Poor Liar

Lysandra's POV

The phantom heat of Varek’s breath still haunted the curve of my neck, his dark promise echoing through my skull like a relentless drum. *Again and again.* But days had bled into nights since he pinned me against that wall. Seven suns rising and setting. Seven days trapped in this stone cage.

I pressed my palms flat against the cold stone of the tower window. Far below, the Lycan capital of Vorlund spread out across the rugged valley. Lanterns flared to life as the evening shadows stretched, painting the kingdom in harsh ambers and deep blacks. From up here, the city looked vibrant. Untamed. Unaware that a Novarian princess paced like a caged beast above their heads.

I pulled my hands back from the stone. The movement sent a dull, throbbing ache radiating up my forearms. Varek Harkon took no chances. He built this tower to hold me, embedding heavy voidstones directly into the mortar. Powerful suppression wards pulsed in the air, pressing down on my skin like a physical weight. My dark fire magic—the roaring, wild force that usually surged through my veins—was smothered. I reached inward and found nothing but cold ash and a restless, suffocating phantom pain.

A soft scrape of leather against stone pulled my attention away from the glass.

"Your Highness. Please. You need to eat something."

I did not turn immediately. I let the silence stretch, controlling my breathing before I pivoted to face the room.

A young female servant stood near the heavy oak door. She clutched a silver tray so tightly her knuckles turned bone-white. Her gaze stayed glued to the floorboards. She carried the distinct, submissive posture of an omega.

"Put it on the table," I commanded. My voice held no warmth.

She scurried forward, placed the food down, and retreated three paces. I walked over and picked up a silver fork. I forced the roasted meat down my throat. It tasted like ash, but I chewed and swallowed anyway. Anger fueled me, but anger required energy. If I wanted to break out of this fortress, I needed strength.

"How long have I been trapped in this room?" I asked. I kept my tone casual, masking the sharp edge of my intent.

The omega flinched. "About a week, Your Highness."

A full week. The realization settled heavy in my gut. Back home, Novaria would be tearing itself apart. My father and Darius would have mobilized the royal guard, scouring every inch of our lands. But they would never look here. The border between witches and Lycans remained a tense, unspoken line drawn in blood. My people would never in their wildest dreams suspect a Lycan Alpha possessed the sheer audacity to cross that border and drag a powerful witch back to his den.

If I waited for rescue, I would rot in this tower. Freedom demanded my own two hands.

I dropped the fork onto the metal tray. The sharp clatter made the servant jump.

"I want to see Lady Genevieve," I said.

The omega blinked, her scent spiking with fresh anxiety. I had demanded to see Varek's mother twice before. Both times, it required an escort down the winding tower steps to the lower courtyard.

She nodded, her fingers gripping the hem of her plain uniform. She turned and opened the door.

I stepped out into the corridor. The heavy suppression of the voidstones made the air thick. Two massive Lycan guards stood by the main stairwell. Their eyes locked onto me for a fraction of a second before returning to the stone wall ahead of them. They could see us, but the distance muffled our steps.

We approached the descending stairs. The staircase curved sharply at the first landing, creating a temporary blind spot that cut off the guards' line of sight. I had analyzed this structural flaw for days.

The servant rounded the corner first.

I stepped in tight behind her.

Before she could draw a breath, I raised my hand and struck the edge of my palm hard against the nerve cluster on the side of her neck. Her body went rigid. A soft gasp died in her throat as her eyes rolled back. She collapsed.

I lunged, catching her under the arms before her knees struck the unforgiving stone. I dragged her limp weight backward, hauling her toward a narrow storage alcove tucked beneath the stairwell. I yanked the heavy wooden door open and pulled her inside the pitch-black space.

I checked her pulse. Steady and strong. Unconscious, but alive.

Time moved fast now. I stripped off my noble garments, the fine silks sliding to the floor. I tugged the servant’s plain, gray uniform off her body and pulled it over my own head. The fabric smelled of lye and stale sweat. I tied the waist sash tight and twisted my dark raven hair into the same low knot she wore. I grabbed the linen napkin from her discarded apron pocket and gagged her securely, pushing her deeper into the shadows behind a stack of dusty crates.

I closed the alcove door, leaving just a sliver of space for air.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped back out into the corridor. I hunched my shoulders, bowed my head, and mimicked the omega’s small, hurried steps.

I navigated the labyrinth of stone corridors. My bare feet memorized the cold grit of the floor. I knew this route. I spent the last week tracking the guard shifts by the sounds echoing up to my window. The metallic scrape of boots, the barked orders, the rhythm of dinner rotations. The evening shift change happened right now.

I slipped past the second landing. The guard stationed there stared out a window, bored. I kept walking.

I rounded a sharp corner on the third floor and slammed directly into a wall of solid muscle and dark steel armor.

The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. I stumbled back, my heart seizing in my chest. I kept my chin tucked to my collarbone, bracing for the inevitable shout. I waited for the heavy hand to grab my hair and drag me straight to Varek.

The Lycan warrior did not move. He stood on the steps, blocking the entire corridor. I risked a glance upward. His eyes bored into my face, scanning the stolen uniform and my poorly tied hair. He was massive, his presence radiating an ancient, dangerous power that marked him as far more than a simple guard.

A heavy silence stretched. My muscles coiled. I prepared to fight, even without my fire.

"You are a poor liar, Lysandra Rydel," he said quietly. His voice rumbled low, devoid of alarm.

My blood ran cold. He knew exactly who I was.

Then, the man simply stepped aside. He did not reach for his weapon. He did not call for reinforcements.

"Go," he murmured, his gaze shifting past me to the empty hall. He started walking up the stairs, never once turning his back. "This place has no use for a witch."

I stood frozen for half a second. A Lycan showing mercy? It made no sense, but I refused to waste the opening.

I bolted. I took the remaining stairs two at a time, abandoning the omega shuffle. The air grew damp and cold as I reached the ground level. I slipped through the heavy side door that opened into the inner courtyard.

The harsh night wind hit my face, carrying the metallic scent of forged steel and pine. I darted into the shadows, sticking close to the stone walls. My destination sat across the yard: the stables.

I crept behind the low supply building and approached the wooden stalls. A stable hand snored softly against a hay bale near the front entrance. I bypassed him, slipping through a gap in the rear fencing. The thick, musky scent of horses, damp straw, and sweat assaulted my nose.

Lycans hunted by smell. A disguise meant nothing to a nose that could track a drop of blood across a mountain range. My natural scent would betray me the second I cleared the outer walls.

I found a wooden bucket shoved in the back corner of an empty stall. The sharp, eye-watering stench of sour horse urine wafted from the rim. My stomach churned. Disgust threatened to make me gag, but survival demanded the sacrifice.

I plunged my hands into the foul liquid. I smeared it across the gray uniform. I rubbed it into my sleeves, my chest, and the rough fabric of my pants. I untied my hair and soaked the dark strands, letting the vile moisture drip down my neck. The smell burned my nostrils, masking any trace of my own scent.

I wiped my hands on some dry hay and closed my eyes.

The voidstones still pressed down on me from the tower, but the distance weakened their hold. I dug deep into my chest. I pushed past the suffocating pressure, scraping against the bottom of my soul to find the spark I kept buried.

Pain spiked behind my eyes. My teeth ground together.

*Burn.*

A tiny, agonizing flicker of heat sparked in my right palm. It felt like dragging shattered glass through my veins, but the spark caught.

I slammed my palm against a dry, splintered wooden beam supporting the rear of the stall. I fed the tiny spark into the wood. The dry timber hissed. A small flame licked the grain. I grabbed a handful of loose straw and threw it onto the growing fire.

The flames caught instantly, roaring to life with a hungry crackle.

I moved down the line of stalls, throwing open the heavy iron gates. I unlatched door after door. The horses smelled the smoke. Panic rippled through the massive animals. They neighed wildly, kicking against the wooden partitions.

The first horse bolted out of its stall, galloping blindly into the courtyard. Three more followed, their hooves thundering against the cobblestones. Chaos erupted.

"Fire! The stables are burning!" a voice screamed from the yard.

Guards shouted. Metal clattered. Running footsteps echoed from every direction.

Thick, acrid smoke billowed from the roof of the stables, rolling across the courtyard in a dense fog. The gray clouds swallowed the lantern light.

I stepped out of the rear of the stables and sprinted into the smoke. I kept low, using the scattered carts and the stampeding horses as cover. The main gates stood at the far end of the compound, heavily fortified and watched by snipers in the watchtowers. I ignored them.

I headed for the eastern outer wall. I spent days mapping this specific section from my high window. The masonry here remained unfinished. Rough, jagged stones protruded from the mortar, covered in thick vines of dark ivy.

I reached the base of the towering stone barrier. I grabbed a fistful of thick ivy and pulled hard. The roots held fast.

I climbed.

The rough stone scraped my knees raw through the thin uniform. Splinters and thorns tore at my palms, drawing warm blood that mixed with the horse urine and soot coating my skin. My arm muscles screamed in protest. Every pull upward felt like hoisting a boulder. My lungs burned, demanding oxygen as the smoke drifted higher.

I pushed through the pain. I dragged myself up, inch by agonizing inch, until my bleeding fingers curled over the top ledge.

I hauled my chest over the freezing stone and lay flat against the rough surface. I gasped for air, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Below me, the courtyard resembled a war zone. Flames leaped into the night sky, casting wild shadows against the fortress walls. Guards chased panicked horses, shouting conflicting orders.

No one looked up.

I crawled to the outer edge of the wall and peered over the side.

The drop sent a jolt of pure vertigo straight through my gut. It was a sheer, vertical plunge. The ground below consisted of jagged rocks and uneven dirt, hidden by the dark forest line. Jumping meant guaranteed injury. A shattered ankle. A broken leg. Searing pain and a loud, messy landing.

But I had no other choice. A broken leg out there meant a fighting chance. Staying meant the cage.

I pushed myself up into a crouch. I shifted my weight forward, curling my toes over the sharp edge of the stone. I braced my core, staring into the black abyss, forcing my mind to accept the incoming impact. I bent my knees, preparing to launch myself outward.

"You should just use the back gate."

The voice slid through the dark air, smooth and laced with mocking amusement. It came from directly behind me.

The shock hit me like a physical blow. My foot slipped. My body jolted forward, nearly tipping right off the ledge into the deadly drop. I threw my weight backward and spun around on my hands and knees, my breath catching in my throat. I bared my teeth, adrenaline flooding my veins, ready to fight tooth and nail against whoever snuck up on me.

Varek Harkon stood casually at the top of the wall.

He did not look winded. He did not look angry. He stood mere feet away, his hands resting loose at his sides, an infuriating smirk playing on his sculpted lips. The roaring flames from the courtyard illuminated the sharp angles of his face and the dark, predatory gleam in his eyes.

He had been waiting for me.

"If you jump," he continued, his tone dark and unbothered. "You will break something, and then I will simply catch you before you can crawl ten steps away from me."