The Princess's Revenge Chapter 72

Logan’s POV

I stared at the flames. Something cracked in the burning wood, sending sparks flying toward me. A piece of burning debris landed on my arm. I didn't brush it off. Didn't move. Just watched everything turn to ash.

I felt exhausted. Like my bones were made of lead. The fire roared higher. The smoke stung my eyes, but I couldn't look away.

"Alpha." Dr. Vance's voice came from somewhere behind me. "The servants are ready."

I turned slowly. Several servants stood at the platform's edge, holding ceremonial tools - Soul Spades and Anima Tongs. Their faces were pale in the firelight.

"They need to wait until it cools completely," Dr. Vance explained. "Then they'll collect the ashes and bones. Everything will be placed in clay urns."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Tomorrow morning at six, we'll take them to the eastern cliff," he continued. "Release the ashes to the wind, as tradition demands."

Another nod. I walked down from the platform. My legs moved mechanically, one step after another. The crowd was dispersing, people heading back to their homes. Some still crying. Others silent.

Valencia appeared in front of me. Her purple eyes were wide with concern.

"Logan, your hand," she said, grabbing my wrist.

I looked down. Blood was still seeping from the cut on my palm. Knox was trying to heal it, but the wound kept bleeding.

"It's fine," I said. My voice sounded flat.

"No, it's not." She examined the cut closely. "This is deep. We need to clean this." Valencia's voice was urgent. "It could get infected. Come on, I'll take you to stone house. I can help you patch that up."

I gave her a small smile. It felt wrong on my face. "Okay."

"Logan—"

"Alpha." Dr. Vance appeared beside us, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but... Garrick's father wants to speak with you."

I blinked. Garrick. One of the warriors who died in the ambush. Young. Maybe fifteen. Good with a sword.

"His father?" I asked.

"Yes." Dr. Vance shifted his weight. "He's... he asked specifically to talk to you."

Of course he did. Probably wanted to scream at me. Blame me for his son's death. He had every right to.

"Where?" I asked.

Dr. Vance pointed to the corner of the courtyard. An older man sat alone at one of the wooden tables. His shoulders were slumped, his head down.

"I'll come with you," Valencia said immediately.

"No." The word came out harsher than I intended. I softened my tone. "Go back to the room. Wait for me there."

"But your hand—"

"Valencia." I looked at her. "Please. Just wait for me."

She wanted to argue. I could see it in her eyes. But she nodded. "Don't be long."

"I won't."

She squeezed my uninjured hand once, then headed toward the castle. I watched her go, then turned back to Dr. Vance.

"What's his name?" I asked. "The father."

"Edmund," Dr. Vance replied. "He's a cobbler from the lower village."

"Thank you," I told Dr. Vance.

He nodded and walked away, leaving me alone.

My heart started beating faster. I forced myself to walk toward Edmund. Each step felt heavier than the last.

Edmund looked up as I approached. His eyes were red and swollen. Gray streaked his dark hair. His hands were rough from years at the forge.

"Alpha," he said. His voice was hoarse.

"Edmund." I sat down across from him. "I—"

"Don't." He held up a hand. "Please. Let me speak first."

I closed my mouth and waited.

"Garrick talked about you all the time," Edmund said. "Every time he came home to visit. Alpha Logan this, Alpha Logan that. You were his hero."

My chest tightened.

"He joined your warriors three years ago," Edmund continued. "Best day of his life, he said. Finally getting to serve under the great Alpha Logan."

His eyes looked empty, like someone had scooped out everything inside and left just the shell. His hands rested on the table, trembling slightly.

"He was excited that morning," Edmund said. "Couldn't stop smiling."

I stayed silent.

"His mother made him breakfast. Extra eggs. Extra bread." Edmund stared at his hands. "She wanted him strong for his first real mission with the Alpha."

My chest felt like it was caving in.

"We're just cobblers, Alpha," Edmund continued. "Three generations of making shoes. Fixing boots. Nothing special. But Garrick..." His voice cracked slightly, then steadied. "Garrick wanted more. Wanted to be a warrior. Like you."

"Edmund—"

"Please." He held up his hand again. "Let me finish."

"I know everyone makes mistakes," Edmund said. "Even you. We're all fallible. I understand that."

He finally looked up at me. His eyes weren't angry. They were just... tired.

"You'll carry this forever," he said simply. "Every time you close your eyes, you'll see their faces. Hear their screams. That's your punishment, Alpha. Living with it."

My throat felt tight. He was right.

"Maybe someday I'll forgive you," Edmund said. "When the pain isn't so fresh. When I can think about my boy without wanting to die myself." He paused. "But not today."

He stood up slowly. His movements were stiff, like his body had aged twenty years in one night.

"I still respect you, Alpha," he said. "We all do. That won't change. But respect and forgiveness are different things."

He didn't wait for my response. Just turned and walked away. His shoulders were more hunched than before. Each step looked painful. Like carrying invisible weight.

I sat there alone, watching him disappear into the darkness.

The guilt was suffocating. It pressed down on me from all sides.

Edmund was right. I'd carry this forever.

The courtyard was mostly empty now. Only servants remained, moving quietly in the firelight. Some were at the platform with long metal tools, carefully collecting bones and ashes from the cooling pyre. They worked in silence, placing everything into clay urns with gentle movements.

Others were dismantling the temporary altar. Taking down the rope boundaries. Sweeping away the scattered debris.

The fire had died down to glowing embers. Smoke still rose, but thinner now. The smell of death and burning wood hung heavy in the air.

I stood up. My legs moved without thinking. East.

The path was familiar. I'd walked it hundreds of times. My boots knew every stone, every turn. The ground sloped upward gradually, then more steeply as it approached the cliff.

The wind picked up as I climbed higher. It cut through my clothes, cold and sharp. I wanted to feel it.

The trees thinned out. Then disappeared completely. Just bare rock now.

The cliff edge appeared in the darkness. One more step and there would be nothing. Just air and a long fall to the rocks below.

I stopped at the very edge. My toes hung over slightly. The wind was stronger here, pushing and pulling at me. One strong gust and I'd go over.

The thought wasn't frightening. It was almost... peaceful.