All Chapters of The Marked Mate of the Lycan King: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

AMBUSH AND AGONY The mud was thick, pulling at my horse’s hooves with every step. The forest was too quiet. It was the kind of silence that makes the hair on your arms stand up. I sat tall in my saddle, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword. My knuckles were white."Something feels wrong, Sire," Commander Vane whispered, pulling his horse up beside mine. "The scouts should have been back by now."I didn't answer. I couldn't. There was a dull, throbbing ache behind my eyes that hadn't stopped since the sun went down. It was the silver pain—the pull of the bond that I was trying so hard to ignore. It felt like a hook in my chest, tugging me back toward the camp. Back toward her."She’s gone, Vane," I said, my voice sounding like gravel. "The maps she stole... she gave them to the Northern rebels. If they aren't here, they’re waiting for us at the pass.""Are you sure, Demetrius?" Vane asked. He was the only one allowed to use my name when the council wasn't listening. "Esmeralda... s

BLIND LOYALTYThe map on the table looked like a blur of ink and lines. I couldn't focus. Every time I looked at the parchment, I saw the way Esmeralda had looked at me when the guards took her. Not with anger. With a look that said I had just broken her world."Sire, the border reports are coming in," a captain said, his voice echoing in the stone room.I didn't look up. "Leave them.""But the General said—""I said leave them!" I snapped. The captain flinched, dropped the papers, and hurried out.I was alone. The silence was the worst part. It gave me too much time to think. I walked to the window and looked out at the courtyard. It was raining—a soft, grey drizzle that matched the way I felt inside."How could you do it, Esme?" I whispered. My throat felt tight. "Was it all a game? Every smile? Every time you touched my hand, were you just counting the seconds until you could tell them where I’d be?"It didn't make sense. But the evidence... the letters they found in her room... it

FLEEING THE CAMPThe soup was thin, mostly water and a few wilted greens, but the warmth of the bowl against my bandaged palms was the best thing I’d felt in days. Around me, the small group of travelers—people who had no place else to go—huddled close to the dying embers of the fire."You look like you've seen the end of the world, girl," an old woman named Martha said, her voice soft. She had been the one to wrap my hands in clean linen earlier that evening."I think I might have," I replied, staring into the flickering orange light. "I keep waiting to wake up and find out I'm still in my bed, complaining about the fit of a dress."Martha chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Life has a way of stripping us down to what matters. You’re alive. That’s a start."I looked at the others. There was a young boy, maybe ten years old, sleeping with his head on a sack of grain. His father was sharpening a knife, his eyes constantly darting toward the treeline. We were deep in the brush, far from the

HUNTER ENCOUNTER The dream was of the palace gardens, but the flowers were made of glass and they were shattering under my feet. I woke up with my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.Something was wrong. The air in the shack felt different. It was too still.I stayed perfectly flat in the hay, my eyes darting toward the cracks in the wooden walls. The sun was higher now, casting long streaks of light across the dirt floor. Then I saw it—a shadow blocked one of the light streaks. Someone was standing right outside the door."You smell that?" a man’s voice whispered. It was low, gravelly, and full of a confidence that made my stomach turn."Mud and old hay," a second voice answered. "And something else. That sweet scent the pointy-ears have.""Check the door. Capturing her alive means a bag of gold big enough to bury us in. Kill her, and the Prince only pays half."I didn't think. I couldn't afford to. I rolled toward the back of the shack where the wood was rotted thr

REFUGEThe mud was pulling at my boots, trying to swallow me whole. My legs were shaking so hard I wasn't sure if I could take another step. I hadn't eaten anything but a few bitter berries in two days, and my stomach felt like it was folding in on itself."Just a little further," I whispered to myself. "You can't stop here. If you stop, you die."The trees here were thick and twisted, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves. It was silent—the kind of silence that makes you look over your shoulder every five seconds. I missed the sound of voices. Even the voices of people I hated. Anything was better than this emptiness.I stopped to lean against a mossy trunk, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I looked at my hands. They were covered in scratches and dirt. These weren't the hands of a lady anymore. They were the hands of someone who was barely hanging on.Is this what it comes down to? I wondered. Running until my heart just