THE KING'S MIDDAY CURSE

SHOCKING DETAILS

Lala walked to the King's chambers and found the royal cook standing by the door, holding a tray of food by the door. It was 11:40 AM. Instantly, the terrifying incident from the previous day replayed in her mind. She shivered, a drop of tear escaping her eye. Taking the tray as instructed, she walked into the room.

"Your Majesty," she whispered, offering a low curtsy.

"Lala," the King replied. He sounded genuinely excited to see her. "Sit. Do you want to eat with me? Or would you rather watch me eat?"

The unexpected question threw Lala completely off balance. Not knowing how to respond, she remained standing and lowered her head.

"You're so quiet. Don't you have a voice of your own?" The King chuckled softly. "I just promoted you to the position of my exclusive maid. Do you know what that means? It means you're no longer a regular palace servant. You have more power now. Your only obligation in this palace is to serve me every afternoon. You know that, right?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Lala replied, finally daring to look up.

Staring into his eyes, she realized he was indeed as remarkably handsome as the kingdom described. But the clock was ticking. The moment the hands hit 11:50 AM, the King abruptly dismissed her. Lala hurried out, practically running as the haunting memory of his midday transformation flashed through her mind.

As she walked the corridors, the palace workers stared openly, whispering strange names behind her back. Some even gossiped that she had kept the King's bed warm the previous night. Lala was too emotionally exhausted to care about the rumors. Her mind was fixed on one thing, escape. She decided it was best to run away from the palace altogether. After all, she had taken this job voluntarily, she was a free worker, not a slave.

Back in her quarters, she paced around, tears spilling over her cheeks from time to time. "What exactly have I gotten myself into?" she thought wildly. "Are you sure it was not my vision deceiving me? Did I really see the King turn into a wolf? Is he even human?"

Lost in thoughts, she didn't realize the sun had already begun to set. A movement outside drew her to the window, and she spotted the King heading out for his evening walk. Through her window, he looked more handsome than ever, dressed in a bright purple robe and boots that seemed to sparkle with an imposing aura.

Turning away, Lala laid down and closed her eyes. A small wave of relief washed over her. If she were still a regular maid, she would be breaking her back over laundry or scrubbing floors right now. Instead, her new title allowed her to just lie down in her room for the rest of the day.

Outside, the King strolled through the courtyard, accompanied by his royal guards. On the path, he crossed tracks with his brother.

"Your Majesty," Arthur said, bowing deeply.

"Arthur," the King replied dryly.

"You were feeling unwell yesterday. How do you feel today? Much better?" Arthur asked, his eyes scanning his brother's face.

"I am very well, thank you," Damian replied smoothly, stepping past him to continue his stroll.

"Your Majesty, please wait," Arthur called out, stopping him the King.

King Damian turned around slowly.

"I have something important to tell you," Arthur said, closing the distance between them. "I brought a matter of great concern to your table yesterday, but I wasn't properly attended to. I'm afraid I still have a few things to say to you regarding that issue."

The King went silent, clearing his throat heavily. After a tense pause, he looked at his guards and then back at his brother.

"Gather all the Ministers for an impromptu meeting," the King commanded. "Every single minister must be present."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Arthur stated, a sharp glint in his eye. "I'll send the message across immediately. We will all be gathered shortly."

The Ministers had all gathered in the grand hall, each taking turns to pledge their allegiance to the King. Seated directly beside King Damian was his stepmother, Queen Camara, Arthur's mother. As the meeting commenced, she stole wicked glances at the King from time to time.

"Your Majesty, the villagers are in deep sorrow," one of the ministers began, breaking the silence. "The matter at hand has affected every single person in the entire kingdom. People are arguing that it is the work of the gods, and that they need to be appeased."

The assembly consisted of twenty-four ministers in total. They sat facing each other along a massive table, twelve ministers positioned on each side.

"The gods need appeasement? I see," the King murmured dryly.

"Yes, your Majesty," another minister interjected. "What he has said is indeed full of wisdom. The kingdom suffers from a great calamity because the gods have been neglected."

King Damian turned his head slowly toward his stepmother. "Mother, what do you suggest? Do you think there is any iota of truth in what they are saying?"

"What I think," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Is that you should get married. The King of this kingdom needs a wife , or does he not?"

The King's eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a verbal reply.

"Yes, your Majesty! The Queen is absolutely right," another minister cut in, eager to please her. "I think the gods would be appeased if the King finally takes a wife."

With that comment, side talks broke out all across the room. The quiet chatter quickly escalated into loud, chaotic murmurs. In their excitement, the officials seemed to completely forget that they were standing in the supreme presence of their monarch.

"Quiet!" the King screamed.

His command was totally ignored. The ministers kept talking over him, completely absorbed in their own debates. Watching the chaos unfold was Arthur. He wasn't just the King's brother, he was also the Minister of Defense, sitting right in the middle of the gathering. He kept his eyes fixed closely on the King’s tightening expression.

"I said, quiet!" the King roared.

This time, the sheer force of his voice caused most of the ministers to keep their mouths shut, though a few stubborn ones at the back continued to mutter.

"Everyone, quiet," his stepmother spoke up. Her tone was completely calm, yet the entire assembly instantly fell dead silent at her word.

King Damian looked over at the Queen and caught the wicked, triumphant smile slipping across her face. He tightened his jaw, shrugged off the insult, and cleared his throat heavily to regain control.

"Ministers, I understand your concerns, but that does not answer my question," the King stated, defending his position. "My question is simple ; why exactly is the kingdom in a state of unrest and tension? And why did the Minister of Defense come into my private chambers yesterday with a massive stack of papers?"

Arthur lowered his head as the heavy weight of twenty-four pairs of eyes shifted directly onto him. He didn’t say a word, refusing to look up.

"We are dismissed. Everyone, please leave," King Damian announced abruptly.

Before a single minister could even gather their robes to stand, the King turned on his heel and walked away, his heavy boots echoing sharply against the floor. He needed air. He needed to escape the suffocating walls of the council chamber and his stepmother's stares.

He retreated to his private royal garden. Spotting a colourful butterfly resting near a petal, Damian extended a finger. The delicate creature hopped onto his skin, its vibrant wings fluttering gently against his touch. For a fleeting moment, the harsh lines on the King’s face softened. He let out a rare, genuine smile, watching the butterfly for a few quiet seconds before letting it fly free into the open sky.

As the creature disappeared from sight, the fragile peace shattered, and the ghosts of Damian's past came rushing back.

His mind travelled back twenty years into the darkness of his childhood, back to the chaotic days following his father’s sudden death. Damian had succeeded the throne at a tender age. A boy king surrounded by wolves in human clothing, he would have been devoured instantly if not for the fierce, unyielding protection of his birth mother. She had been his shield, his advisor, and his only true ally in a court built on betrayal.

But three years ago, that shield was permanently broken. She died, leaving him entirely alone.

Ever since her passing, a profound, crushing loneliness had settled deep into his bones. There were countless nights when the silence in his massive bedchamber was so deafening that he had seriously considered taking a wife. He didn't care about political alliances or the problems of the kingdom,he simply craved a soul to talk to during those long, isolated midnights. He wanted someone to hold, someone to share the heavy burden of the crown with.

But fear always struck the idea down before it could take place.

How could he ever take a queen? How could he possibly expose his true self to a wife? The monstrous part of him that manifested every single day, the curse that no living soul had ever witnessed, until Lala accidentally stumbled into his chambers. Shaking his head bitterly, Damian closed his eyes tightly. No, a wife was a luxury he could never afford. He would remain a bachelor king, protecting his secret at all costs.

The thoughts of his marriage naturally dragged up the painful, unresolved memories of how his mother had died. It had happened so suddenly. One evening she went to sleep, and the next morning she simply never woke up. The palace physicians had searched , but they found absolutely no traces of poison, no wounds, and no evidence of murder.

The council ministers had aggressively pushed for an autopsy to be carried out, demanding to know what had killed the Queen Mother. But Damian had shut them down. The mere thought of an autopsy made his stomach turn, it meant his mother’s beautiful, royal body would be cut open and torn into separate parts by cold metal blades. He couldn't bear the thought of desecrating her remains. Wanting her to rest in dignity, he had ordered that she be buried peacefully, leaving the cause of her death a permanent mystery.

The tragic irony was that his nightmare began on that exact same day.

The terrifying curse of turning into a wolf every midday had started the very afternoon his mother was laid in the ground. For three agonizing years, King Damian had lived a double life of deep sorrow, immense physical pain, and psychological torture, terrified of the clock striking twelve.

A single, heavy tear escaped his eye. Catching himself, he wiped it away instantly with the back of his hand, his expression hardening .

"I am not a weak king," he murmured into the empty air, his voice fierce and determined.

Suddenly, a sharp, urge took hold of his mind. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts anymore. He wanted to see his exclusive maid. He needed Lala. He needed the one person who knew his darkness, the only one who didn't look at him with political ambition or calculated malice.

Without wasting another second, he called for his personal guard and gave a strict order to summon her to his quarters immediately.

Deep within the servant quarters, the summons hit Lala like a physical blow. The moment the royal guard delivered the message, her blood ran cold and a familiar terror gripped her chest. She didn't want to go back to that room. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run, to flee through the palace gates and never look back.

But a royal summons was a command, not a request.

With trembling knees and an unwilling heart, Lala slowly walked down the long corridors leading toward the King's private chambers.

Each step felt heavier than the last. When she finally reached the doors, her breath caught in her throat. She knocked, her hand shaking so violently that her knuckles rattled against the wood.

"Come in," the King's reply came from inside.