Tangled by the Lycan King's reign

Leo stood at the entrance of his apartment. A well-constructed bungalow situated in the eastern part of the city of Nelsedom. The city that was never silent. Its streets were always alive—car horns, streetlights, laughter, and music from late-night lounges. Somewhere in the eastern part of the city stood a tall white building with glass windows that caught the morning sun. On the top floor lived Leo Elsie, the city’s most admired artist. At thirty, Leo had everything a man could ask for. A beautiful house. His own gallery. Wealth. Influence. Fame. His paintings were bold, different, and emotional. People said Leo had the kind of gift that only came once in a generation. But Leo was not loud. He didn’t like the spotlight much. He preferred the quiet. Soft jazz, black coffee, and long evenings alone with his brush. That was Leo’s world. He was the only son of the Elsie family. Firstborn, with two younger sisters who had long been married off to families outside their home territory. They rarely visited anymore. Leo’s mother had died when he was a boy, and his father, Mr. Elsie had moved the family from Chrisden Hollow to the deep woods near Shadow Pack territory. Leo never liked the place. It was too dark. Too strange. At twenty, he left and swore he’d never return. That morning started like any other. Leo stood in his corridor, bare feet on the cold tiled floor, his brush dancing across the surface. He was working on something new—something big. A painting of a forgotten forest, thick with mist, and a pair of glowing eyes watching from the dark. It felt personal, though he couldn’t say why. Then the knock came. Three heavy raps. Leo didn’t move right away. Only a few people ever came to his place without calling. He walked to the door, opened it, and froze. Two men in long grey cloaks stood there. Their faces were hard. Eyes like stone. One held a sealed letter. The other held a small black box. “Leo Elsie?” the taller one asked. “Yes.” “I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said, handing him the box. “Your father has passed.” Leo didn’t speak. The other man stepped forward with the letter. “This is from the Council. You are now King of the Lycan Castle. We’ve come to take you home.” Leo stared at them like they were mad. King? What nonsense was that? “I haven’t spoken to my father in twelve years,” Leo said. “There must be a mistake.” “There’s no mistake,” the taller one said. “You are the first son." Your father is dead. The throne is yours now.” They left him there, stunned, holding the box and the letter. Leo didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t eat either. He sat on the floor of his living room, staring at the box. Inside it was a ring. Heavy silver, with an ancient symbol carved into its face—a wolf’s head split by the moon. The mark of the royal bloodline. He thought about his father. A strong, cold man. A Lycan warrior who’d risen fast among the Shadow Pack. He always said Leo was too soft. Too weak. “You have your mother’s heart,” he used to say. “That will get you killed in our world.” Leo had never shifted. He didn’t even know if he could. He looked human. Lived human. Felt human. Maybe he wasn’t strong enough. Maybe that’s why his father kept him at a distance. But now the man was gone. And the whole kingdom expected Leo to return and lead. Two days later, he packed his bags and left Nelsedom. He didn’t tell anyone. Not his friends. Not the press. Not even Morgana, the woman who had been warming his bed for the past year. She would ask questions. She would demand answers he didn’t have. He drove himself along long highways, through small towns, past Chrisden Hollow—the place his family once called home. Memories rose, uninvited. The smell of pine trees. His mother’s soft voice. His father’s roar echoed through the forest when the wolves trained at night. By dusk, he had reached the edge of Shadow Pack territory. He parked outside a tall, rusted gate. Two guards stood there, armed and alert. They stared at him, then saw the ring in his hand. Their eyes widened. “Open the gate,” one said. “The King has arrived.” The Lycan Castle sat on high ground, surrounded by wild trees and deep ravines. It was older than Leo remembered. Stone walls covered in moss. Sharp towers that looked like claws scratching the sky. Inside, the halls were cold. The people are colder. They didn’t smile. They didn’t kneel. They just watched him—curious, doubtful, silent. At the far end of the great hall stood Elder Mira. Tall. Regal. Her long silver hair tied behind her head. Her eyes are sharp as a blade. “You look like your mother,” she said. “But you carry your father’s scent.” Leo didn’t know what to say. "You have a lot to learn," she added. The pack is restless. The throne is not just a seat. It is a war.” That night, Leo slept in the royal chambers. The room was large, but it felt empty. Like a prison. The air was too still. The walls are too quiet. He missed his studio. His brushes. The noise of Nelsedom. He didn’t feel like a king. He felt like an imposter. In the days that followed, Leo met with the council. They explained the situation in full. His father’s death was sudden. Suspicious. Some said he was poisoned. Others believed the Shadow Pack leaders were involved. The court was split. Some welcomed Leo. Others rejected him. They called him a city boy. A soft hand. A weakling. Then came the voice. “You cannot rule without a queen,” Elder Mira said. It is tradition. It is law. Leo blinked. “What does that mean?” “It means you must choose. Before the next full moon. Or you will lose your throne.” And just like that, Leo’s quiet life was shattered. One morning, a familiar voice echoed through the castle gates. Loud. Smooth. Dangerous. “Tell your king his woman is here!” Leo rushed down, heart pounding. There she was. Morgana. In a tight black dress, red lipstick, and a wicked smile. She walked in like she owned the place. “You left without saying goodbye,” she said, stepping close. “I missed you.” Behind her stood two servants carrying her luggage. “I’m not alone,” she whispered. “I brought something.” She leaned close, her breath warm against his ear. “I’m carrying your child.” And with that, the castle shook again. Whispers spread like wildfire. Some welcomed Morgana. Some doubted her claim. But the law was clear—if she carried the king’s child, she had a right to the crown. Then, days later, Christy arrived. Elegant. Poised. Dressed in white. She didn’t say much. She didn’t beg. She didn’t fight. But when Leo saw her, his heart stopped. She was everything the castle lacked—grace, peace, and truth. Now, the king stood in the center of a storm. Two women. One throne. And a deadline that could cost him everything. If Leo dares to play with this opportunity, he will lose the throne, his father’s wealth, his life and the two beautiful ladies around him.