My Lycan Slave

My eyes pop open and my senses are overwhelmed with the sound of screams and shouts. My nose feels like it's filled with smoke and something metallic from the smells that surround me, and my mouth is dry and seems to be stuffed with ash. My vision swims as my head spins. Every bone and muscle in my body is screaming with protest even as I try to just turn my head to the side. As I focus and my vision somewhat clears, my eyes widen as I see the world around me is burning. Flames lick at the palace walls, turning gold-trimmed banners into blackened scraps. The once-pristine marble floors are slick with blood and bodies–my family's bodies–are sprawled in unnatural angles. I guess that explains the burning and metallic smell but...what exactly happened? If memory serves, today's the day my eldest brother gets coronated. But the coronation and the feast is long forgotten. The royal banners hang in tatters, torn by the very hands that once served us. This is the end. For me. For the ro

The grand hall is just as suffocating as I remember. Even more so since this is the place where everything ended for me.Gold and black banners hand from towering columns, and the sigil of the Were royal family gleams under the candlelight. The air is thick with the scent of incense, masking the smell of blood, which is faint, but always present.My father, King Aldric, sits upon his throne, a pillar of cold authority. His dark eyes sweep over me once before dismissing my presence entirely. To his right sits Leonel, the Crown Prince, lounging lazily in his chair. His golden hair sparkled under the light, his smirk already in place.For a brief moment, I see the flashback of the throne with Leonel's dead body, his chest agape, heart gone. I flinch and a shudder passes through me, making me feel nauseous.Somehow, that made Leonel's smirk grow wide. The dumbass probably thought I was scared of him. Well, he can think whatever he likes.Meanwhile, the rest of m

I suddenly wake up with a feeling deep in my gut. I look around my dark room, the moon is still high in the sky and everything seems quiet and peaceful.Deceptively so.The air in Lilac Palace is still, too still for my taste. Outside my window, moonlight spills from across the courtyard, illuminating the delicate lilacs in the vase by the window, a soft breeze sways the blooms gently.It should be a peaceful sight but unease prickles at the back of my neck.Something's wrong. I just know it.Without a second thought, I leap out of bed and throw on a robe before stepping out of my chambers. My feet carry me down the hall before I even fully register why, my instincts taking the lead. The palace is quiet at this hour but I trust my instincts.They haven't failed me yet. I just failed myself because I didn't follow and trusted them before.That's when I heard it.A scuffle. A sharp curse. Some heavy footfalls against polished marble.I move

Casimir's gaze darkens, frustration rippling through him. He wants me to be angry, that's clear. He wants me to react the way every Were he's ever known would. But I won't play into his expectations.Instead, I finish picking the shards and sweeping the tiny pieces in the small dustpan. I stand and head to the small room that serves as a storage room for my cleaning materials, dumping the broken crystal into a trash bag.This room, like every other room meant for Were Royals in the Kingdom, has a small room specifically for their slaves. And no, it doesn't mean that room is supposed to be the slaves' break room but more like a torture or punishment room, depending on what the Were Royal feels like.In my case, I use it as the cleaning room where I store my cleaning stuff. Whenever the borrowed maids don't feel like showing up for their scheduled clean-up, there's no way that I'm letting Sanders do all the cleaning all by himself. Besides, it's a bit unbecoming for him

Another day, another uphill climb for me. The silence in the room presses on, thick and heavy, suffocating the space between all of us. Sanders hums softly as he chops vegetables in the kitchen, the sound of his knife against the cutting board the only thing filling the air. I sit on the counter beside him, watching as he prepares tonight's meal. Casimir is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, face black. It's been three days since he stopped eating. Three days since he started his silent rebellion, expecting a reaction from me. I gave him none. I know what Casimir is doing. He thinks if he refuses food, I will either snap and punish him or force-feed him like the other Were Royals would. His golden eyes bored into my being and I just ignore the uncomfortable stare he's been subjecting me since he started this nonsense. He has been eating fine since he got here. But ever since another failed attempt to get a rise out of me, this is p