Chapter 5: I'm No Longer Your Prisoner

Lysandra's POV

He studied me with penetrating gray eyes. "This is not a decision to make lightly."

"It's not hasty," I replied. "I've had months to consider this path."

A servant was dispatched to fetch Luna Isolde, returning moments later with the elegant matriarch of the Wolfbane family. Her silver-gray gown flowed around her like liquid moonlight as she entered, her presence immediately commanding the space.

"Lysandra wishes to undergo the severance ritual tonight," Fenris explained before I could speak.

Isolde's composed expression faltered. "What happened? What did Tristan do?"

I swallowed hard. How could I explain two years of systematic cruelty in a few sentences? The cutting remarks, the cold shoulders, the open disdain—a marriage that existed only on paper.

"The bond was never real," I said simply. "He never accepted what you arranged."

Although they had been nice to me, I couldn't tell them about the twins. Tristan had been brutally clear—he would never allow his heir to be carried by a "defective specimen" like me.

Fenris moved toward the ancient fireplace, his gaze fixed on a mural depicting the pack's history.

"Where will you go?" he asked.

"I'll leave the pack."

"Like a Rogue?" Fenris asked, his tone both serious and concerned. "Do you understand what that means?"

I nodded. I knew little about Rogues except that they belonged to no pack. But I had no one here who truly wanted me, and I had to protect my babies. What choice did I have?

Fenris shook his head, deep lines forming on his brow. "Please reconsider, Lysandra."

My mind wandered back to when Tristan signed the scroll without hesitation. If he didn't reconsider, why should I?

"I'm sorry, Alpha. I've made up my mind."

The lines on his face deepened, and he let out a sigh of resignation. He had done everything in his power to make his son realize I was his best choice, and I appreciated his efforts. But Tristan had always been stubborn, and now it had come to this.

Something flickered in his eyes—a deeper knowledge, as if he was considering implications far beyond tonight's ritual.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice dropping, "this is precisely the path foretold in the prophecy... Separation is not the end, but a necessary trial."

I frowned. What prophecy? Tristan had mentioned something similar during our worst arguments, accusing me of manipulating his father through some ancient prediction.

Before I could ask, Fenris sighed. "If this is truly your choice, I will respect it."

Just then, the heavy oak doors crashed open and Tristan stormed in, his ritual robes billowing behind him like dark wings.

"Lysandra!" he growled, striding toward me.

All eyes turned as he approached and grabbed my wrist, pulling me toward him.

His expression was anything but pleasant. "What schemes have you been whispering to my father behind my back?" he sneered, accusation heavy in his voice. "Another prophecy perhaps?"

I looked into his hostile eyes, wondering why he despised me so, even after I'd given him the freedom he always wanted.

"Release her." Fenris's command cracked like a whip, his Alpha power surging through the room.

"But Da—"

"Enough!"

Tristan's grip tightened momentarily before he let go, turning to his father with barely contained rage. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white with fury.

"You decided to cut the bond without consulting me?" Fenris demanded. "Have you forgotten what I told you before your marriage?"

Isolde stepped forward, her elegant presence somehow soothing the charged atmosphere. "What did you do that drove her to this?" she asked her son.

When Tristan remained silent, she turned to me. "My dear," she said, concern etching her features, "please tell us what happened. We can find a solution."

Memories flooded my mind—Tristan pouring wine over me on our wedding night, showing me exactly what he thought of me. The cutting remarks delivered with contempt. Two years of marriage to a man whose cruelty exceeded even the whispered rumors.

Two years where our home, our marriage, had been nothing but a façade. Instead of behaving like a husband, he had come and gone at his whim, leaving me feeling like a discarded toy, a vessel for his disdain.

So many times he had accused me of manipulating his father with prophecies I knew nothing about. Now I simply needed to get away—and get my babies away too. Tears welled in my eyes, and I couldn't find my voice to answer Luna Isolde.

Tristan shot me a look of pure hatred. "Let's get this over with."

---

Moonlight flooded the circular ritual chamber through its glass dome, illuminating the ancient stone ring where Tristan and I stood. Alpha Fenris and Luna Isolde took their positions, the pack elders forming a solemn circle around us. Just before entering, I quickly swallowed Dr. Rylan's protective potion, praying it would shield my unborn children.

Isolde's eyes met mine, filled with unspoken understanding. "Last chance, child. Are you certain?"

I touched the mark on my neck—the one Tristan had been forced to give me on our wedding night. Everyone else had found their true mates—everyone except us. Yet I had fallen hopelessly in love with him despite knowing we weren't true mates.

For two years after, he treated our mate bond like a chain he longed to break. My fingers trembled as I nodded.

"Begin," Fenris commanded.

We knelt at opposite sides of the stone circle. Tristan's face remained impassive as the silver knife was passed to him first. He sliced his palm without hesitation, dark blood dripping onto the ritual stone. When the knife reached me, I drew it across my skin, watching my blood join his.

The elders began chanting in the ancient tongue. Each syllable seemed to pull at something deep within me, unraveling threads I hadn't known existed. Pain exploded through my body as the mate bond began to tear.

Blood filled my mouth as the mark on my neck burned white-hot. I doubled over, retching crimson onto the stone floor. Through blurred vision, I saw Tristan watching, his only reaction a slight furrow of his brow as I choked on my own blood.

"Blood bound in force, now break apart. Bond made in duty, now cease to be."

The words ripped through me like barbed wire. I felt the mate bond splintering, each crack sending fresh agony coursing through my veins. The mark on my neck seemed to sear itself away, leaving only scarred flesh behind.

Tristan stood unmoved, though a muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes remained cold as ice as he watched me suffer, as if this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience in his day.

When the final words faded, I forced myself to my feet despite the blood still dripping from my lips. My legs shook, but I refused to show weakness. The mark that had bound me to him was gone, leaving only smooth skin behind.

"The mate bond is severed," Fenris declared solemnly.

I walked toward the exit on trembling legs, tasting copper and victory. At the threshold, I paused for one final look at the man who had marked me without love.

"From this moment, I am Rogue," I said clearly. "But I am no longer your prisoner."