LYCAN LAW

Elara POV

The room was not a prison. That realization unsettled me more than chains ever had.

There were no bars on the windows. No iron rings bolted into the stone. No guards stationed inside with weapons ready. The chamber was wide and still, carved from dark stone that felt ancient rather than cruel. Tall windows lined one wall, letting pale mountain light spill across the floor. Heavy curtains hung open, untouched, as if no one expected me to try to hide.

Nothing blocked the view. Nothing blocked me.

A large bed rested against the far wall. Clean. Made. Firm rather than soft, built for function, not comfort.

Near the window stood a table laid with food. Fresh bread. Sliced fruit. A bowl of stew still steaming faintly. A jug of water.

Too neat.

Too deliberate.

This was not kindness.

It was control, shaped carefully to look like courtesy.

I stood in the center of the room, unsure where to place myself. My wrists still burned faintly from the chains removed earlier. Thin red marks circled my skin like ghosts, refusing to fade.

Proof that I had been delivered here.

Not welcomed.

Freedom, I realized, could be convincing when designed by those who owned it.

The door opened without warning.

I turned.

A woman stepped inside with measured confidence, her boots nearly silent against the stone. She was tall and straight-backed, every movement precise. Silver hair was braided tightly down her back, not for beauty, but discipline. Her eyes were sharp, alert, missing nothing.

She wore dark Lycan armor. Not ceremonial. Not decorated.

“I am Mira,” she said. “I oversee transfers within the Lycan Dominion.”

Not guests.

Not prisoners.

Transfers.

“You will listen,” she continued calmly. “You will speak only when permitted. And you will remember everything I say.”

I inclined my head once. No more. No less.

She circled the room slowly, assessing it as though confirming it met an exact standard.

“This is your assigned chamber,” she said. “You are not imprisoned. You may move freely within the inner grounds. You may eat when you wish. You will not be harmed.”

A tight knot in my chest loosened, just slightly.

Then she stopped directly in front of me.

“But you may not leave the stronghold.”

There it was.

Invisible bars.

“If you attempt to cross the outer gates without permission,” Mira continued evenly, “you will be restrained. If you attempt again, you will be punished.”

Her tone never shifted.

As if punishment were not a threat—but a certainty already accounted for.

“So I’m free,” I said quietly, “as long as I stay where I’m told.”

One corner of her mouth curved, not a smile. Something sharper.

“Correct.”

I turned toward the window. Beyond the stone walls, the mountains rose wild and endless, their peaks swallowed by mist. The land looked untamed. Unclaimed. Unreachable.

Mira followed my gaze.

“You should understand Lycan law,” she said. “It is not pack law.”

“I’ve noticed,” I replied.

“In this territory,” she continued, unfazed by my tone, “rank is absolute. Orders are not questioned. Authority is not negotiated.”

I turned back to her. “And me?”

“You are under the King’s authority.”

The word struck deeper than I expected.

King.

Mira hesitated, then added, quieter, sharper...

“Some will not approve of your presence.”

Before I could ask what she meant, the air shifted.

“You answer to me alone,” a deep voice said from the doorway. “And that will never change.”

The room tightened.

Mira stepped back instantly, lowering her head.

I turned slowly.

King Kael Varyn stood in the doorway as if the stone itself had formed around him.

He wore no crown. No armor. No visible symbol of rule. His clothing was dark, simple, fitted to his broad frame.

Nothing about him demanded attention. And yet everything bent toward him.

He did not step closer. He did not touch me.

His presence filled the room all the same.

“She is not to be questioned,” Kael said calmly. “Not by the guards. Not by the council. Not by you.”

Mira bowed deeper. “Understood, my King.”

Kael’s gaze never left me.

“You will learn our laws,” he said. “You will follow them. In return, you will be protected.”

“Protected from what?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His expression did not change.

“From everyone,” he replied.

The words settled heavy and final.

He turned to leave, then paused.

His voice lowered just enough to cut.

“Do not mistake protection for permission.”

Then he was gone.

No warning. No reassurance. No explanation.

Only certainty.

Mira waited until his footsteps faded before lifting her head.

“You heard him,” she said. “You answer to the King alone.”

“What am I to him?” I asked.

Her eyes sharpened.

“That,” she said, “is not for me to decide.”

She moved toward the door.

“You will be summoned when required. Until then, rest.”

And then I was alone.

I sat slowly on the edge of the bed, my legs trembling.

Sold.

Delivered.

Now… claimed.

But not named. Not touched. Not explained.

I pressed my fingers into the thick blanket, grounding myself.

Whatever King Kael intended, it was not mercy.

Time passed in heavy silence.

A servant arrived later with more food. No words. No curiosity. Just quiet efficiency. I ate because my body demanded it, not because I was hungry.

No one watched me.

No one checked on me.

That disturbed me more than chains ever had.

When I ventured into the inner grounds, the stronghold revealed itself.

Stone paths curved through open courtyards. Towers stretched toward the darkening sky. Guards stood at their posts, alert and disciplined.

They did not stare.

They did not whisper.

They did not look at me with pity.

They looked past me.

As if I already belonged.

As if my presence had been calculated.

Night came quickly.

Back in my chamber, I washed, changed, and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep refused to come.

Every sound felt sharpened. Every breath felt measured. Then...

Heat bloomed low in my body.

Sharp. Sudden. Uninvited.

Awareness surged through me like fire racing over dry ground.

I gasped and sat up, heart pounding.

No pain. No fear. Just… recognition.

I pressed my palm to my arm, and froze.

A thin red line marked my skin.

Blood.

I hadn’t felt the cut. I didn’t know how it happened.

The scent reached me a heartbeat later.

Warm. Metallic. Alive.

The air shifted. The door opened.

Kael stood there.

He did not step inside. But his eyes locked onto the blood.

Something flickered across his face—fast, violent, gone.

Heat flared in his chest, sharp enough that for a single breath his control fractured.

The room tightened around us. He inhaled once.

Slow.

Measured.

His jaw clenched as restraint snapped back into place.

He smelled it. I should have been afraid. Instead, something deep inside me answered.

A pull.

A recognition.

As if something ancient had awakened...

And known him.

Kael exhaled carefully.

“Stay where you are,” he said, his voice low and tightly controlled.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

His gaze lifted to mine.

Dark. Measured. Dangerously restrained.

And as my blood hummed softly in my veins, one truth became terrifyingly clear...

Lycan law was not written in stone. It was written in blood.

And it already knew my name.