All Chapters of The Lycan King's Plump Obsession: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

MarenThe stairs descended three floors deep, and with each flight, the air grew twenty degrees hotter. By the time we finally reached the bottom, sweat poured down my spine and soaked through my dress.The servant woman pulled open the door, and a wave of thick, humid air washed over me, carrying with it the pungent reek of lye. It seared the back of my throat, making me cough. The laundry was a cavernous room filled with vats as large as carts, steaming with boiling water. Women moved slowly around the room, stirring the vats and hauling dripping linen from one tub to the next. Decades of work in this oppressive heat had etched deep lines into their faces and bent their backs. Not one of them turned to look at us as we entered."Forty years," the servant woman muttered angrily, shoving me ahead of her. "Forty years I've spent down here, boiling other people's filth out of other people's sheets. Forty years of aching back, creaking knees, hands raw and blistered. They pay me pennies

MarenTwo of the women nearby finished loading their baskets and straightened up, brushing the sweat from their brows. One of them said something I didn't catch and the other laughed. Then they both came over."Well, well," the shorter one said with a cruel grin. "What's a cow like you doing down in the depths?"They both cackled at this, eyeing me up and down. I could feel my cheeks burn as I tried to look away, but there was nowhere to hide. The taller, wiry one stepped closer, her calloused fingers pinching at the fabric of my dress."Did someone make a mistake? Breeding stock is supposed to go upstairs, not down here.""She was a tribute?" The shorter one's face split open with delight. "Her?"They dissolved into sputtering giggles, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat.The taller one wiped tears from her eyes. "It's almost funny. You think the King wants a lard sack under him? He likes them tight and sexy, not a blob of lard."

RonanBy the second morning the ritual had worn itself smooth. A thing turned into procedure, and the weariness of that.I stood by the shuttered window of my study. Rhett was to my left, unhurried as ever. In the centre of the room the eight of them stood in a line, shoulders hunched, heads ducked, bare feet on the cold stone.Marrow flanked them, her thin mouth pressed into a line. "Majesty," she said, and pushed the first one forward.I took her jaw and turned her head and breathed her in at the throat. Trough soap. Fear sweat. Wet wool. Nothing underneath any of it.I let go. Marrow pushed the next.The first three were slight and spindly, cowed, flinching before I had touched them. The fourth wept openly the entire time and I had to hold her still to get near enough. The two after that were stronger, better fed, and held their heads up as though bearing might save them. It did not. They smelled the same as the rest.I went down the line and found nothing in any of them.Sixteen g

RonanI clicked my tongue in anger. A pull in my chest jerked me closer to her. I wanted to close the remaining distance, to find her scent buried beneath the harsh chemical stench of lye. It was there, waiting, and the lye's presence made my anger spike. The fact that she'd been put through this made me want to tear someone limb from limb.But she was fat. I recoiled, disgust twisting my mouth.DO SOMETHING! The beast roared in my head.I shook, the tremor visible. The beast lunged, desperate to spill free, to do something, anything. I gritted my teeth and shoved it back down, forcing it to submit.She stared at me, eyes wide. "Are you okay, Majesty?"I looked at her. Her soft, round face. Those warm brown eyes, like dark honey. The gentle lilt of her voice, reminding me of a long-forgotten embrace.The beast went quiet, retreating.I found myself nodding."Do you want to punish them?"Her eyes widened in surprise. "What?"I sighed. "Do you want to punish them for doing this to you?"

MarenServants carried in platters, the first thick with crimson slices of roasted venison, a carver resting on its side. Another held a golden-skinned capon, its breast split open to reveal the moist cavity.Shifting colours from the hearth played over the gleaming fowl as it was placed on the table at the far end, with a bowl of gravy beside it.I sat with my bandaged hands carefully folded in my lap. At the head of the table, the King's chair stood empty. I tried not to look at it, but my eyes kept drifting back to the carved wood, the crimson cushion. My chest tightened, breath shortening.I stared down at my hands, fighting the urge to glance up again at the empty chair.The servants continued their steady stream, platter after platter. Round trenchers of steaming bread, bowls of fruit. The air was thickening with the scent of roasted meat, bread, fruit. My mouth began to water. I swallowed, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.Only then did I realise I hadn't eaten a prop