Bride Of The Cruel Lycan

An inconvenience

JULIETTE

I pry open my crusty eyes and instantly shut them again as sharp brightness burns through my eyelids. A low groan escapes my throat as I turn my head to the side, feeling something cold and stiff press against my skin. My head feels heavy, like it’s filled with sand. Slowly, I take a small breath and try again, forcing my eyes open, this time more carefully.

The light still stings, but after a few seconds, my vision starts to clear. The ceiling above me is white, spotless, almost too bright. My gaze drifts around, taking in the rest of the room. Everything is white and pristine, from the sheets to the curtains, even the walls. A faint smell of disinfectant lingers in the air, sharp and clean. It takes me only a few moments to realize where I am.

A hospital.

My heart gives a weak thud as I glance around in confusion. How did I end up here?

I try to move my hand, but a tug stops me. I look down and see a thin tube connected to my wrist, attached to a drip machine beside the bed. My fingers twitch against the blanket. My throat feels dry, and my body aches like I’ve been trampled over.

I push myself up slightly, wincing as pain shoots down my side, and that’s when everything comes rushing back to me.

The forest. The sound of my own scream. The bear.

I can almost smell the damp earth again, feel the cold mud clutching at my legs. My heart starts pounding faster, and my breathing grows uneven. I remember the way its eyes glowed in the shadows, how close it was. The certainty that I was going to die.

And then… him.

That man. I didn’t even see his face clearly, just a flash of movement, the way he stepped between me and the bear without hesitation. The growl, the roar, the struggle—it’s all a blur. I only remember the sharp pain in my chest, the rush of fear, and then… darkness.

If he hadn’t come when he did, I wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened.

A quiet click pulls me out of my thoughts. My attention shifts to the door as it opens, and a man in a white coat steps inside. He looks to be in his early forties, with a kind smile and glasses that slide down his nose every few seconds.

“You’re finally awake,” he says, his tone light and relieved.

I lick my dry lips. “How long was I unconscious?”

He adjusts his glasses with his index finger before replying. “A little over twenty-four hours. You passed out from the shock. Thankfully, you didn’t sustain any serious injuries. Some bruising, a few scrapes, but nothing major. You’re very lucky.”

Lucky. The word sits oddly on my tongue.

The doctor continues, glancing down at the chart in his hand. “We’ve already contacted the palace. A car has been sent to pick you up, and I’ll get your discharge papers ready. You’ll be free to leave as soon as you sign them.”

I nod weakly, trying to process his words. Then, before I can stop myself, I ask the question I already know the answer to. “Was… my husband here?”

The doctor hesitates, a tired smile pulling at his lips—one that’s more polite than warm. “No. But that’s probably because he was assured that your condition wasn’t critical. The Queen Regent who brought you was here for a while and only just left.”

I nod slowly, swallowing the lump that rises in my throat. I shouldn’t feel disappointed. It’s foolish. I know what kind of marriage I’m in—cold, distant, bound by duty, not affection. Still, some part of me, some foolish, stubborn part, keeps hoping that one day, maybe, things might be different. That maybe Kaelan will look at me and see more than a burden or a mistake.

But hope has always been a dangerous thing.

Once the doctor leaves, I take a moment to steady myself before getting dressed. My body still feels sore, but I manage to move without much pain. The nurse helps me with the papers, and within a short while, I’m standing outside. Just as the doctor said, a sleek black car is waiting. The driver opens the door for me, and I step inside.

The ride back to the palace is quiet. The hum of the engine fills the silence as the world passes by through the window. My thoughts spin restlessly, replaying the moment in the forest again and again—the way that man stepped in and saved me. Who was he? Why was he there?

The car slows as we approach the palace gates, and the tall, familiar structure looms ahead. The guards bow as we pass. When we finally stop, the driver gets out to open my door.

Queen Madeline is already waiting at the entrance. Her usually composed face softens when she sees me, and before I can say anything, she pulls me into a hug. For a moment, I freeze, stunned. Then, slowly, I let myself melt into it.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt a touch that wasn’t cold or distant. Her arms are warm, her embrace firm. It makes something inside me ache—a part of me that’s been starved for affection.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she says softly, pulling back to study my face. “You must have been terrified.”

“I’m fine,” I whisper, even though the lie tastes bitter.

She gives a faint smile and squeezes my hand. “You should rest. I’ve already arranged for food to be brought to your room. You need to regain your strength.”

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it.

As I walk down the hallway toward my chambers, my heartbeat quickens. I’m hoping with everything in me that Kaelan won’t be there. He rarely is. But the thought of seeing him still ties a knot in my chest.

When I open the door, I stop in my tracks.

Kaelan is there.

He’s pacing the room, his movements sharp and restless. His dark hair falls slightly into his eyes, and his jaw is tight. The air shifts the moment he senses me. His head snaps up, and his gaze locks on mine.

For a heartbeat, the world goes still.

His expression is unreadable—no relief, no warmth, no trace of emotion at all. Just that same cool, detached stare I’ve come to know too well.

“You’re awake,” he says finally, his tone flat, his voice carrying not a single note of concern.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “No thanks to you.”

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile that never reaches his eyes. “You should quit being such an attention seeker,” he says quietly.

For a moment, I can’t even breathe. “What?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walks toward his wheelchair and sits down, then rolls himself toward the door—his movements calm, almost too composed. The sound of the wheels moving across the floor is the only thing filling the silence between us.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, sharp, and so painfully indifferent that it makes my stomach twist. “Next time,” he says, pausing at the door, “try not to die. It’s inconvenient.”

And then he’s gone.

The door closes behind him with a soft click, but it feels louder than any shout.

I stand there, staring at the empty space he left behind, the echo of his words ringing in my head. My chest feels heavy, but beneath the ache, something else stirs—something I can’t name yet.

Anger. Hurt. Maybe both.

Because no matter how hard I try to stop caring… he still finds new ways to break me.