All Chapters of The Lycan Prince's Blood : Chapter 171 - Chapter 178

The corridor feels longer than usual this morning, like the walls are leaning in, narrowing around the maids who move in small clusters. They speak in low voices, their heads close together, eyes darting to check if anyone is listening. The air smells faintly of polish and lavender water, but there’s something sharper beneath it—something uneasy.“Did you hear?” one maid whispers, her tone too urgent to be about laundry or spilled tea.Another glances over her shoulder before answering, “It’s true. My cousin in the kitchens swore she saw the mark herself. The curse is real.”A third maid gasps, covering her mouth. “Keep your voice down! If the Luna hears—”The first maid cuts her off, “She already knows. She’s the one they say carries it.”Their words bounce softly against the stone walls, slipping under doors and around corners like a draft no one can stop.Further down, near the back stairs, two younger maids carry folded linens between them, pretending not to listen but leaning eve

The great hall feels colder than usual tonight. Not because of the weather, the hearth is lit, flames licking at the logs, but because every pair of eyes in the room is fixed on one man. Theon stands at the center of the polished stone floor, shoulders squared, chin slightly lifted, as if bracing for a blow he refuses to duck.The elders sit in a crescent along the raised platform, their chairs carved with the pack’s crest. Some lean forward, elbows on knees, others sit back with arms folded. They are older wolves, weathered by decades of leadership and politics. They’ve seen wars, alliances, betrayals — and they’ve learned to wield words as weapons.The oldest elder clears his throat first, the sound scraping through the silence. “We’ve avoided this conversation long enough,” he says, voice steady but edged. “The curse must be addressed.”Theon’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing. His Lycan stirs, a quiet rumble in the back of his mind, not yet demanding to surface but unwilling to b

The house is quiet. Too quiet.Lumina shifts under the covers, eyes flicking toward the ceiling as if sound might drip through the boards. The faint creak of wood somewhere outside their room pulls her from the thin edge of sleep. She blinks into the dark, letting her ears adjust, holding her breath so the noise has nothing to fight against. Theon sleeps peacefully beside her.She hears a small faint sound as though the house itself is settling. But it’s sharp enough to lift the hair along her arms.Her gaze moves to the small clock on the table. The hour hand sits stubbornly past midnight, and the second hand ticks too loudly for the silence around her.She pushes the blanket back slowly, careful not to let the mattress complain. Her bare feet touch the floor, and the cool wood sends a quick shiver up her legs. Still, it isn’t the cold that makes her skin prickle — it’s that she’s listening so hard she can almost hear the air moving.Another sound. A faint thud, followed by the famil

The morning air over the packhouse is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth from last night’s drizzle. The guards at the main gate are used to the occasional early visitor—merchants, hunters, messengers from allied packs—but not this.A cluster of women, no more than a dozen at first, are gathered just outside the iron gates. They are not shouting. They are not brandishing weapons. Yet their presence is deliberate, the way a still body of water can hide a dangerous current beneath.They stand in a loose semicircle, wrapped in long coats against the chill, hair pulled back, eyes fixed on the high double doors of the packhouse. At the center is a tall woman in a wine-colored shawl—wife to one of Theon’s most seasoned warriors. Beside her, another carries a neatly folded paper, the edges already creased from being handled over and over.The guards exchange a glance. One clears his throat. “Can I help you, ladies?”The woman in the shawl steps forward, chin lifted. “We ha