Lycan King's Shadow mate

The night was thick with silence, an unnatural stillness that sent a shiver down Caspian’s spine. He stood on the balcony of Valic’s grand palace, the chill in the air brushing against his skin. Torches along the walls flickered violently, their feeble flames casting erratic shadows against the stone. Something was wrong. He could feel it—an eerie tension pressing down on the castle, suffocating the air like an unseen force waiting to strike.

Behind him, Eldon emerged from the shadows, his expression grim. “Your Majesty,” he said in a low voice, “the eastern gate has gone silent. The guards haven’t reported back.”

Caspian exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. “Sound the alarm,” he ordered, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his bones. “Double the patrols. If anyone so much as breathes wrong, I want to know.”

Eldon bowed and turned to leave, but before he could take a step, a bloodcurdling scream tore through the corridors below. Then another.

A moment of suffocating stillness.

Then the night exploded into chaos.

The palace doors burst open with a violent crash as armed men stormed through, cutting down Caspian’s guards before they could raise their weapons. The clashing of steel rang through the halls, mingling with anguished cries. Caspian rushed down the stone steps, his heart pounding, as he watched his kingdom descend into slaughter. Soldiers collapsed, lifeless bodies piling upon one another as the assassins struck with brutal precision.

This was no mere raid. It was an execution.

A dark figure dropped from the rooftop, landing in a crouch before him. The glint of a dagger caught the torchlight, and Caspian barely managed to parry the first strike. Sparks flew as steel met steel, and he locked eyes with his assailant.

Drakar.

The assassin grinned, his eyes gleaming with savage delight. “Still standing, I see,” he mused, circling Caspian like a predator toying with its prey. “A king should know when to kneel.”

Caspian lunged, his blade aimed for Drakar’s throat, but the assassin was fast—inhumanly so. He dodged with ease, sidestepping Caspian’s attack before slashing his dagger across the king’s side. Pain flared hot and sharp, but Caspian gritted his teeth, refusing to falter.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he growled, ignoring the blood seeping through his tunic.

Drakar chuckled, feinting another strike. “You’re fighting a losing battle, Caspian. Your kingdom crumbles as we speak.”

As if on cue, another explosion of screams echoed through the palace walls. Caspian’s breath hitched, his mind racing. He had to get to Aeris.

But Drakar wasn’t finished.

The assassin lunged again, feinting left before slamming his dagger into Caspian’s ribs. A gasp escaped him as cold steel buried deep. His body stiffened, pain searing through his core. He staggered back, his vision swimming—but he refused to fall. He wouldn’t fall.

A slow, menacing voice drifted through the carnage.

“Step aside, Drakar.”

A shadow loomed at the entrance, its presence thick with malice. Caspian lifted his gaze, barely able to focus, but he knew that voice.

Veyron.

The true enemy had revealed himself.

Veyron stepped forward, his dark cloak billowing like a specter creeping through the remnants of battle. His piercing eyes gleamed with amusement as he surveyed the scene. “The mighty king of Valic, reduced to a bleeding man.” His lips curled into a smirk. “A pity. You were strong once.”

Caspian clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stand upright despite the agony ripping through him. “If you’re here to gloat, save your breath.”

Veyron tsked, feigning disappointment. “No, Caspian. I am here to reclaim what is mine. Your throne. Your kingdom. Your bloodline ends tonight.”

Soldiers flooded into the palace, overwhelming what little defense remained. Valic was falling—no, it had already fallen. The cries of his people filled the air, their last breaths stolen by the blades of Veyron’s army.

Caspian knew he was losing too much blood. His body was betraying him, his strength slipping like sand through his fingers. He had to fight. He had to—

“Caspian!”

Her voice.

Aeris.

His heart lurched as he turned, his vision blurring. She was running toward him, her face twisted in panic.

He tried to reach for her, to call out, but his knees buckled, and the world tilted.

Aeris dropped beside him, her hands pressing against his wound, desperate, trembling. “Stay with me,” she pleaded, her voice raw with fear. “Caspian, please—”

He tried to speak, to comfort her, but only blood coated his lips. His fingers found hers, weakly grasping onto the warmth he would never feel again. His vision darkened, the sounds of battle growing distant.

Through the haze, he saw Aeris lift her gaze to Veyron, her expression shifting from anguish to something colder. Deadlier.

Rage burned in her eyes. Vengeance.

Caspian forced a final breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “Live.”

Aeris bit back a sob, her grip tightening on him as if she could hold him here, tether him to life.

But it was too late.

His hand slipped from hers, his body falling still.

Aeris didn’t scream. She didn’t cry.

She looked up, blood smeared across her hands, her dress, her face. Her kingdom was burning, her husband slain, and her people massacred.

But she wasn’t dead.

And she would make them all pay.