The Princess's Revenge Chapter 70

Valencia’s POV

A cold wind picked up, making me pull my cloak tighter. The temperature was dropping fast now that the sun was going down.

"The funeral," I said as we rode. "How many?"

"Too many," Logan said grimly. "Twenty-seven warriors. Twelve servants."

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

"They died with honor," Logan said. "Fighting for their pack. We'll send them to the Moon Goddess properly."

We rode in silence after that. I thought about the faces I'd never see again. People who'd been alive just days ago. The weight of it pressed down on me.

When we reached the castle courtyard, it was transformed. Dr. Vance stood in the center, directing servants who were building a massive wooden platform. They'd already stacked logs underneath it, ready to be lit.

"Higher on the left side," Dr. Vance called out. "It needs to be level."

Servants hurried around carrying more wood, cloth, and ceremonial items. The funeral platform they were constructing was a massive structure. The base consisted of thick oak beams arranged in three ascending tiers, each level slightly smaller than the one below, creating a stepped pyramid that rose nearly ten feet high. The bodies would be arranged by rank across the three levels.

The framework was covered with layers of white linen, with the topmost layer bearing embroidered silver wolves.

Between each tier, servants were laying thick beds of pine branches, their resin would help the fire burn hot enough to consume everything. Bundles of wolfsbane, sage, and mountain ash were being tucked into the gaps - sacred herbs that would guide the spirits to the Moon Goddess's realm.

Four tall iron posts had been driven into the ground at the platform's corners, each topped with a bronze brazier. The braziers were already lit, burning a mixture of pine pitch and crushed moonflower petals that released silvery smoke into the darkening sky. Thick ropes stretched between the posts, creating a boundary that separated the sacred burning ground from the rest of the courtyard.

At the platform's base, they'd constructed a small stone altar where Logan would stand to speak the death rites. It was simple - just a flat piece of granite supported by two carved pillars - but someone had already placed the ceremonial items there: a silver chalice for the blessing wine, a curved blade for the blood offering.

"Alpha!" A voice called out.

I turned to see a young man with bright red hair approaching. He looked about fifteen, with a nervous energy about him. He bowed deeply to Logan.

"Alpha, I'm Timothy," he said quickly. "The new stable hand. I started yesterday."

Logan nodded, dismounting. "Take the horses."

"Yes, Alpha." Timothy took both sets of reins from us, his hands shaking slightly. He was clearly intimidated by Logan. "I'll get them fed and watered right away."

"Make sure they're properly brushed," Logan added. "They've been out all afternoon."

"Of course, Alpha." Timothy led the horses toward the stables, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry.

I watched him go, feeling sorry for him. Being new and having Logan as your Alpha must be terrifying.

"Alpha," Dr. Vance called, noticing us. "The preparations are almost complete."

Logan walked over to inspect the platform. I followed, trying not to think about how many bodies would soon be on it.

"When do we start?" Logan asked.

"An hour after full dark," Dr. Vance replied. "The bodies are being prepared now. We'll bring them out when everything's ready."

"Good." Logan looked around the courtyard. I glanced at Logan. His face showed nothing, but I could feel something shifting in him. His jaw was tight, and there was a heaviness settling over him like a dark cloud.

The weight of Thirty-nine deaths. I couldn't imagine carrying that burden.

Logan took my hand without a word and led me toward the castle. His grip was firm, but I could feel the tension radiating from him with every step.

We entered the great hall. It was mostly empty now, well past the normal dinner hour. Only a few servants were cleaning the long wooden tables, gathering leftover trenchers and wiping down the benches. The massive fireplace still burned, but lower than usual.

A servant noticed us and froze, his cleaning rag halfway to the table.

"You," Logan said sharply, his voice cold and commanding. "Bring food. Now."

The servant dropped his rag, nearly knocking over a pitcher in his haste. "Y-yes, Alpha! Right away!"

He practically ran toward the kitchen, almost tripping over a bench in his panic. Another servant saw him running and quickly followed, probably not wanting to be the only one standing around when the Alpha was waiting.

Logan led me to one of the smaller tables near the fireplace. He pulled out a bench for me, then sat down across from me. His jaw was clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. His fingers drummed against the wooden table in an agitated rhythm.

"Logan," I said softly. He looked at me, and for just a moment, I saw it. The doubt and pain he was trying so hard to hide.

"You're anxious," I said. It wasn't a question.

"I'm fine," he replied automatically.

"No, you're not." I leaned forward, reaching for his hand. "Talk to me."

"Val—"

"No." My voice came out stronger than I expected. "We're mates. I'm going to be your Luna tomorrow. You don't get to shut me out anymore."

He stared at me, surprised by my firmness. I was tired of being treated like I was too fragile to handle his problems.

"Talk to me," I said gently as I held his hand.

He stared at me for a long moment. Then his shoulders sagged slightly, the hardness in his eyes cracking.

"I can't forgive myself," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For being impulsive. Arrogant." His hands clenched into fists on the table. "I led them into that ambush. My stupidity got them killed."

"Log—"

"Nine warriors died because I didn't listen," he continued, his voice rough. "Clarence tried to warn me something felt wrong. I ignored him. Now he's wrapped in cloth waiting to burn."

Before I could respond, two servants hurried over with plates of food. Their hands shook as they set everything down - a platter of cold roasted chicken, hard bread, some withered vegetables, and two tankards of ale. The food looked like it had been sitting out for hours.

"Will there be anything else, Alpha?" one servant asked nervously.

"Go," Logan said curtly.

They fled immediately.

I picked up a piece of chicken. It was cold and dry, the skin soggy instead of crispy. The bread was so hard I could barely tear it. The vegetables had that limp, sad quality of having sat too long.

"This is awful," I muttered, but I ate anyway.

Logan picked at his plate, barely eating. His mind was clearly elsewhere.

"You couldn't have known it was a trap," I said between bites of tasteless chicken.

"I should have known," he said. "That's my job. To protect them. To see threats coming."

"You're not a god, Logan. You can't predict everything."

"Tell that to the thirty-nine people who are dead." His voice was bitter.

I set down my bread. "And how many would have died if you hadn't fought? If you hadn't led the defense? The entire pack or maybe the whole kingdom could be gone."

"Maybe someone else would have led better," he said. "Maybe fewer would have died."

"Stop that," I said firmly. "Self-doubt doesn't help anyone."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "The armory is ash. The supplies are gone. We have—" He stopped abruptly.

We have one day of food left, I finished silently. I knew he didn't want to say it out loud, didn't want to admit how desperate things were. My stomach clenched, not from hunger but from fear. If the rogues attacked again...

"We have each other," I said instead. "We have the pack members who survived. We can rebuild."

"With what?" His voice was harsh. "We have no weapons. No supplies. No—"

"We have you," I interrupted. "The strongest warrior in the kingdom. The pack believes in you."

"They shouldn't," he muttered.

"Logan, look at me."

He did, reluctantly.

"You made a mistake," I said. "A terrible, costly mistake. But that doesn't erase everything else you've done. Every battle you've won. Every time you've protected this pack."

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded slightly. But I could see it in his eyes - he was pretending to feel better for my sake. My words hadn't really reached him. The guilt was still there, eating at him like acid.

"Thank you," he said, but it sounded hollow.

I wanted to help him so badly it physically hurt. But I didn't know how. What could I say that would actually make a difference? How could I ease this kind of guilt?

"Eat," I said finally. "The funeral is soon. You need strength for that."

He picked up a piece of chicken, chewing mechanically. We ate in silence for a while, the only sound the crackling of the dying fire and the distant voices from the courtyard.

He nodded, taking another bite of the cold chicken. I watched him chew mechanically, like eating was just another duty to perform.

How could I help him? How could I ease this burden he carried? Tomorrow I'd be Luna, but what did that mean if I couldn't even comfort my mate properly?

I thought about the ceremony tomorrow. Amara's challenge in four days. The food shortage. It all felt overwhelming.

But I couldn't show that. Logan needed strength beside him, not more worry. I ate my cold dinner and tried to look confident, even as anxiety gnawed at my insides.

"Will you speak?"I said, trying for normal conversation.

"Yes. It's my duty." His jaw clenched again. "To apologize to them. To promise their families justice."

"Logan—"

"I need to check something with Dr. Vance," he said abruptly, standing up. "Finish eating. I'll meet you down."

Before I could respond, he was walking away, his stride long and purposeful. But I could see the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

I sat alone at the table, staring at my half-eaten meal. The hall felt enormous and empty around me. The shadows seemed deeper, pressing in from all sides.

How could I help him? What could I do?

I pushed the cold vegetables around my plate, my appetite gone. Through the windows, I could see the sky darkening further.