The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 174: Do Not Bother Me

Releasing out another weary sigh, Donovan pushed himself to his feet. Though his movements were measured, a ripple of unease spread through the group. Some of the prisoner’s instinctively recoiled when he moved, their wary eyes betraying a tension they couldn’t conceal.

Others, however, remained stubbornly indifferent, their expressions hardened by a lack of concern. To them, the boy’s vulnerability was nothing more than an invitation to provoke, and it was a rare opportunity they couldn’t afford to miss.

"Please," Donovan finally said, his voice hoarse and strained, like gravel dragged across stone. "Just let me be."

He then turned away, clearly wanting to distance himself from the group. But before he could take another step, a rough shove sent him stumbling back to where he’d risen. The prisoners laughed, and it was a low, rumbling chorus that hinted at their cruel satisfaction. Their amusement made it clear that they had gotten the reaction they sought, their delight twisted and sharp.

A muscle twitched in Donovan’s jaw as a vein pulsed visibly at his temple. He clenched his fist at his side, the quiet storm of frustration brewing beneath the surface. Yet he forced himself to remain composed, swallowing his anger like a bitter pill. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t harm anyone after that incident, nor will he give in to his curse. But the prisoner’s jeering taunts and violent shoves made that promise feel agonizingly fragile.

"Where do you think you’re going?" his captor sneered, dropping his axe to the ground with a heavy thud. His voice dripped with mockery as he loomed closer. "Since you’ve got so much guts, kid, why don’t you fix your own mess by finishing the rest of our tasks? Hm? Heard you stacked all those bricks yourself. What are you trying to prove? This shouldn’t be too much harder for you, right?"

Donovan’s hands reached up to fix his blindfold. "No."

The single word landed like a stone in water, and it rippled through the crowd of prisoners who stared at him in stunned disbelief. His captor’s expression flickered from surprise to pure irritation, his teeth grinding audibly as he stepped forward.

"What did you say?" the prisoner growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"I said no," Donovan repeated, his voice calm but unyielding in a way that sent cold shivers down their spine. "I won’t shoulder burdens for men who are no better than me. I am neither of your slaves. So leave me be."

Turning sharply, Donovan intended to take his leave, but the moment a hand clamped down on his shoulder, his tenuous restraint shattered.

Donovan spun around with a fluid, almost feral swiftness, seizing the offending hand before its owner could react. His captor barely had time to register the movement before a sharp, bone-snapping sound echoed through the air, silencing the entire group of prisoners.

A blood-curdling scream followed, the captor’s eyes filling with panic and pain as he struggled futilely to free his wrist from Donovan’s unyielding grip. The shackle in Donovan’s leg began to spark, hinting that he was defying the limit of power he was allowed to use, thus, he would automatically be electrocuted. But, to the prisoner’s shock, that didn’t happen... either it did, or the boy just wasn’t reacting to it.

"I warned you..." Donovan’s voice was low, deadly, and far more colder than even he had intended. "Do not bother me WHEN I TELL YOU NOT TO!"

Without hesitation, he delivered a brutal kick to the man’s abdomen. The force sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the neatly stacked pile of wood the prisoners had spent hours arranging, scattering it in a chaotic mess.

Donovan then turned his back on the scene, his parting words cutting through each prisoner like a blade. "Clean up your own damn messes."

No one moved. No one dared to speak. All eyes remained fixed on the boy’s retreating figure, his shackle still letting out sparks, but the boy seemed to be fine. The weight of what they had just witnessed sank in like a stone to the rest of them.

They now understood the truth; that boy wasn’t isolated for his safety. He was kept away for theirs.

How could someone so young possess such terrifying strength? A few prisoners immediately went to check on the victim to confirm he wasn’t dead yet.

Meanwhile, Donovan had retreated and found a place to vent out his pain. His body trembled from the electrocution that coursed through his system, making him spit out blood. He had been holding it in for so long that it had done more than the required damage to his body. He couldn’t let himself fall in their presence, else they would have taken it as an advantage to deal with him.

When the shackles lost their sparks, Donovan collapsed on the ground. He coughed, unable to muster the strength to rise. He tried to avoid this... but he’s the one to suffer for it in the end.

"Please let me die," the tears that slipped from his eyes were absorbed by his blindfold.

Later in the evening, Esme finished dinner with Lennox and everyone else in the grand dining hall. The quiet conversations faded into silence as she retired to her chamber, her father accompanying her as he always did.

Damon carefully handed her the small vial containing her daily medicine, watching as she obediently swallowed it before lying back against the plush pillows. He pulled the covers snug around her, but his sharp eyes didn’t miss the way her expression seemed distant, her brows furrowed in thoughts.

"Esme?" his voice was soft, almost tentative as he tried to reach her. "What’s troubling you? You haven’t said a word since I brought you in here. Is there a problem?"

Esme’s vivid blue eyes flickered toward him, uncertainty flashing across her delicate features. She pushed herself upright, her hands knotting nervously in the blankets. "Can you...not go to war?" She asked, raising her index finger. "Just this once."

Damon’s brow furrowed in confusion at her request. "Not to go to war?" he repeated, tilting his head as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. "Why would you ask such a thing, Esme? Is something weighing on your heart?"

Her lips tightened for a moment before she blurted out, "Why are the councils who work for the palace so ungrateful?" There was a fire in her voice now, a deep resentment that burned behind her words as she convinced. "They don’t appreciate you at all, Father. Everything you’ve done for them, and yet they still... Why should you fight their battles when they don’t deserve your loyalty, Father?"

Damon’s expression softened, though his eyes remained keen as he studied her face. "Did you overhear something?" he asked quietly.

Esme hesitated. She didn’t want to lie to her father, so she nodded in response, her gaze dropping to her lap. The flickering candlelight danced across Damon’s features as he sat down on the edge of her bed, his posture thoughtful. His strong, weathered hands rested on his knees as he turned towards her, his voice steady but laced with warmth.

"I can paint a picture of what you must have heard. Words and conspiracies like that are common when dealing with not just the court, but the entirety of Illyria," he said, his tone calm but firm. "I’m not going to war because of their opinions, if that’s what you think. I have to go because it’s the only way I can keep you safe from what’s out there. Comments like theirs don’t disappear, but you learn to live with them. In the end, it depends on whether you’ll let those words affect you or not. It doesn’t matter if they don’t appreciate what I do— there are others who do. A few disapproving voices won’t change that."

"I don’t like them," Esme muttered, crossing her arms, her expression defiant and stormy. "Not at all. They call, and you go running every time. It’s like they’re using you, Father."

"Perhaps," he sighed. "Maybe they are, but the blessings we receive from the moon goddess also come with consequences, and this is one of them. You’ll come to understand this way of life one day, my child. When you’re older, you’ll see. For people like us, we can’t afford to be reckless or selfish with the gifts we’ve been given. There’s a reason why the Montague’s always deliver. These gifts of ours are meant to serve others, even those who fail to show gratitude." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

He held her gaze and said softly, "I choose kindness because I have faith. Faith that one day, when you’re in need, someone will repay that kindness. And when that day comes, you’ll understand why I do the things I do." He touched the spot that indicated where her heart was.

"Try not to dwell on it, all right?" her father said gently. "Lady Percy and her son will be visiting tomorrow. You’d enjoy seeing them again, wouldn’t you?"

Esme stayed silent for a moment, her gaze distant, before giving a small nod. Her father leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head before pulling the blankets snugly around her.

"Goodnight, my little moon."

"Goodnight, Father," she whispered with a faint smile, her voice tender as sleep began to claim her.

Once the palace had descended into the stillness of the night, Donovan remained awake in the dimly-lit cell. He snuggled against the comfort of the thick shawl Esme had left him with, but sleep eluded him.

At the top of his cell was a small opening high on the wall. Through it, slivers of moonlight pierced the darkness, painting faint silver patterns on the floor.

Donovan’s sharp ears twitched at a sudden, almost familiar caw.

"Kangee?" he murmured, his voice a hushed whisper that carried both hope and suspicion.