CHAPTER 9

Chapter-9-Lisha

I didn’t understand why I felt unease every time Prince Lucan crossed my path. My wolf stirred restlessly, refusing to calm. I was not easily frightened, yet something about him scare at me from the inside.

I forced myself to appear calm. Fear will increased the suspicion they already had. One of Leon’s men had been shadowing me these past days. A skilled warrior lurking behind me, l couldn't even did as if I've  noticed without betraying myself?

That morning, as I dressed, I caught my reflection in the small mirror. I had become pale, yet my frame is still heavy by my father’s standards. A warrior should be light as a feather, he used to say, laughing at me. My mother would have fretted over my face, smoothed my hair with her hands. The thought of them broke me. Tears slipped down before I could stop them. I wiped them away fast, fixing my hair until no trace of weakness remained.

At the clinic, there wasn't much work to be done.

By midday, Leon called me.

“Lisha. My office.”

I felt a little scared. Had he seen my slip? Did he know? I followed him carefully.

He shut the door behind us. “There’s something I need to tell you discreetly. And you’ll need to be just as discreet if you want to stay in this palace.”

I nodded, waiting for this discreet message.

“You’ll be serving Prince Lucan tonight.”

For a moment, I didn’t understand.

“Serve?” I asked, forcing a shaky laugh. “Doesn’t he have maids? Why would a nurse...”

Then I got the meaning behind the words. The words died on my tongue and my body went cold.

Leon looked away as though ashamed. “You don’t have much choice,” he said. He opened a shelf, pulled out a small bag, and laid a dress across the table. Dark silk, soft and flowing.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And then he left me standing in the silence of his office.

I was angry instantly. This men are not just werewolves killers. They are also men without morals.

I carried the dress back to my room like. Every step, my mind spun faster. If I entered Lucan’s chamber, could I kill him, will I survive it?

Would it even matter?

I didn’t care about my own life, what did it matter if in the end, the werewolves could finally live in peace? But killing him tonight wouldn’t end the tyranny. His younger brother, Thorne, was said to be far more vicious, and the king still lived. One body wouldn’t topple the crown.

No, I couldn’t just kill him. I had to survive. I had to finish the mission.

The moment I dropped the dress in my room, I went straight back to the clinic.

“I’ll go. Just tell me what I need to do.”

Leon sighed. “Dress well, I believe it fits. And whatever the prince asks of you, do it.”

I just nodded and went back to my room.

Night came faster than I expected. I carefully hid anything that could tie me to rebellion in my load just in case I didn’t make it back.

The gown lay across my bed like a trap. Silk, but too revealing at the upper part. I smiled. So, that’s what they thought I was for. I dressed myself slowly, I slid a slim blade beneath the folds of fabric, pressing it against my thigh as my last resort.

But my true weapon was one ring I had stole from Perrone, coated with a poison no healer could trace. Just the faintest scratch, and blood would turn against the body within minutes. No chance of survival. My fangs were forbidden, they would burn the palace down searching for the culprit if any mark of a werewolf is seen. The ring was the only way.

I slipped it onto my finger. “Mother.. Father.. be with me,” I whispered.

The guards arrived moments later. Two of them flanked me, their armor scraping, the metallic clink echoing down the stone corridors.

When we reached his chamber, I expected layers of protection. Instead, there were only five. They were relaxed, barely watching me.

When the door was opened, He was there at the end of a long table, papers and scrolls strewn across the polished wood.

He didn’t rise, didn’t smile, only lifted his head in surprise when he saw me. Something crossed his face, I'm not sure whether it's curiosity or maybe disappointment.

I stepped inside, spine straight, trying to look casual, unaffected.

“Sit.” He said in a commanding tone pointing to a seat at his right, far enough from him to remind me of my place.

This was not the setting I expected. Not wine, not music, not the grin of a man about to take what he wanted.

“Serve yourself,” he said, gesturing toward the food laid out between us. “Eat. Then leave. I have work.”

I was shocked. That was it? He had dragged me here for this? To feed me and send me away?

I opened my mouth to speak, but he silenced me with a single motion of his hand.

“I said, serve yourself,” he repeated, slower this time, as if speaking to a child. “Eat. Then leave.”

I stared at the dishes laid out before me, rich meats glistening with oil, fruits sliced with precision.

Was this some kind of game? A test?

If I wanted to kill him, I needed to get closer. But how? I wondered, searching for an excuse, any excuse.

So I moved. Slowly, deliberately, from the door toward him, swaying my hips, feigning confidence, trying to walked seductively as much as possible, his gaze lifted, followed my movement with his eyes.

But before I closed the distance, his hand shifted uncomfortably on the table.

“Take one more step,” he said, “and you will lose your life.”