Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Kings Forbidden Mate: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

The royal palace smelled of blood and power.Caelan Ashford knew the moment he stepped inside that he did not belong here.The grand entrance hall rose around him like the throat of some ancient beast. Black marble veined with silver. Walls draped in tapestries of lycan kings mid-slaughter, their fangs buried in the throats of their enemies. Torches burned in iron sconces, their flames casting shadows across the polished floor. The air was thick with incense, iron, and the sharp, oppressive musk of dominant wolves.Alphas.Too many of them.Omegas like him were not invited to the Lycan King’s court.They were sent here to be used or to disappear.Caelan kept his head bowed, hands clasped tightly behind his back to hide the faint tremor in his fingers. Around his throat sat the collar, cold and unyielding.Silver.It pressed against his skin like a quiet threat.Not pure silver. It never could be. Pure silver would have burned through flesh and bone in seconds. This one was lined on th

Morning came in shades of gray.No sunlight reached the lower east wing. Only the dull glow of sconces that never seemed to dim or brighten. Caelan woke to the sound of a key turning in the lock and sat up immediately, every muscle coiled.The same beta from the night before entered, carrying a tray. Bread, cheese, a cup of thin broth. Nothing extravagant. Nothing poisoned, as far as he could tell.“Eat quickly,” the beta said. “You are summoned to the training yard at the ninth bell. Dress in the provided garments.”He set the tray on the small table and left without waiting for a reply. The door locked again.Caelan stared at the food for a long moment before forcing himself to eat. He needed strength, even if every bite tasted like ash.Beside the tray lay folded clothes: loose black trousers, a fitted gray tunic without sleeves, soft leather boots. No collar of rank. No insignia. Just enough to mark him as tribute, not servant, not noble.He changed quickly, folding his old clothe

The palace corridors were different after midnight.Silent except for the distant drip of water somewhere deep in the stone. Torchlight flickered low, casting long, wavering shadows that seemed to follow Caelan as he walked. No guards escorted him this time. Rowan had simply appeared at his door shortly before the hour, unlocked it without a word, and pointed down the hall.“East tower. Top floor. Don’t get lost.”Then he had vanished back into the darkness.Caelan moved carefully, bare feet silent on cold marble. He wore the same roughspun shirt and trousers from the lower halls. No one had given him anything finer. The silver collar still sat heavy at his throat, a constant weight he could not ignore.He climbed spiral stairs that narrowed with every turn until he reached a small landing. A single iron door stood ajar, faint firelight spilling through the gap.He paused, hand hovering over the latch.The bond hummed louder here, a vibration in his blood that made his skin prickle an

Lucien did not knock.The door to the healing quarters flew open with enough force to crack the frame. Voss, who had been cleaning his tools at the far table, spun around. His face paled when he saw the king’s expression: eyes fully silver, pupils dilated to black points, chest heaving as though he had run the length of the palace.“Your Majesty,” Voss began, bowing low.Lucien ignored him.His gaze locked on Caelan, who still sat shirtless on the examination table. The broken collar pieces lay wrapped on a side tray. The air in the room was thick with the new, unfiltered scent: night jasmine laced with royal pine and the metallic edge of old bloodlines. It hit Lucien like a physical wave, sinking into his lungs, igniting every nerve.Caelan slid off the table and stood. He did not bow. He did not lower his eyes. The suppression gone, something in his posture had shifted, subtle but unmistakable. Less prey. More equal.Lucien crossed the room in four strides.Voss stepped forward inst

The emergency council session was called for first light.Caelan stood in the center of the royal audience chamber, flanked by Lucien’s personal guards. The silver armbands on their arms gleamed under the rising sun that streamed through tall arched windows. He wore simple dark clothing provided overnight.. no finery, no crown, but the absence of the collar made him feel exposed in an entirely new way.The scent of royal blood still lingered around him, softer now but impossible to ignore. Every noble seated along the long crescent table caught it. Some wrinkled their noses in distaste. Others leaned forward, eyes sharp with calculation.Lucien occupied the throne at the head of the chamber. He looked every inch the ruthless king: black velvet trimmed in silver, hair tied back severely, storm-gray eyes cold and unreadable. Yet Caelan could feel the bond humming between them, tight with barely leashed fury.Rowan sat to the king’s right, one leg crossed casually over the other, green e