All Chapters of The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Kael pov The court smelled like blood and flowers. Someone had tried to soften the aftermath. It didn’t work. The marble floor had been scrubbed clean, the banners re-hung, the throne polished until it reflected torchlight like a blade. Ministers stood in neat rows again. Courtiers whispered behind gloved hands. Order, restored. Lies, rehearsed. My lycan prowled beneath my skin, restless and unsatisfied. The full moon was two nights past, but it hadn’t retreated. It lingered. Watched. Remembered the forest. Remembered the hunt. Remembered the rogues. I kept my spine straight and my face carved into something kings wore when they were no longer allowed to be human. The decree had gone out at dawn. Rogue. Enemy. Hunt-on-sight. Necessary words, the Council had said. Stabilizing words. My knuckles still ached where I’d pressed them into stone hard enough to crack it. “Your Majesty,” the herald announced, voice carefully neutral, “a petitioner seeks audience.” I didn’t look

Kael pov The royal bedchamber of Dalth was not a place for comfort. It was a fortress within a fortress, built of grey stone that bled cold and tapestries that depicted ancient, bloody victories. Tonight, the air was thick, heavy with the scent of sandalwood and the sharp, metallic tang of the magic Elora had carried into the room on her skin. Kael stood by the arched window, his back to the expanse of the room. He had already discarded his ceremonial doublet, leaving his torso bare to the flickering light of the hearth. His skin was a roadmap of the life he had lived scars from silver blades, the jagged marks of rival alphas, and the smooth, hollow ache of a bond that had been torn out by the roots. The lycan was pacing beneath his ribs, a restless, caged beast that found no peace in the quiet. It hated the stone. It hated the silence. Most of all, it hated the woman waiting behind him. "The court is finally quiet," Elora said. Her voice was like silk over a blade—smooth, elegant

Riley pov The decree didn’t arrive with trumpets. It arrived with certainty. The forest felt it first. Not the animals—the roots. They stiffened underground, coiling tighter, as if the land itself had been informed that its patience was no longer required. I froze mid-step. Lumi, a pace behind me, inhaled sharply. “Riley…” “I know,” I said. The scar on my wrist burned—not hot, not flaring. Heavy. Like something had been pressed against it and left there on purpose. We weren’t alone. Not yet hunted—but noticed. That was worse. A crow lifted from a branch ahead of us, black wings slicing the air. It didn’t flee. It circled, once, then twice, before flying east—toward the city. Messenger. “Great,” I muttered. “Even the birds are employed now.” We reached the edge of the clearing just as the sound carried. Voices. Too many. Too orderly. The clearing was packed. Werewolves—rogues, half-packs, loners, people who’d slipped between definitions bec

Riley pov Lumi stopped walking. Not a stumble. Not hesitation. A full, deliberate halt. Which, for the record, is how you know you’re about to have a conversation you’ve been actively avoiding. I took three more steps before I realized she wasn’t behind me anymore. The forest went quiet in that very specific way it does when it wants front-row seats. I sighed. Slowly turned. She was staring at me. Not at my face. Lower. Right where I had very intentionally layered my coat, my belt, my bad decisions, and my denial. Oh. So we were doing this now. “You’re walking differently,” Lumi said. “I sprained my pride.” “That’s not a thing.” “It absolutely is.” She didn’t smile. That should’ve been my first clue that I was about to lose this argument. “You’re slower,” she continued. “You stop more. You get dizzy. You snap when anyone mentions the city. You smell—” “Careful,” I warned. “I will weaponize my hormones.” Her eyes flicked up. Sharp. Silver. N

Riley POV The months didn’t pass. They stalked. They learned our routines. Our weaknesses. The sound my knees made when I stood too fast. The way Lumi breathed differently when she was tired but pretending not to be. Time wasn’t linear anymore. It was predatory. Winter came early. Or we moved wrong. Or the world decided subtlety was overrated and went straight for the throat. Survival became habit. We learned which roots bled water. Which berries smiled before they poisoned you. Which streams stayed honest after moonrise. Lumi got frighteningly good with traps. I got frighteningly good at lying—to myself, mostly. My belly grew. Slow. Unapologetic. Impossible to negotiate with. By the fourth month, denial officially resigned. No more clever cloaks. No more strategic angles. Just a very real curve pressing into my ribs like a reminder with opinions. Lumi noticed everything. She didn’t comment when I slowed. Didn’t argue when I stopped to breathe. She just adjus