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Chapter 8 - THE RESCUE AND THE TRAP

Adelaide dropped to her knees in front of a small, rusted cell. Inside, huddled in a pile of dirty straw, was a little girl with tangled dark hair and wide, tear-filled amber eyes—the exact same color as Adelaide’s.

"Clara!" Adelaide wept, thrusting her hands through the iron bars.

The little girl scrambled forward, clinging to Adelaide’s hands, weeping hysterically. "Addie! You came back! Lord Bastion said you were dead! He said he was going to throw me into the river tomorrow!"

"I'm here, sweetie. I'm right here," Adelaide sobbed.

Gideon stepped forward, pulling his massive broadsword from his sheath. With one mighty, terrifying strike, the iron lock shattered into pieces. He kicked the door open, scooping the trembling six-year-old into his arm.

Clara gasped, burying her face in Gideon’s thick fur cape. "Are you a monster?" she whispered in terror.

Gideon looked down at the tiny girl, his expression softening completely. "No, little one. I am the man who is taking you home."

Suddenly, heavy iron portcullises slammed down at both ends of the dungeon corridor with a deafening CRASH!

Torches flamed to life along the walls, illuminating dozens of armed Southern archers lining the high balconies above the cell block.

Slowly, Lord Bastion walked out onto the upper walkway, a cruel, triumphant sneer plastered across his ugly face. Beside him stood fifty fully armored guards with loaded crossbows aimed directly at Gideon’s chest.

"Well, well, well," Bastion chuckled, clapping his hands in slow, mock applause. "The great Alpha King of the North. Did you really think an old fool like Eamon was the only spy I had?"

Adelaide gasped, stepping in front of Gideon and Clara instinctively. "Bastion! Let her go! You have what you want!"

"Silence, disposable trash!" Bastion spat. "Eamon’s raven was a clumsy forgery, Gideon. I knew the moment I read it that you were still alive. But I also knew your stupid, weak Alpha instincts would force you to come here for this useless Omega and her bastard sister!"

Gideon didn't flinch. He didn't draw his sword higher. He simply stood there, holding Clara safely behind his massive back, his eyes fixated on Bastion with a chilling, utter calm.

"You brought twenty men into my stronghold, King Gideon," Bastion mocked, raising his hand to signal the archers. "You die tonight, and the North falls to me!"

Gideon chuckled—a sound so low, dark, and terrifying that the archers on the balcony visibly trembled.

"You think I brought twenty men to conquer your castle, Bastion?" Gideon whispered, his voice echoing through the stone dungeon. "No. I brought twenty men to keep my mate safe..."

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Gideon reached into his tunic and pulled out a burning signal flare.

"...while my army tears your gates off their hinges."

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