Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Lycan King’s Rogue Queen: Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

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

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

Riley I didn’t scream. That surprised me. In all the stories I’d heard about the Fates and the Loom of Destiny, I expected the moment of revelation to be violent—a symphony of fire, the sound of the bond tearing itself free from my soul. I expected something loud enough to justify the way my chest suddenly felt as if it were being crushed by an invisible hand. Instead, there was only silence. The kind of silence that doesn’t just wait—it swallows. It consumed the sound of Kael’s breathing, the rustle of the councilors’ robes, and the very air in my lungs before I could even gasp. The first page of the folder wasn't filled with words. It was a symbol—etched with terrifying precision, impossibly familiar. It was the same jagged geometry I’d seen carved into the ancient monoliths outside Veyra. The same shape that pulsed in white-hot light beneath my skin whenever the bond woke. But here, on the parchment, it was inked in cold, flat black. Stripped of its magic. Stripped of its wa

Riley Silence had weight. It didn’t feel like peace; it felt like a burial. The silence pressed against my eardrums, my chest, and that hollow, aching place beneath my ribs where Kael’s heartbeat had lived for months. It wasn't just an absence—it was a surgical removal. I felt like a limb that had been severed but refused to stop itching, my soul still reaching out for a connection that had been cut to the quick. I staggered as we moved through the labyrinthine backstreets of Dalth. My boots splashed through puddles of grey rainwater, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet. The city felt different now. It didn't feel curious anymore; it felt irritated. I had slipped out of a ledger column. I was a missing entry, and Dalth didn't like its books being out of balance. Silas walked a few paces ahead of me, unhurried and graceful. His hands were clasped behind his back as if we were enjoying a moonlit stroll rather than fleeing the most obsessive, record-keeping city on the con

KaelI didn’t use the stairs.Shadows don’t need stone steps. I tore through the Archive like a wound reopening, slipping between locked corridors and warded thresholds, leaving frost and fractured sigils in my wake. Every heartbeat without Riley in the bond felt like a layer of my soul was being peeled back, exposing something raw and rotting to the mountain air.The Scribe’s ward hit me like a wall of solid ice.I didn’t slow.I ripped through it, my magic shrieking in protest. Violet light flared across my vision, blinding and jagged, as I forced my body to remain solid while the city tried to turn me into mist. Pain tore through me—sharp, punishing, and utterly deserved. I welcomed it. Pain meant I was still moving.Still late—but not too late.I burst into the circular chamber just as the torches flared in a frantic, orange alarm.The room was a masterpiece of chaos: scattered parchment, fractured stone, and ancient magic thrumming like a wounded beast in the corner.And there—