The Lycan King's Affection

Chapter 3

CAMILLE'S POV

still didn't understand why I walked back to the dining room like nothing had happened. My eyes were probably still red, and I could still taste vomit on my tongue. But no one would notice. I was a ghost in this house.

"Eva and I have sorted things out," I told my stepmother, Adele.

She nodded, seemingly satisfied.

I stared at my plate, debating whether to eat. My stomach churned, and my anger boiled. Eva and Hector were still missing. Were they still locked in each other's embrace?

Hector arrived soon after, his smile as bright as the sun. It twisted my stomach further. I gulped down a glass of water to keep the bile at bay.

"Eva is settled now," he said, as if I hadn't already reported that.

I clenched the glass so tightly it might have shattered. "Camille already told us," Adele said smoothly, cutting off Hector's attempt at small talk.

His gaze flicked to me, a flash of guilt in his eyes. "You were upstairs?"

I nodded, unwilling to speak. My voice would betray me, cracking with emotion or spilling into tears. I stuffed food into my mouth instead, pretending everything was fine. Hector stared at me for a moment before taking his seat.

"This is good," he said, gesturing to the meal. "The Moon Goddess must truly love me if she paired me with you."

His words made me sick. If Eva was the one he wanted, he could've had her. He wasn't a nobody; as the Beta's son, he had the status to choose. Yet he kept his affair a secret, deceiving me. Why bother?

I wanted to end things right there and then. But instead, I forced a smile, chewing through my fury. I was weak.

"Hector," my father, Alpha Lucian, interrupted, "we received word from the Lycan Kingdom. King Dimitri Galdina will arrive in two days."

Hector nodded. "We'll be ready, Alpha."

I didn't know much about werewolf-Lycan politics, but Lycans and werewolves hated each other. The idea of a Lycan king visiting us felt strange. My curiosity piqued, I stopped eating and listened.

"How are the pheasants we're breeding?" Father asked. "They're the key to making a good impression."

"They're thriving," Hector assured him.

"The servants are keeping a close watch.

They'll be ready."

"Good," Father said. Adele chimed in,

"Camille, dear, maybe you should stay out of the kitchen when the Lycans arrive."

nodded. "Of course."

After dinner, Father praised the meal and suggested I visit the pack clinic. I nodded again, knowing I wouldn't. Blood and herbs weren't my thing.

As the men left, I exhaled in relief, the tension in the room dissipating. I cleared the plates, an ingrained habit from growing up with the Gallaghers. But Adele's sharp voice stopped me.

"Drop it, Camille," she snapped. "Let the servants do their job. Trying so hard to be noticed is pathetic."

"I just wanted to help-" I began, but she cut me off.

"Pathetic and disgusting," she spat. "You don't need to try so hard. If you're anything like your grandmother, you'll have every werewolf groveling at your feet soon enough."

Her words stung, but I refused to let them break me. "I'm not trying to win anyone's affection, Mother."

Camille, Adele scoffed. "I am not your mother. The b***h is dead."

Her words cut deep, but I refused to let them break me. Tears welled up, threatening to spill over, but I blinked them back. "I'm simply finding my place in this pack."

"Well, goodluck with that." Adele sneered with just as much venom.

It would probably be satisfying to go down and dirty with her just like she wanted. But I wasn't going to do that. I decided that I was going to be the bigger person.

"If you'll excuse me, I need some fresh air."

Stepping away, I found solace outside of the house. The Dumont family home could be one big house but it didn't feel like a home. Which said somety if the air outside the house felt fresher.

The The morning held a quiet beauty that was a stark contrast to the turmoil within the mansion.

As I wandered, I found myself at the back of the house. There I found the pheasants that father had mentioned.

Looking at those birds from outsise the pen was like stumbling onto a secret garden. Their feathers were all over the plac. Like, seriously, every color you could think of was on those things. I didn't even know birds could be so fancy. There were browns, reds, blues, and who knows what else.

They kept strutting around like they were on some kind of runway too.

There was this constant soft chatter too, like they were having a meeting or something. It felt like being in the middle of a bird conference. And the way they occasionally flapped their wings made it seem like they were dreaming of breaking free. I could relate to that feeling.

It was just a bunch of wild, beautiful chaos. The kind of thing you'd never expect to bump into in the backyard.

Then, as if on cue, the servants approached with a bag in their hand that looked a lot like bird feed. I figured it was probably for the pheasants' daily feeding.

Seeing an opportunity to distract myself, I walked up to them and asked, "Are you going to feed the pheasants?"

They were nervous. Their hesitant nods were almost comical, like they were caught off guard. "Yes, Lady Camille," one of them managed to stammer.

"Well, why don't i give you a hand?" I offered, expecting some resistance.

To my surprise, they exchanged glances and then reluctantly handed me the bird feed. "Feeding the pheasants is crucial to the Alpha," one of them explained, as if that justified their initial hesitation.

With a subtle smile, I replied, "I know you're prepping the birds for the Lycan king. I'll make sure to take extra care of them."

They still seemed uneasy, but they let me Make charge. Dragging the bird feed to the pen, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment.

It was a small victory, but in that moment, amidst the vibrant chaos of those pheasants, it felt like a step towards finding my place in this unfamiliar world.

***

Later that Afternoon, as I stepped into the kitchen to prepare lunch, I noticed a strange tension. The servants whispered, casting furtive glances my way.

"What's going on?" I asked one of them.

The girl avoided my gaze. "It's nothing, Miss Camille."

Another servant muttered, "They're dead."

"What's dead?" I demanded.

"The pheasants," she blurted out. "All of them."

A chill ran down my spine. The dead pheasants meant trouble, and I knew exactly where the blame would fall. I hurried to the pen, my heart pounding.

The sight that greeted me was haunting-lifeless bodies scattered across the ground. The air was heavy with the smell of death. This wasn't an accident; it felt deliberate.

The servants' accusing looks now made sense. I was the last one to feed the birds. As an outsider in this pack, I already walked a fine line, and this only widened the chasm between me and the others.

"Did you kill the pheasants, Camille?" Hector's voice cut through the silence. His gaze bore into mine, filled with accusation.

"No!" I snapped. "Why would I do that?"

Maybe it's revenge," he said coldly. "You've been trying to find your place in the pack. What better way to disrupt things than sabotaging something crucial to Alpha Lucian?"

Anger flared. Before I could stop myself, I slapped him. "I don't answer to cheaters," I said, my voice trembling with fury. "And I didn't do it."

The tension between us was palpable when my father arrived. His stern voice cut through the air. "The servants said you fed them last."

"Father, I didn't poison the birds," I pleaded, desperation in my voice.

He didn't look convinced. "The Lycan king's visit is crucial for our pack's standing. You think I know why the f**k Lycans, our natural enemies seek us out?

We are hoping whatever it is King Dimitri is visiting us for, we'll stay on his good side. If you are responsible for this.

Camille, it not only endangers us but you dishenor your father and it doesn't matter whose daughter you are, you will be punished."

"I would never jeopardize the pack or my father's position," I insisted, my voice tinged with desperation. "You have to believe me."

"I do not," Father declared with an unwavering gaze.

"Take her to her room," Father ordered, his voice cutting through the charged air and a guard, seemingly materializing from the shadows walked towards me.

"Miss Camille, follow me."

I did not fight. I did not argue. There was no point in doing that. So I let the guard escort me away.

A surge of nausea overwhelmed me when we reached the door of my room and I couldn't contain the bile rising in my throat.

Before I could rush to the bathroom, it spilied out. All of it.

Vomiting on the carpet of my room, I felt a sudden weakness as reality crashed around me.

The guard, maintaining an emotionless facade, called for another servant to attend to me.

When the servant arrived with the tools to scrub my vomit out of the nice Persian carpet, the servant locked the door behind us while the guard stayed outside.

The servant who arrived promptly and immediately got to work, eyed me with a mix of pity and duty.

"Are you alright, Lady Camille?" she asked, concern etched on her face as she began to clean the mess.

am," I replied. "I'm not sure why I keep getting nauseated."

The servant paused, glancing up at me with a knowing expression. "Lady Camille, forgive me for prying, but have you seen your period recently?"

The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, my mind raced. Now that she mentioned it, I couldn't recall the last time I had. Panic flickered in my eyes, but quickly composed myself.

"Oh, I am not pregnant. it's just stress and everything going on," I explained, attempting to dismiss the concern. "I'm sure it's nothing. Just a little under the weather."

The servant nodded, but her gaze held a subtle skepticism. "If you say so, Lady Camille. Should I fetch some tea for you?"

I agreed, hoping that a warm beverage would both soothe my nerves and provide a plausible reason for my discomfort.

When the servant left to prepare the tea, I couldn't shake the growing sense of unease. Dead pheasants. Now this. I had not seen my period, and the implications of that hit me like a sudden storm. Panic tightened its grip on my chest.

Could it be possible? The only encounter I had was that one-night stand with a stranger. My mind raced, connecting the dots with dread.

I was pregnant with a stranger's baby.