The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 178: Tainted Lineage

Morgrim.

Donovan despised being called by his surname. It had always unsettled him, though he couldn’t explain why. The name Morgrim seemed to carry an invisible weight, and like a shadow, it followed him wherever he went.

But now, he understood.

The Morgrim lineage was always tainted. His father wasn’t the only monster it had produced, and perhaps, there were others, forgotten and hidden within the recesses of his family’s history. What other horrors had his bloodline birthed? It made sense why his father never spoke of having relatives, not even his own parents.

"Don!"

Esme’s voice cut through his brooding thoughts like a blade, leaving him startled. He instinctively raised his head, half-convinced he must have misheard, but her presence... he felt it more than ever, and it was as real as the ache in his chest.

Before he could react, she closed the distance between them, wrapping him in a fierce embrace that would have probably knocked him off his feet if his hands weren’t being restrained by two tall posts. Her sudden warmth caught him off guard, and he froze in her embrace. His muscles locked, as though they were unused to such tenderness, and for a moment, he just stayed frozen, stiff and silent.

After a while, he heard it– her soft, muffled sobs as she pulled away, leaving him to grapple with the storm of emotions she’d stirred.

"Esme?"

"I’m sorry, can you forgive me?" Esme whispered, her voice trembling with guilt. "You were hurt because of me... again. I should’ve been more careful that day I came to see you, and I should’ve stood by your side when Lennox called you out, but I wasn’t even aware of what was happening at that time. I’ve failed to protect you as your friend." Her words were weighted with remorse, and her teary gaze dropped to her feet, as if ashamed to look at him.

Donovan’s instincts betrayed him for a moment, and he wanted to reach out, to place a comforting hand on her head. It was a gesture that felt natural to the both of them yet forbidden. But the cold, unyielding chains binding his wrists to the posts stopped him. He closed his hands into tight fists, forcing the impulse down.

Perhaps it was for the best.

"Esme..." he murmured, his tone gentle, yet edged with concern. "Are you alright? How did you even know I was here?" his voice carried a quiet suspicion, fearing that this might be another cruel manipulation by the council, another trap.

Esme quickly wiped at her damp cheeks, glancing around nervously to ensure no one had followed her. The courtyard was silent, and most parts of the area were surrounded by the morning fog.

Still, her heart pounded with the knowledge that every second here was dangerous. She wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, hence, she snuck past the guards on her way here. When she heard the servants whispering about what had been done to Donovan, the thought of staying away had become unbearable.

"I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing," she explained softly when he questioned her presence, though her hands betrayed her anxiety as they twisted together. "I had to see you for myself. I needed to know you were okay."

Her eyes darted to his bound hands, the chains clinking slightly with every small move, and the sight made her throat tighten. She knew she couldn’t stay much longer, someone might come, and if they found her here again, the consequences would be on both of them.

Still...

Esme’s hands balled at her sides. She stretched onto her toes, desperately reaching for the cuffs that bound him, her fingers brushing against the cold metal but failing to grasp it. Her breath hitched with frustration as she scanned the area for something—anything—to give her more height.

"I can’t reach them," she muttered, her voice tinged with exasperation. "The cuffs are too high up, and there’s nothing here I can stand on."

"Esme," Donovan’s voice cut through her mutterings, now weighted with a serious tone that made her chest tighten. "Listen to me. I’m not a guest here, I’m a prisoner, and I’m a prisoner here because I killed the king. This is what they do to people like me. This treatment is part of the deal. You need to stop meddling because I don’t want your pity, or your remorse."

Esme froze at his words, catching the faint frown etched into his face, his expression harder than usual. Guilt clawed at her insides as her tears welled up again, but she quickly wiped them away with the back of her long sleeves, ashamed of her own weakness. She knew his crimes, Lennox told her already when he confronted her just minutes after she heard the maid’s talking.

Regardless of what he had done, How could she not feel bad? This was her fault. Murdering a king was a high treason, but the few weeks she secretly spent with him made her realize he wasn’t a bad person. If anything, he must have his reasons, but at the same time, she understood Lennox’s rage, because it was his parents who got murdered within the palace walls.

What could she possibly do?

Noticing the thick towel placed precariously over Donovan’s body, Esme realized it was about to slip from his bare shoulders. Instinctively, she reached out, intending to help him adjust it, but it slipped, dropping to the floor.

Esme stepped behind Donovan to pick up the blanket, and just when she was about to spread it over his bare torso to cover him up, her hands froze, and her breath caught as her gaze fell on his back.

Her heart sank at the sight of the angry whip marks etched deeply into his skin, crisscrossing in a brutal pattern that made her shiver, as though she could feel his pain. The wounds were savaged— riddled with dried blood and jagged edges, as though the instrument used to whip him had been laced with tiny, flesh-tearing spikes.

What kind of monster could have inflicted such punishment? And with what vile weapon? It no longer mattered what he did, but this punishment thing had gone too far. He was only fourteen, according to the reports shared about him during yesterday’s dinner, and yet they’re making him endure this suffering.

What was Lennox thinking?