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The Court of Smiles and Knives
Last Updated:
2025-10-26 14:03:32
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The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen The Scribe Who Counts Souls
Riley The corridor ended without ceremony. There were no massive doors, no armored guards, no dramatic gates. There was only a threshold where the air changed—growing thicker, warmer, and saturated with the cloying scent of old ink, scorched parchment, and something faintly metallic. It smelled like copper. Like old coins left too long in a clenched, sweaty fist. I stepped into a circular chamber carved directly into the ancient bedrock beneath Dalth. The scale of it made my head spin. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves that groaned under the weight of a thousand years of secrets—scrolls that hummed with static, ledgers bound in skin, and tablets that didn’t look like they were meant to be read so much as endured. Some glowed with a sickly yellow light. Others pulsed in a slow, rhythmic throb, as if the words inside were still breathing. At the center of this cathedral of information sat a man. He wasn’t old—not in the way I expected. His hair was dark, b
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen Terms and Conditions
Riley Silence had weight. It didn’t feel like peace; it felt like a burial. The silence pressed against my eardrums, my chest, and that hollow, aching place beneath my ribs where Kael’s heartbeat had lived for months. It wasn't just an absence—it was a surgical removal. I felt like a limb that had been severed but refused to stop itching, my soul still reaching out for a connection that had been cut to the quick. I staggered as we moved through the labyrinthine backstreets of Dalth. My boots splashed through puddles of grey rainwater, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet. The city felt different now. It didn't feel curious anymore; it felt irritated. I had slipped out of a ledger column. I was a missing entry, and Dalth didn't like its books being out of balance. Silas walked a few paces ahead of me, unhurried and graceful. His hands were clasped behind his back as if we were enjoying a moonlit stroll rather than fleeing the most obsessive, record-keeping city on the con
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen The Weight of the Tether
Kael The silence of the Council Hall was worse than the shouting. I stood in the center of the room, my hand still outstretched toward the space where Riley had been a heartbeat ago. My palm felt cold. The air where she had stood felt empty, a vacuum that sucked the heat right out of my blood. "The King seems... distressed," Councilor Vane said. She didn't sound concerned. She sounded like an art critic admiring a particularly tragic painting. I turned on her. The power I usually kept locked behind iron gates—the shadows of Veyra, the ancient, cold weight of my crown—flared to life. The torches in the room flickered, their flames turning a jagged, ghostly violet. "You planned this," I said, my voice dropping into a register that made the guards at the door take a step back. "The timing. The file. The psychological pressure of this room." Vane didn't flinch. She simply adjusted a silver quill on the table. "Dalth does not plan, Majesty. We merely facilitate the arrival of
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen What the Ledger Took
Riley I didn’t scream. That surprised me. In all the stories I’d heard about the Fates and the Loom of Destiny, I expected the moment of revelation to be violent—a symphony of fire, the sound of the bond tearing itself free from my soul. I expected something loud enough to justify the way my chest suddenly felt as if it were being crushed by an invisible hand. Instead, there was only silence. The kind of silence that doesn’t just wait—it swallows. It consumed the sound of Kael’s breathing, the rustle of the councilors’ robes, and the very air in my lungs before I could even gasp. The first page of the folder wasn't filled with words. It was a symbol—etched with terrifying precision, impossibly familiar. It was the same jagged geometry I’d seen carved into the ancient monoliths outside Veyra. The same shape that pulsed in white-hot light beneath my skin whenever the bond woke. But here, on the parchment, it was inked in cold, flat black. Stripped of its magic. Stripped of its wa
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen The City That Doesn’t Forget
Riley Dalth did not welcome you. It dissected you. The city rose from the valley like a blade half-sheathed in stone and frost—sharp lines, deliberate symmetry, and a silence so dense it felt conscious. There were no banners to soften the wind, no merchants calling out, no laughter leaking from open windows. Even the streets gleamed too cleanly, polished to reflect every shadow, every misstep. I shifted in my saddle. The sound of leather was too loud. Beside me, Kael was motionless. Not calm—controlled. The difference mattered. The bond tightened. Not pain. Not yet. A low, insistent pressure bloomed at the base of my skull, possessive and alert, like a hand pressing me forward while warning me not to move. Kael felt it. I knew by the way his breathing adjusted, subtle but wrong. His shoulders squared. His chin lifted. The posture of a king stepping into a room that had already decided how he would fail. Dalth didn’t believe in crowns. Dalth believed in records. “Cheerful
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen The Morning After
Kael Dawn found me awake long before the sun decided it was worth showing up. Veyra still slept — or pretended to. The city liked to linger between reflections, half-dreaming, half-watching, because of course it did. Even its silence was self-aware. Across the courtyard, her balcony door was open. Her wolf form had curled there before dawn, silver-furred and breathing evenly — the picture of peace carved out of exhaustion and pure, stubborn defiance. She was gone now, but her scent lingered — wild honey and nightwind. My mark pulsed once in recognition, a low, steady rhythm beneath my ribs. I hadn’t meant to come to her last night. I’d stood on my own balcony, trying to convince myself that giving her space was the noble thing to do. But space, when it comes to Riley Hale, feels like exile. So I’d stayed where I could see her — nothing more, nothing less — and for the first time in months, I’d actually slept. Not because I wasn’t afraid. But because, for once, I believed she w
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