The Lycan King's Exiled True Mate

Thor

into a suite of rooms so opulent they made the throne hall look modest. Dark, polished wood, rich velvet curtains, and a fireplace large enough

e. Then he disappeared into what I assumed was a bathing chamber,

y situation. A grand feast was laid out on a long table-roasted meats, fruits, cheeses, and wine-but my stomach was a tight knot of fear. It had been over a d

bath. Instead, a different man entered from the main hallway. He was tall and lean, with sharp, observant grey eyes and an air of lethal

o curiosity in his gaze, only a cold, clinical assessment, as if he were inspecti

mething out. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto

nd wet, stained the pristine white fur. The claws were long and sharp. My bre

eyes. "The fate of a traitor. The King asked

at happens to those who displease the King. The image of the slaughtered warriors of my p

ch and pulled out a hunk of dark bread and a piece of greasy, cooked me

ntempt, the way one would speak to a dog. "Eat. The King does

ging into my palms so hard I was surprised I didn't draw blood. To be treated like this

rful force. I needed to survive. I needed strength.

the bread and the meat from the floor. I didn't look at him. I just stared at the intricate patterns of the rug as I brought the food to my mouth and began t

isked a glance up, I saw a smirk of pure derision on his face. He watched me for another moment, as if confir

ft th

d, replaced by an icy dread that seeped into my bones. My eyes were drawn to the severed paw lying on

master of psychological torture, a monster who

e darkest corner of the room. I retreated to a large, velvet sofa, curling

und of the w

my ribs. It's time. The real ordeal was about to begin. I stared at the do

less. The Beta's warning, the severed paw, the guards stationed at e

calm into my racing heart. Survival. That was all that

dle on the bedchambe

my body screaming, poised like a