Unexpected Royalty

Jessamine's P.O.V.

I peeled my shaking body off the thick rug. The suite was silent, save for the frantic pounding of my own heart against my ribs. Several hours crawled by in that massive, empty bedroom before I finally mustered the courage to move toward the adjoining bathroom. My heavy boots dragged across the floor as I grabbed my getaway bag—the only possession I had managed to keep when I was stolen from my pack.

I stepped onto the cold tile, stripped off my filthy, ruined garments, and turned the heavy brass tap on the massive marble shower. Steam immediately billowed into the chilling air. I stepped under the rushing spray, letting the scalding water cascade over my shivering frame. The heat worked against the tension coiled tight in my muscles. I grabbed a bar of rich, floral-scented soap and scrubbed the relentless nightmare off my skin. The rushing water darkened as it washed away the dirt, sweat, and dried blood of my old pack, swirling in a muddy vortex down the polished drain. The luxury of the steaming water felt foreign, a stark contrast to the brutal violence that brought me here.

Once my skin was rubbed raw and clean, the heat brought a thrum of life back to my bruised, injured arm. I stepped onto the plush bathmat and wrapped myself in a massive, fluffy towel. I dug slowly into my getaway bag. I brought out a pair of fresh, soft clothes—simple dark leggings and a thick woven sweater—and slipped them on. The clean, soft fabric settling against my skin did wonders for my frayed nerves. I took a deep, steadying breath. Gathering the last shreds of my courage, I decided it was time to test the boundaries of my captivity. I needed to learn my place in this nightmare.

I fully expected to find myself locked inside our shared bedroom. The King had slammed the doors shut, and human breeders did not normally get free rein to wander a Lycan fortress. I approached the heavy wooden door step by step. The bronze handle chilled my palm, feeling like a quiet warning to back away and submit to my cage. I braced myself to find the turning mechanism jammed or locked tight.

Instead, the handle twisted smoothly. I pushed the heavy door open and stopped dead in my tracks.

A towering Lycan guard stood right outside in the hall. His massive, broad back completely blocked the exit. He wore a crisp black suit that stretched tight across his immense shoulders. He was a giant, easily two heads taller than me, and could have easily passed for a mythical monster even in his human skin. I froze in place, my hands tightening around the coarse wool of my sweater, waiting for him to bark a command or shove me back into the gilded prison.

To my absolute astonishment, the giant heard the door hinge creak and turned toward me. He stepped aside in fluid motion, clearing a wide path for me to exit. Then, adjusting his suit jacket, he bent at the waist and offered a deep, respectful bow.

I stared at the top of his dark head. My jaw slackened. He straightened back to his full, towering height, sweeping his gaze down the grand corridor to ensure the path was clear.

I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, keeping my distance as I looked up at his stoic face. "Am I permitted to leave the room?"

The guard furrowed his brow in mild surprise. He looked almost confused by the question, as if the notion of keeping me locked away was absurd. He offered no verbal response, but gave a firm, deliberate nod.

He was not going to stop me. I stepped carefully out of the bedroom and began walking down the grand, vaulted hallway. The soft padding of my bare feet felt out of place against the polished marble floors. I was acutely aware of the silent giant shadowing my every step. He stayed just a few respectful paces behind me, his heavy, measured footsteps acting as a metronome to my racing pulse. Strangely enough, despite his daunting size, his quiet, formidable presence felt comforting.

I wandered through the sprawling fortress, admiring the way the mid-afternoon sun poured through tall, arched windows and danced across gold-detailed tapestries. I reached a landing where a winding marble staircase spiraled out of sight, connecting the massive wings of the castle. I paused at the top step. I had no idea whether to go up or down, or where any of these luxurious corridors led.

Footsteps approached from the lower level. A young maid hurried up the pristine white steps, carrying a bundle of fresh linens. She wore a neat uniform, her eyes cast downward. As soon as she reached the landing and spotted me standing there, she gasped softly. The linens shifted in her arms as she dropped into an immediate, elegant curtsy.

"Your Highness. May I help you find something?"

The royal title hit me like a physical blow. The air rushed out of my lungs.

My mind raced in a frantic loop, trying to comprehend the sheer impossibility of her greeting. The staff here had to be gravely misinformed. I was a hostage. I was a human breeder, selected merely to produce an heir and withstand a monster's bed. Did a chosen human breeder truly hold royal status in this domain until the King found his actual fated mate? Or were they planning to execute me the moment I outlived my use?

My ingrained omega instinct screamed at me to immediately bow my head in return, to show deep submission to any standing member of a Lycan household. My neck twitched with the urge to drop my chin to my chest. I shoved the urge down and locked my knees. If they thought I was meant to be their Queen, I resolved right then not to embarrass myself by acting like an abused runt. I would hold my head high and preserve my dignity until someone informed them of the grim reality.

I cleared my throat and offered a polite, strained smile. "No, thank you. I admit I am just lost."

The maid rose from her curtsy, a bright, welcoming smile spreading across her face. Given her youthful appearance, she would have undergone her first shift by now, which meant she could easily hear the frantic hammering of my heart echoing like a drum in the grand stairwell.

"Dinner shall be served soon," the maid suggested softly. "Perhaps you would like to join the King for dinner? He is working in his study, located right this way in the east wing."

A shiver of primal dread ran down my spine. The beast who had claimed me.

I glanced back over my shoulder at the giant guard. Bastian met my gaze calmly. He raised a single thick brow and gestured with a massive hand toward the hallway on our right, indicating I should proceed.

I did not want to face the King. I did not want to share a confined space with the male who had ripped me from my life. Yet, as I stared down the grand corridor, an inexplicable internal tug pulled me forward. It was a strange, undeniable magnetic force settling deep in my chest, demanding I seek him out for answers. Leaving me locked in that bedroom with nothing but a single, terrifying sentence was infuriating. It was time to look the monster in the eye.

I turned toward the east wing. The corridor widened, the natural sunlight fading into a brilliant glow radiating from a breathtaking stained-glass mural that stretched across the entire wall. I slowed my pace. My eyes traced the vibrant, mesmerizing pieces of colored glass. It depicted a stunning scene of the Moon Goddess. Her glowing silver hands reached down from the heavens, blessing a fierce pack of wolves. The glass showed their bodies transforming into the towering string of bipedal Lycan forms. The artist had captured an intricate sense of majesty. The beasts in the artwork were beautiful, bathed in holy light. They looked nothing like the terrifying, blood-drenched monster I had witnessed tearing up my pack lands.

I let out a slow, shaky breath and pulled my eyes away from the glittering glass. The internal tug grew stronger. The sensation felt like a phantom string tethered to my sternum, reeling me inevitably toward a set of heavy, dark double doors at the end of the hall.

I approached the study doors. My knuckles lifted, preparing to knock on the polished timber.

Before my skin could even graze the wood, the heavy doors were furiously yanked open from the inside.

I flinched back, startled by the sudden movement. A pale Fae witch stood in the doorway. She was the same strange, ethereal woman who had hunted me down and participated in my capture. Her pale eyes raked over my fresh clothes with an arrogant gleam.

She let out a dramatic, breathy sigh. "Good. Perhaps you can make him act reasonably."

She stepped out into the hallway, brushing right past my shoulder. As she walked by my giant guard, she reached out and stroked Bastian's broad chest suggestively. Bastian remained a wall of stone, staring straight ahead void of emotion, though a faint muscle feathered in his jaw.

Without giving me a chance to protest, the witch grabbed my shoulder and shoved me inside the room.

I stumbled forward onto a thick carpet. My pulse pounded frantically against my throat. The royal study smelled of dark parchment, aged bourbon, and a deep, musky scent of woodsmoke that blurred my senses. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with heavy leather-bound tomes.

Standing opposite the enormous hearth, beside an ornate timber desk, was King Kaelen.

He was in his human form. A fresh shockwave of panic tore through my system, heavily mixed with a strange, undeniable rush of heat. He possessed striking hazel eyes that caught the dim light of the study. His dark raven hair was styled back, a stark contrast to the untamed, bloody mess of his Lycan shape. High cheekbones framed a rugged, chiseled jaw that currently ticked with pure, unrestrained irritation.

He wore a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing thick bands of raw muscle gripping the edge of the wood. My breath hitched in my chest. He was every bit as intimidating in his human skin as he was in his beast form. The sheer lethality radiating from his frame suffocated the air in the room.

Beatrix stepped up right behind me, trapping me just inside the threshold.

"From the tension in this room, I take it you two haven't properly met yet," Beatrix teased loudly, her voice scraping against my nerves.

Kaelen’s head snapped up. His striking hazel eyes moved rapidly past me to glare directly at the witch.

A low, dangerous warning growl vibrated out of Kaelen's broad chest. It was a dark, rumbling sound that commanded silence.

Beatrix ignored his lethal warning. She stood her ground and leaned closer to my shoulder. "I need your name, dear."

The term of endearment sounded mocking. Standing in this grand, oppressive study, wedged between a powerful Fae witch and a furious Lycan King, I felt exactly like a cornered deer. I was nothing but prey.

I swallowed the lump of terror lodged in my throat. I kept my eyes locked on the King.

"Jessamine Farraday," I whispered into the suffocating silence.

Kaelen offered zero reaction to the sound of my name. The muscle in his jaw stopped ticking, his expression carving into stone. He broke our stare, his cold eyes pinning back down to the large sprawling map unrolled across his desk. He refused to look at me.

Beatrix purred with a chorus of loud, echoing laughter that bounced off the towering bookshelves.

"Jessamine, meet Kaelen Vander. Your mate."

The King's large hands clamped harder onto the edges of the timber desk. He did not look up. Instead, Kaelen let out a dark, threatening growl of pure annoyance that ruffled the heavy silence of the room.