All Chapters of The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

RileyRule #1 of waking up in strange places: always check for pants.Rule #2: if the walls glow, something divine and inconvenient is about to happen.I blinked against blinding gold light. Everything shimmered — walls, floor, probably my pores.“Ugh. Great. I’ve been abducted by a chandelier.”> “You are awake,” said a voice that somehow managed to sound both proud and smug.Of course.Because why wake up to normal problems when you can wake up to a celestial ego trip?The man standing before me looked like the sun had decided to cosplay as a person.Golden hair. Eyes like liquid fire. A body sculpted for worship.And an attitude that screamed I invented authority.“Welcome home, Daughter of the Dawn,” he said smoothly.I stared at him.Then at the room.Then back at him. “Okay, I think you’ve got the wrong kidnapped girl. I’m more of a ‘child of chaos and poor decisions’ type.”He didn’t even blink. “You stand in the heart of your birthright. The Sun Court.”“Cool décor,” I said, g

KaelSelene said go, so we went.No banners. No speeches. Just six riders and one overly opinionated war-stallion stepping out of the northern postern before the palace remembered how to ask where are you going.The city didn’t wake—it flinched.Rumor had already outrun us: the Lycan King had lost his mate; the Moon had taken her; the Sun had claimed her.But before I hunted gods, I had to fix men.We crossed the lower square at dawn. The air bit like unfinished truth.I dismounted, because laws spoken from horseback sound like threats, not promises.“By decree of the Lycan Crown,” I said, my voice carrying clean across the cold, “Lycans and Werewolves stand as equals—by blood, by law, by right.”A murmur swept through the crowd like a half-remembered prayer.“From this day,” I continued, “no collar shall touch a Werewolf’s neck. No oath forced in fear will bind. Those who enslave them defy not me, but the balance itself.”No cheers. No applause. Only disbelief.I tore the parchment i

Kael Dawn rose wrong. Not pink. Not gold. A white-hot glare that made the horizon look like a blade pulled from the forge and pressed against the world’s throat. The northern wind arrived late and stank of metal; even the horses pinned their ears and rolled eyes rimmed in white. “The Sun Court,” Varyn said, low. “We’re close.” Selene’s second clue had spit us out onto a high tableland of black glass and thorn. Ahead lay the Dayline—a ragged seam where our sky ended and Solen’s began. Even the clouds knew the treaty; they wouldn’t cross. They stacked above us like a fleet refusing to sail. Lumi shaded her eyes with a dirty sleeve and squinted into the glare. “Looks friendly.” “Nothing beyond that border is friendly,” Lira answered, tightening the strap on her bracer. “Not even the dust.” Lumi glanced at me. “So… plan?” “Same as before,” I said. “We walk in anyway.” She made a face. “Majesty, with respect—and this is the most respectful face I own—that’s not a plan. That’s a pe

KaelThe Sun Temple wasn’t built for worship.It was built to be obeyed.Every column bled gold. Every breath was a prayer to something arrogant enough to believe it owned heat itself.And in the center of it all—on a throne of burning glass—sat Solen.The god looked exactly as I imagined him.Perfect. Terrible. Beautiful in the way forest fires are beautiful—because you can’t look away while everything dies.> “Welcome, Lycan King,” he said, voice like molten metal.“You’ve come far to kneel.”“I don’t kneel,” I said, stepping closer. “Especially not to someone who steals women because he’s afraid to be alone.”A ripple of laughter—Lira, somewhere behind me.Even Varyn smirked.Lumi, bless her tiny, reckless soul, muttered, “Ten out of ten entrance. Let’s hope he doesn’t smite us immediately.”Solen’s smile didn’t falter. “Childish humor will not save you.”“Neither will divine ego,” I said.His light flared.The world turned white.And the battle began.---It wasn’t a fight. It was

Riley Trust is a muscle. If you don’t use it, it atrophies. If someone ties it to a post and sets it on fire, it grows back mean. By the time we crossed the northern ridge and the palace’s black spires rose out of the fog like patient knives, my trust was a scar that refused to bend. I had a blade up my sleeve, a blade in my boot, and a blade where my smile should’ve been. In the mornings I trained until my lungs burned; at night I lay still as stone and waited for the light in the ceiling to move like a hand. It didn’t. The ceilings here were honest. That scared me more. They gave me a room with a balcony that faced the moon. Subtle. The sheets smelled like clean linen and the faintest trace of smoke—someone had warmed the room before I arrived. Cozy, in that way rooms are cozy when you’re the only animal in the trap. A sentry posted outside my door tried not to breathe too loud. He failed. He was clock-breath, two beats and a pause. I counted him instead of sheep. They said m