I held my breath as Reed opened the heavy iron door. The moment I stepped into the dim dungeon cell, a wave of conflicting emotions crashed over me—anger, vindication, and an unexpected pang of pity. Lady Beatrix, who had loomed so large and terrifying in my childhood memories, looked small and pathetic in her prison clothes.
"Isabella," Alaric said, moving immediately to my side, his voice gentle but questioning. "I thought you were going to wait for me upstairs."
"And I thought you were going to tell me before coming down here," I replied, unable to keep the edge from my voice. My eyes traveled around the cell, taking in the scene—Jasper looking disheveled, Randall cowering in a corner, and Lady Beatrix, her imperious posture at odds with her current circumstances.
"Your Grace," Jasper murmured, bowing awkwardly from his seated position.
Lady Beatrix merely stared, her eyes cold and calculating despite her predicament.
