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The night in Veyra
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2025-11-12 13:04:28
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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
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen The night in Veyra
Riley Veyra pretended it didn’t care that I’d kissed the Lycan King in front of its favorite mirrors. Veyra lies. By dusk the city put on its softest light; the river wore silk; strangers looked twice and then politely away like they’d been paid to mind their business. (They probably had.) We should’ve gone back to the guest wing. Instead we drifted—market to bridge to lantern street—letting the city eavesdrop on our quiet. Lumi slalomed ahead, terrorizing pigeons with the zeal of a licensed Minister of Nope. Varyn trailed us with three different ways to say don’t die tonight and the posture of a man resigned to my talent for ignoring good advice. Kael’s knuckles brushed mine. Small touch. Stupid. Devastating. “Careful,” I murmured, not pulling away. “People will think the Lycan King has a heart.” “They already do,” he said. “You won’t stop telling them.” “Public service.” He smirked—the private one. I stole a fast kiss, punctuation-quick. He kissed me back slow, ste
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen The Hall of Mirrors
Kael Veyra woke like a blade being polished—hushed, bright, and a little too pleased with its own reflection. By noon, the Hall of Mirrors had filled with courtiers who smelled like money and nerves. The room itself was a geometry problem: a hundred panels of silvered glass angled to catch every breath, every blink, every lie. High above, a skylight dripped white light as if noon had been jarred and poured. Lumi tugged my sleeve. “Ground rules?” “Don’t touch anything that looks like it’s going to ask a personal question,” I said. She nodded solemnly. “So, the whole room.” Riley came to stand at my side—black jacket, bare throat, eyes that had learned to put out fires and start them. I didn’t reach for her hand. I didn’t have to. Choosing to stand here was already its own vow. Solven materialized from a mirror with all the humility of a sermon. Their mask today was half-moon, half-sun, stitched where the two refused to agree. “Majesty. Lady Riley.” A courteous incline. “Veyra th
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen Mirrors Don’t Lie (But They Flirt)
KaelIf anyone asked, I’d call it diplomacy.If I was honest, it was an excuse to breathe next to her without the world watching.Veyra — city of mirrors and masks — was technically neutral ground.Which made it perfect for my plan.No council. No decree. No Daren Vale. Just a dinner that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.Except it did.Because it had been months since Riley’s memories began returning in fragments — a name here, a laugh there — and every time she looked at me, I could see the question she didn’t dare ask:Was I ever yours?So I’d done the stupid thing.The brave thing.The Riley thing.I planned a date.Three days convincing the Veyran council to host us “in the name of diplomacy.”Two hours choosing the restaurant with the most dramatic lighting.And one very long speech to Lumi about not calling it a date out loud.Spoiler: she called it a date out loud.---RileyHe called it “a strategic dinner to reassure neutral territories.”Translation: the Lycan King wants to
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen Coffee, Knives, and Other Bad Decisions
Riley Cindrel woke up cranky. You could feel it in the cobblestones — like the whole city had slept in its crown and dreamed of being the victim. Shops opened late. Priests of the "perfectly harmless sunlight" found new excuses to sweep somewhere else. Even the pigeons looked judgy. Lumi and I hit the market before dawn because apparently, revolution requires caffeine. "Ground rules," I said, tugging my jacket closed. "If Ronan tries any noon tricks, stab his cup." "With what?" she asked. "Your eyes." "Copy that." She flashed a smile that could’ve qualified as a war crime. Ronan Vale appeared right on schedule, like a golden sin with good timing. No cape (thank the gods), just that effortless grin people wear when they’ve never lost anything that mattered. He chose a wolf-owned cart — decent choice — the one with coffee strong enough to confess for you. He bowed. To me. To Lumi. Even to the barista, who didn’t bow back and handed him a cup that looked like liquid defiance.
The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen Noon Rugs & Bright Lies
Kael Dawn found Cindrel gathered beneath its own arrogance. The upper terrace became a balcony of judgment; the square below, a throat full of held breath. Auditors lined our rear flank with salt-knives and moon-ink. Lira held a ledger like a weapon. Varyn posted steel at every arch. Lumi stood at my elbow with an apple and the alert contempt of a cat who’s decided the city is a bad sofa. Riley stepped up beside me. No crown. No cloak. Just a black jacket that made her look like a promise someone would regret breaking. She didn’t need armor; the room changed shape to fit her. “Ready?” I asked. “No,” she said. “Do it anyway.” The bell tolled. I raised my voice. “People of Cindrel,” I said, “by right of the crown and the law we bled to write—hear the record.” Lira lifted the first rug—one of the pale noon-weaves we’d pulled from behind a panel—and snapped it open so the square could see the threadwork stitched in hidden gold. A collective hiss crawled the crowd. “Solar tethers
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