THE LYCANS KING’S OBSESSION

Chapter 8

They marched us down the row of cells. We passed dozens of cages filled with haggard, shifty-looking rogues and prisoners who had clearly crossed the kingdom's laws. The cells on this row were heavily reinforced, spaced out just enough to offer a cruel view of the adjacent prisoners. Toby and I were taken to the very end of the corridor, violently pushed into a damp, dark cell. The heavy iron bars slammed shut with a deafening metallic screech, and the lock turned with finality.

The moment the female warriors walked away, my knees buckled. I collapsed straight onto the hard dirt floor, entirely depleted. I had laid Toby on the thin, scratchy cot in the corner, and my body could no longer support its own weight. I wanted so badly to cry—to let the tears wash away the terror of the last twenty-four hours—but I couldn't. I had absolutely no strength left for tears. The raw wounds all over my back and torso ached with a blinding, throbbing heat, bleeding profusely after the grueling march.

“Lillian...”I reached out weakly into the dark spaces of our bond. “Can you heal us? Please.”

“No,”she whimpered, her voice faint and distant. “I am too weak after everything. I need a lot of time, Fiona. I’m sorry.*

I nodded mentally, cutting off the connection to let her rest. I looked over at the corner relieved to see that Toby had already fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. His hand was resting over his chest, his fingers tightly gripped around a small, cracked silver pocket watch, a broken trinket he had managed to steal from the Bloodmoon Pack's discarded piles years ago. It didn't tick anymore, but whenever the fear became too much, he would trace the cracked glass to ground himself. Even in sleep, his 12-year-old face looked far too tired, carrying the weight of a boy who had grown up in chains.

I lay there on the cold, unforgiving floor, staring blankly at the stone ceiling, wondering what cruel game fate was playing with my life. I had so many agonizing questions. Did the Moon Goddess hate me this much? Why was I born the cursed silver wolf? Why did I get a second-chance mate, only to be unwanted and cast aside all over again? Who was he? What kind of terrifying pack was this? Was he a monster? Would his rejection break me entirely, or would he prove to be even worse than Alpha Victor? I wished with everything in me for a single answer as I lay in the dark, shivering.

"I'm sorry, Lillian," I whispered aloud into the quiet cell.

“For what?” she asked softly.

"I'm sorry you're stuck with a pathetic human like me," I sniffed, a single, stray tear finally slipping down my cheek. "A broken, ruined girl that no one wants. You deserve a strong, beautiful wolf alpha. You deserve better."

“Shut up, Fiona,” Lillian said, and I could practically feel her rolling her eyes through the pain. “I love that you are my human. You are so much more than you think you are. Now go to sleep, please. We need our strength for whatever comes next... they might decide to torture us by morning. Holding onto her words, I closed my eyes, praying for the sweet numbness of sleep to claim me.

---

A harsh, grating noise woke me hours later. I bolted upright, my aching muscles locking up as I realized the cell was illuminated by the pale light of dawn streaming from a high, barred window. A figure was standing right in front of the iron gates, holding a metal plate in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

"Well? Are you just going to sit there looking like a lost fool?" the woman snapped, her voice dripping with sheer irritation. "Come get this thing out of my hands. I’ve got better things to do than serve a good meal to a filthy rogue!"

She spat on the floor and aggressively threw the bottled water through the bars. I scrambled forward on my hands and knees, reaching out to grab the plate as she slid it harshly under the bottom bar. The rough movement kicked up a cloud of dust and sand, making me cough.

"Don't know why I'm the one who has to feed these stupid rogues," I heard her mutter darkly as she stomped down the corridor, her loud footsteps triggering a low murmur of discontent among the other inmates.

Ignoring her words, I lifted the plate and stared at its contents. My breath hitched. It was meat soup and not just a watery broth, but a thick, rich stew packed tightly with massive chunks of meat. My stomach let out a violent, desperate growl. I had never seen a more appetizing meal served to me in my entire life. It smelled absolutely heavenly, so thick with meat that I could barely see the liquid beneath it.

“Toby will love this!* A genuine, fragile smile broke across my face. Setting the bowl aside, I walked over to the cot and gently nudged his shoulder. He woke up with a soft yawn, rubbing his eyes before he even opened them.

"I had a very bad dream, Fiona..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "I dreamed that we were caught, and we were put in a dark cell, and..." He stopped talking, his eyes finally opening as he took in the heavy iron bars and the damp stone walls. The realization that it wasn't a nightmare that it was our reality shattered him, and he erupted into heavy, sobbing tears slide down his small face.”

"I’m sorry Fiona, I wish I was strong enough to protect you.” He said amid sobs.

My throat tightened, a suffocating weight settling over my chest as I looked at his innocent face. I should be the one protecting him not the other way round. . I didn't know if happiness was something people like us were ever allowed to have.

"Stop crying now. Look, they brought us food," I said softly, intentionally steering his mind away from the panic before it could swallow him whole. "Look at the meat, Toby."

A small, smile broke through his tears at the sight of the rich broth. I set the bowl between us on the edge of the cot. Even though my own stomach let out a violent, desperate growl, I pushed the plate closer to him, making sure he took the first, heaviest bites. At twelve years old, his body was still growing, but the Bloodmoon Pack had starved him down to skin and bone. We had spent years splitting the scraps Victor threw at us, always keeping each other alive when the world tried to break us. Watching him eagerly devour the rich food brought a small ounce of relief to my aching chest.

After our early breakfast, we sat huddled side-by-side on the edge of the creaking bed, silently awaiting whatever grim fate the day held for us.

An hour later, the quiet was shattered by a familiar, irritated voice spewing curses, accompanied by the angry stomping of boots. The same female servant reached our cell, a deep frown marring her features as she forcefully slid a pile of blankets under the bars.

"I don't know when rogues started being wonderfully cared for in this kingdom," she muttered in a low, bitter mumble before turning on her heel and storming away. I slid off the bed, pulling the blankets toward me. They were incredibly soft and furry, and though they were thin, they were a luxury compared to the dirt floors of the Bloodmoon Pack.

"A rogue prisoner being treated like a princess!" a voice suddenly snorted from across the corridor.

I looked up sharply. The voice came from the cell directly opposite mine. The shadows were too thick to see the owner of the voice clearly at first, but the deep, raspy tone belonged to a male.

"You must be a special one," the prisoner continued. I watched as a figure rose from the darkness and walked over to his cell bars, leaning his head against the cold iron. In the faint morning light, I could make out his dirty face, framed by a wild, tangled mass of unwashed blonde hair.

"I am not special," I mumbled softly, pulling the blankets tight around myself. "Who are you?"

"A prisoner, just like you," he snorted, a cynical smirk flashing across his face. "Only, I haven't found favor with the Lycan King the way you seem to have done."

"What king are you talking about?" I asked, staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. Surely, he was mistaken.

"The King, of course," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You're playing games with me, right?"

"No..." I shook my head, my heart beginning to race with a strange, icy panic. "Where am I? Please... what is this place?"

"This is the territory of the Lycan Royal Court," he explained, looking at me with newfound curiosity. "The heart of the Lycan Kingdom."

"The Lycan Kingdom?" I gasped, completely stunned. I had heard whispered myths of the royal Lycan bloodlines back in the Bloodmoon Pack, but they were spoken of as terrifying, ancient gods.

"You know, the fearless, the courageous," the prisoner snorted again, shaking his head. "King . The Lycan King. King of all Alphas."

"What... what is he like?" I asked trembling, slowly taking my seat back on the edge of the cot next to Toby.

"I don't know much," the man shrugged, gripping the bars of his cage. "But they say he has intense, gleaming black eyes. And his Lycan form is a midnight-black wolf. The biggest, most terrifying creature you’ll ever see."

“Gleaming dark eyes. A massive black Lycan”

The prisoner's words echoed violently in my head, but I couldn't hear the rest of what he was saying. The world around me faded into a piercing, ringing silence as the staggering, terrifying realization finally crashed down upon my soul.

I wasn't in a normal werewolf pack. I was in the heart of the Lycan Kingdom. And King Fredrick the feared, ultimate ruler of all supernatural factions—was my fated mate.

The very mate who had just thrown me into a dungeon.