmured.

“Then forget her,” Marcus said behind him. “You have a kingdom to rebuild.”

Alexander looked down at the flute again.

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

---

In the dungeon, Melodie pressed her palm to the floor.

“I won’t feed your hatred, Alexander,” she whispered.

“You’re not a monster. I know you’re not.”

---

Up above, he stared at the moon through glass.

Her eyes haunted him. Her silence. Her strength.

“Who are you?” he asked the stars.

The flute stayed in his palm all night.

---

– Echoes in the Dark

“Hey. Wake up.”

Melodie’s eyes fluttered open. A guard nudged her with his boot.

“You were humming again.”

“I wasn’t,” she rasped.

He snorted. “Well, someone’s playing ghost music. Boss wants it stopped.”

He kicked the straw by her side. “You hiding something?”

Melodie remained silent.

He grunted and walked off.

---

That night, once the dungeon fell silent, she sat up slowly.

Her fingers trembled as she unraveled broom bristles, weaving them into a makeshift whistle.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she whispered. “Just enough to stir a memory.”

She brought it to her lips and blew.

The soft notes floated upward, barely audible.

---

In the Alpha’s chambers, Alexander bolted upright.

He wasn’t dreaming.

That sound—raw, aching—cut through the stone like wind through pine.

“Who’s there?” he growled, reaching for his sword.

But the music faded.

---

Morning.

“Search the cells,” Alexander ordered.

“A flute?” Marcus frowned. “You think someone’s mocking you?”

“I think someone knows something,” he said tightly.

---

The guards returned dragging Melodie by the arms.

“This one had it.” They tossed the straw whistle at his feet.

Alexander picked it up. Examined it.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked.

Melodie raised her eyes. “No one. I made it.”

He hesitated. “Where did you hear the tune?”

“I don’t remember,” she said.

He stared. “You do. Tell me.”

“Why?” she said. “So you can throw me to the wolves again?”

His jaw clenched. “Take her back.”

---

“Do you believe her?” Marcus asked once they were alone.

Alexander didn’t reply. He turned the whistle in his hands.

His fingers found a faint scratch near the mouthpiece.

A mark?

A letter?

No.

A memory.

---

Later that night, Alexander stared at the ceiling.

Chains. Lullabies. A girl’s voice humming through cold.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

He couldn't stop hearing it.

---

In her cell, Melodie curled into the straw, fingers still tingling.

He had held it. Touched the whistle.

It wasn’t enough. Not yet.

But something flickered.

---

“Tomorrow,” she whispered to herself, “I’ll make another.”

---