All Chapters of The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Kael Mercy has never tasted this bitter. From the dais I watched her cross the hall, shoulders straight, eyes sharp. She did not bow. She did not tremble. Even at the gates of freedom, Riley Ashford wore defiance like a crown. The sun bled its last light across the courtyard as the gates groaned open, their iron mouths yawning to release the one creature I swore would never unsettle me. And yet she did. Every step closer to the threshold carved deeper into my chest than any blade had managed. I told myself I was a king first. That I had done this for order. To honor a rogue who had stood where others broke. To grant pardon where fear might have demanded chains. Lies. The truth was simpler. Uglier. I could not cage her without killing the fire that made me ache for her. I thought breaking her would end this madness. That silence, humiliation, and pain would put her back into a shape I could control. But she survived. She mocked me even bleeding. She stood where others knelt. Sh

The palace has never felt so empty. Not the throne room, not the echoing war chambers with their maps and banners, not even the vast barracks that once throbbed with the growls of warriors before dawn drills. No. The emptiness clings to me in the places that once felt unshakable—my own chambers, the library, even the training yards where sweat and blood once comforted me. All because she is gone. Riley. I thought silence would be peace. That releasing her would calm the storm she had planted inside me. That distance would burn out what fire she’d lit in my chest. Instead, it hollows me. I sit on the edge of my bed, unable to rest. My body is exhausted; battle wounds still ache; scars from blades and claws throb. But sleep does not come. When I close my eyes, I see her. Her grin, crooked and infuriating. Her storm-grey eyes flashing every time she mocked me. Her voice, sharp as a blade, cutting through the suffocating ceremony of this cursed palace. I used to crave obedience.

Sleep will not come. I traded the bed for stone hours ago, letting the night make a blade of my spine against the cold balcony rail. Below, the courtyards are empty bowls, the torches thinning to embers. Beyond the walls, the forest stands like a jury. I have stood in these shadows before battles, counting the breaths between duty and blood. Those nights were simple: there was always an enemy I could touch. Tonight the enemy is absence. Her absence. It has a gait. I can hear it pacing the corridors she used to fill with mockery. It has a scent—iron and citrus memory—that my body insists is near when it is not. When I force my eyes shut, I see the swerve of her mouth as she throws a blade of a sentence and then refuses to watch whether it lands. I am a king who never needed laughter, now hollowed by the shape of hers not being here to carve me. Varyn finds me there—because he always finds me, even when I would rather be a rumor. He stands at a distance that acknowledges both

Riley The clearing smelled like blood, ash, and testosterone. Bodies everywhere. Wolves shredded. Trees broken. And me—standing in the middle, dripping, bruised, and grinning like the world’s most sarcastic war goddess. Kael shifted back, all gold eyes and brooding menace, covered in streaks of blood like it was some kind of cologne. Honestly? If this man wasn’t careful, Murder Monthly was going to make him their centerfold. “Nice timing,” I said, wiping blood off my cheek with the back of my hand. “Next time maybe bring snacks? I was getting bored.” His gaze burned. “You could have died.” “Correction: they could have died.” I gestured to the carnage. “And spoiler alert—they did.” “You mock,” he said, stepping closer, voice like thunder in velvet. “Yeah,” I shot back, “because it beats crying. And I don’t look cute with mascara streaks.” --- Kael She laughed. Bleeding, trembling, still standing—she laughed. I should have roared at her. Punished her. Dragged her back in cha

Riley If palaces had personalities, this one was an arrogant show-off. Velvet curtains that looked like they could smother a small kingdom. Chandeliers so bright they could burn retinas. Carpets thick enough to hide the remains of a scandal. And the bed. Gods. The bed. It wasn’t a piece of furniture; it was a declaration of war on poverty. Massive. Silken. Possibly enchanted to eat peasants. I eyed it suspiciously. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” The bed, as usual, said nothing. On the table: bread, cheese, wine. And a knife. I laughed so hard I nearly dropped the bottle. “Oh, that’s rich. Bread and a knife. Nothing says romance like snacks and potential murder weapons. Kael, you absolute menace.” I picked up the knife, pressed it dramatically to my chest, and sighed, “Be still, my rogue heart.” I collapsed onto the bed, sinking into its sinful softness. “This is unfair. I was getting good at sleeping on cold stone.” Through the cracked door, two Lycans stood like perfect