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The Wrong Kind of Mercy (Riley)

Author: Magdeleina Thomson
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-10-01 13:33:39

Freedom doesn’t knock.

It barges in at dawn, in the form of two guards who looked like they’d swallowed their own spears. They didn’t come with shackles or whips this time. They came with ceremony: polished armor, stiff spines, the kind of formality that says we have no idea what’s happening but the King said move.

My wolf stirred in my chest. Something has changed.

“Yeah,” I muttered as they marched me down the corridor, “probably he’s come up with a brand-new way to ruin my morning. Very crea
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  • The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen   The Crown You Don’t Ask For

    Riley POV We didn’t plan to meet them. Which, in retrospect, tracks. Every truly life-altering disaster in my existence has arrived uninvited and very confident about it. The forest had shifted again—not dramatically, not loudly. Just enough that the birds stopped lying. You learn the difference when you’ve been hunted long enough: silence is not peace. Silence is coordination. Lumi felt it first. She always did. Her hand came up—two fingers, low, sharp. Stop. I obeyed, because pregnancy has taught me many things, chief among them: gravity is not a suggestion, and ignoring Lumi gets you killed. We were in a narrow corridor of birch and pine, frost crusting the ground in thin, treacherous sheets. My breath came shallow—not panic, not yet. Calculation. The baby shifted, as if bracing. “Not Crown,” Lumi murmured. “Too quiet.” That somehow made it worse. I inhaled slowly. Werewolf. Not lycan. No iron tang. No sanctified arrogance. Just earth, sweat, old blood, and fear held t

  • The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen   The crown's womb

    Riley POV We didn’t stop running until my lungs tasted like rust and my vision started doing that bright, stupid sparkle thing that usually comes right before you pass out and wake up furious about it. Lumi caught my elbow when my boot slid on frost-slick rock. “Don’t,” I snapped automatically—because I am nothing if not consistent about refusing help while actively dying. She didn’t let go. “Your pride doesn’t have a pelvis full of baby,” she said, voice flat. I glared at her. She glared back harder. Fine. We slowed to a brutal, resentful walk through pines that smelled like sap and old snow. The forest around us kept shifting like it couldn’t decide whether to hide us or spit us out and be done with the drama. My stomach twisted—not from the running. From the look on Kael’s face when his eyes dropped to my belly. That split-second fracture. That naked, animal pain. And then the mask snapping back into place like a door slamming in a storm. I hated that I’d seen it.

  • The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen   The Heir the Crown Required

    Elora POV Silence is a luxury afforded only to those who have already won. In Dalth, silence is never empty. It is curated. Shaped. Maintained the way one maintains a lie that has grown too large to question. I stood alone in the eastern gallery, where the morning light slid across marble floors like a blade testing its edge. One hand rested against my stomach—not gently, not reverently. I am not sentimental about biology. This child is not a miracle. It is a solution. The physicians had bowed too deeply when they confirmed it. Their relief was almost touching. As if my body had personally saved them from the terror of uncertainty. As if lineage were not the only language this court has ever spoken fluently. An heir. The word moves through stone faster than fire. Already, the Council was reshaping the night into something usable. Already, the hunts were being justified not as cruelty, but as necessity. Already, the term rogue had begun to stretch—expanding like rot—

  • The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen   A Queen Made of Knives

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