A Maid for the Lycan King

CHAPTER 3

—Henry—

An enemy in the dark is one thing.

An enemy who moves like a wind in the shadow is another.

I held my sword firmly and waited for them to attack again—they always attacked first.

Suddenly, a swoosh sounded behind me. I turned in the direction and parried, kicking the enemy in the belly, and he was lost to the darkness again.

I waited patiently.

The only sounds I could hear were my slow and steady breaths.

Lifting my sword, I waited for the next attack, and it came sooner than expected, but there were four at once.

My blade met the first opponent’s. A flick of my wrist sent him stumbling, and a brutal kick to his groin finished him. He crumpled onto the cold floor.

The second and third came together.

One from the left. One behind me.

I pivoted.

In seconds, both crashed to the ground behind me.

The fourth was smarter than the rest. He disappeared and melted into the darkness. I resisted the urge to use my lycanthropic sight to pierce the darkness. If I did, his would be over.

Taking a steadying breath, I held my sword tighter and listened closely.

Something always gave them away.

Then I heard it—a single drop of sweat on the floor to my right.

I moved in one swift motion just as he emerged from the shadows. My blade whistled through the air, knocking his weapon aside. He barely had time to react before my fist slammed into his jaw.

His cry was the loudest, before he dropped to his knees, defeated.

The lights came on and applause rang through the air

“Way to go, Your Majesty!” the voice of my valet echoed across the theater.

Effortlessly, I sheathed my sword and straightened my stance.

“Hello, Joshua.”

He descended the stairs of the auditorium. “Once again, you’ve proved how formidable you are in battle.”

My gaze drifted to the men before me.

Their wounds knitted together— the one whose jaw had shattered moments ago gritted his teeth as the bone cracked back into place with a sickening pop. Another wiped at his face where my blade had sliced across his cheek, only to find smooth skin beneath his fingers.

They were strong. But not strong enough.

“You have to do better next time,” I breathed. “All of you.”

The men lowered their heads in shame.

“You hesitate when you should strike. You overextend when you should hold your ground. Had I been your true enemy tonight, you would be dead.”

Silence settled in the room. They knew I was right.

The men lurched to their feet, and bowed as Joshua draped a tunic over my shoulders.

“Your Majesty, dinner is ready,” my valet announced.

I stepped away from the stage, my boots echoing as I made my way out of the theater.

The sky outside was now a blanket of stars.

Glancing one last time at the theater—a towering fortress built by my great-grandfather for the training of royals and high lords—I turned and climbed into my carriage.

Joshua joined me, and the footman gently shut the door.

“Any other news from the castle?” I asked.

“Everything is ready for your coronation. The council has finalized the guest list, and the lords have pledged their attendance.”

I scoffed and gazed across the window as the convoy veered toward the streets. “Why am I not excited about the coronation?” I asked, glancing at Joshua.

Joshua didn't answer immediately. He folded his hands in his lap, his gaze lowered.

“Perhaps because you are already His Majesty, King Henry II of Britanor, by the Grace of the Gods, Sovereign of the Realm, Defender of the Crown, Protector of the Faith, and Lord of the Seven Provinces. The coronation is merely a spectacle for the people—a formality. If you wished, you could cancel it.”

A faint smile touched my lips. “You have a way around words, don’t you, Joshua?”

He inclined his head, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“It is my duty to anticipate Your Majesty’s thoughts before you voice them.”

“Then tell me, Joshua, if I were to cancel the coronation, would that make me a reckless king or a practical one?”

“That depends, My Lord. Are you avoiding unnecessary pomp, or are you avoiding something else entirely?” he asked.

The smile shriveled from my lips, my hands clenching as I gazed out the window.

As a child, I’d always wished to be like every other boy out there in the world, not a prince, not a royal—just Henry.

Just Henry that could walk down the streets without dozens of guards following. A Henry that could pick my own fruits and play with other kids without the game being ruled to my favor—but six months ago, my world tilted on its axis when my father passed on after a brief illness.

And thus, the weight of the kingdom had rested on my shoulders.

I watched the city blur past my window—at the lanterns lighting up the streets.

Seconds later, we pulled up in the palace and a familiar voice called.

“Henry!!”

I turned to my sister running toward me with the biggest smile on her lips.

She jumped into my arms, and I caught her, twirling us round, before lowering her on her feet again.

“How are you, Rosalind?”

She stepped back and curtsied. “I’m good, brother. Did I tell you? Tonight, we’re having roasted duck with honey glaze and spiced potatoes!”

I faked a groan and rubbed my temple. “That’s your favorite meal. Not mine.”

She was already linking her arm with mine, practically tugging me up the stairs. “You barely eat these days so I took it upon myself to choose something worth sitting down for.”

“Speaking of wonderful things,” she drawled. “Have you seen the Great Hall yet? It’s ready for the coronation! The banners have arrived from the weavers and the chandeliers have been polished until they sparkle like diamonds. I heard the musicians practicing all day. It’s going to be magnificent, Henry.”

Her excitement was almost infectious. Almost.

I hummed in response, keeping my gaze ahead as we crossed the entrance hall. She didn't notice my silence, too caught up in her own delight.

“Henry!” a familiar voice called as we walked into the dining hall.

My mother.

Dowager Queen Eleanor

She approached and pulled me into her arms.

“Come. Dinner is ready.”

We sat down around the table as the servants attended to us, the clinking of plates and aroma of food filling the air.

“How was training today?” Mother asked.

I met her gaze. “It was fine.”

She nodded. “That’s good, Henry. A strong king commands respect. But strength is not the only thing you need.”

I exhaled slowly, already sensing the direction of the conversation. “What else do I need?”

“Wisdom. Diplomacy, and a queen,” she muttered, smoothly taking a sip of her drink.

“We’ve discussed this,” I spat.

“Not enough, Henry,” she interjected. The coronation is in a fortnight. It would be wise to ascend the throne with a wife by your side. A king without a queen invites speculation. Your father and I were married before his coronation. It brought unity to the realm.”

I gasped. “Is it my fault that I'm yet to find my mate?”

“You are twenty-eight, Henry. You cannot keep waiting for your fated mate. What if you never find her? That’s why the Gods give us the chance to choose. I have a list of candidates for you— ladies of noble standing, women who would bring strength to your reign.”

I scoffed. “I’m not interested in that.”

Rosalind cleared her throat, sensing the tension. “Well, if Henry’s going to choose a wife, I suggest someone who can tolerate his brooding.”

I sent her a dry look, but she merely grinned and sipped her drink.

A guard walked to my mother. He whispered something to her and she left.

“Excuse me,” Mother said and hurried away too.

Rosalind and I ate in the silence.

But curiosity gnawed at my fingers.

I excused myself from the room and saw them on the grand terrace—not my mother and the guard anymore.

She stood with one of Britanor’s naval captains.

“What of their king?” Eleanor asked. “Did you carry out my orders?”

He bobbed his head.“Umudike stands desolate, my Queen. King Ikechukww is no more and his people captured as slaves—men, women, children.”

“And the golds and diamonds?”

“All have been transported to the royal bank.”

“Good.” Eleanor smiled, overtly pleased. “Henry must never learn of these raids. He believes our kingdom thrives on diplomacy.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The captain bowed. “Official report will only mention the acquisition of new trade routes... nothing else.”

My heart pounded.

A raid?

Men, women, CHILDREN, captured as slaves?

“How long has this been going on?” I thundered.

Both of them flung around. My mother's face was of pure mortification as she saw me.

“Henry?”

“How long?”

“Sire,” the captain stuttered. “It’s not what you think. I-I can explain—”

Before he could finish, I grabbed him by the neck and hauled him across the courtyard, then turned to my mother again.

My limbs elongated. My head reshaping and adjusting.

The cracking sounds of bones filled the air as my spine stretched too, my clothes shredding into pieces as my ribcage expanded.

A deep guttural sound tore through my throat. When I glanced at a window pane, my reflection was of a massive lycanthrope.

My mother’s breath hitched. “No, Henry.”

She grabbed her gown and staggered backward. “Listen to me, son. You are king. A king does not let his emotions rule him! He rules them!”

I approached her regardless, dragging my nails across the walls.

“Henry?” Rosalind’s voice broke through the chaos.

I looked over my shoulder and saw her standing there, eyes wide with fear.

No. I was every bit the monster my mother was.

I bolted toward the fence... my limbs connecting effortlessly with the stone walls, and I landed in the forest beyond.

I wanted to stop, but I couldn't.

An ache pushed my heart.

The fact I was the king whose army raided a poor village.

I cleared a log in my path and howled to the moon. Then moved again.

Something pulled at me. Not rage. Not instinct. Something deeper... quiet, insistent.

The forest opened before me, dark and welcoming.

Just as I leapt over a narrow stream, I heard it— the cry of a maiden.

I slowed and my head snapped in the direction. I don’t know why—but a wave of fury swept through me.

Snarling, I bolted in the direction and found myself in the city, sprinting across rooftops until I saw them.

A group of morons kicking a maiden sprawled on the floor.

It wasn't until I howled again that they saw me.

Lightning streaked across the dark sky.

The lowlifes— they began to whimper and scurried away. Of course, they recognized me.

Two effortless leaps and I would be on them— but my attention shifted to the maiden.

She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen— she was dressed in akwaete wrapper that stopped at her knees, her skin deep brown, like polished mahogany.

She had large almond eyes, a delicate nose, and plump lips. Her hair was a crown of raven-black coils adorned with scattered coral beads.

Blood trickled from her nose.

She gathered herself off the floor and gazed at me with a defiant stare.

Then she swayed.

I moved instantly and caught her before she hit the floor.