The Lycan Slave Princess

CHAPTER 3: Raw Pains

Alpha Valrik returned that morning from his trip. The first light of dawn stretched across the pack grounds as his horse halted, and he dismounted. Luna Seraphine quickly approached, a smile on her lips, with Prince Darius beside her, his gaze distant yet following her.

“My Alpha,” Luna Seraphine inclined her head.

“Welcome back, Father,” Darius added.

Alpha Valrik nodded briefly.

Beta Bane, who had returned with him, stepped forward and bowed. “Greetings, my Luna.”

Alpha Valrik observed the unusual gathering of pack members, his eyes briefly lingering on the crowd before returning to Luna Seraphine. “What is happening here?” he asked calmly.

Luna paused briefly, then quickly composed herself. “It’s nothing to worry about, my Alpha. A maid overstepped and disrespected this house’s authority. I felt it was necessary to discipline her before such behaviour spreads.”

Alpha Valrik studied her silently. His gaze then moved past her to the centre of the grounds, where Freya was bound, his expression tightening slightly. He turned to Beta Bane. “Release the maid.”

Luna Seraphine clenched her fists at his command, a hint of tension flashing in her eyes before vanishing, replaced by a calm smile.

“As you wish, my Alpha,” Beta Bane replied.

Alpha Valrik turned, and Luna followed beside him as they walked towards the hall. Prince Darius followed them. Only the sound of their footsteps filled the hall.

Then Luna spoke. “How was your trip to the Bloodmoon Pack?”

Alpha Valrik glanced at her briefly before answering. “The Moon Blessing Ceremony of Prince Ragnar went well, the pack stands strong, and they sent their regards.”

Luna inclined her head slightly.

Alpha Valrik’s gaze shifted to Darius, who had remained unusually quiet. “Are you alright, son?” he asked, his voice softening slightly. “You seem distant.”

Darius straightened, pulling himself back from his thoughts. “I am fine, Father,” he replied. But his voice lacked its usual certainty.

And Alpha Valrik noticed.

Beta Bane walked towards Freya and gestured to the guards.

“Untie her.”

The guards moved quickly, loosening the ropes that held her against the post. The moment the restraints were removed, her body collapsed forward weakly. One of the guards caught her before she hit the ground.

“She’s unconscious,” another muttered.

“Carry her to the maids’ quarters,” Beta Bane ordered. “And you send for the healer. Now.”

“Yes, Beta.”

The guards carefully lifted Freya, her body limp and cold, her back stained with blood, and they carried her away from the punishment grounds.

Elira released a slow breath she had not realised she was holding and quickly followed, worry etched across her face.

Not far away, Neriah stood watching. Her gaze lingered on Freya’s motionless form, her expression dark and unreadable. There was no pity in her eyes, only resentment. A faint scoff escaped her lips. “She should have died.”

Her gaze remained fixed on Freya. Then her lips curved slightly as she turned away. “This is just the beginning… Stay away from Prince Darius, or next time, you won’t survive it.”

When the guards reached the maids’ quarters, they pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was quiet and dimly lit, with a few maids watching nervously from a distance.

“Which bed is hers?” one of the guards asked.

Elira stepped forward quickly and pointed. “Over there.”

They carried Freya across the room and laid her gently on the bed. Freya lay unmoving, her breathing faint and uneven, her body barely responding to the world around her.

The guards turned and left.

Elira moved closer immediately, her hands trembling slightly as she stood beside her.

***

The guard hurried through the stone arches of the outer palace courtyard, going to the healer's cottage. He knocked twice against the wooden door before opening it.

Inside, an elderly woman looked up from a stone mortar where she was crushing roots. She set the pestle down calmly. "Must you disturb the neighbours so loudly?"

The guard smiled. "You are needed in the maids' quarters, Saria," the guard panted, catching his breath. "Bring wolfsbane salve."

Saria’s eyes narrowed slightly, her hands pausing over her workbench. "Wolfsbane salve? Who on earth did the Luna punish this time?"

"Freya," the guard replied, his voice dropping slightly. "Twenty lashes."

A heavy sigh escaped the healer as she grabbed a wooden leather-strapped satchel from the wall and began sweeping glass vials into it. "Twenty lashes on a young girl... Madness," she muttered under her breath, slinging the strap over her shoulder. "Lead the way then.”

Not long after, the healer arrived. She wasted no time. “Help me turn her,” the healer said.

Elira nodded and carefully assisted her. Together, they gently turned Freya onto her stomach so her back faced upward.

As her torn clothing shifted, the full extent of her injuries was revealed. Deep lashes stretched across her back, some shallow, others cutting deep into her skin.

Elira froze, her breath catching before she quickly turned her face away, unable to bear the sight.

The healer took a pair of scissors and carefully cut away the remaining fabric. Freya’s body flinched faintly.

The healer worked in silence, cleaning the wounds gently. Once done, she applied crushed herbs to each injury, pressing them gently but firmly into the cuts. She then covered the wounds with gauze, securing everything in place.

When she finished, the healer lit a small incense beside the bed. A soft, calming scent filled the room. “This will help her sleep and ease the pain,” she said.

“Thank you so much,” Elira said as she turned her gaze to Freya.

The healer handed a small portion of the herbal mixture to Elira. “When she wakes, give her this.”

Elira nodded quickly. “Thank you.”

The healer gave one last glance at Freya before leaving the room.

Silence settled once more. Elira slowly sat beside the bed, her eyes fixed on Freya’s pale face. “You didn’t deserve this…” she whispered, her voice barely steady as she looked away. “You were only trying to do your duty.”

Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

***

The wooden doors of the Golden Fang Tavern banged open as men flooded in, along with off-duty guards. The air inside was filled with the scent of roasted meat, spilt ale, and heavy pipe smoke.

Behind the long timber bar, Master Gerald, a broad, scarred wolf who had owned the tavern for nearly thirty years, wiped down a mug with a rag.

"Twenty lashes!" a blacksmith slammed his tankard onto the table, leaning across to his companions. "And with a wolfsbane-coated whip, no less! I heard it myself from one of the courtyard guards."

"Twenty?" a young hunter chimed in, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "For a maidservant? Standard pack law is seven for women. Even a full guardsman only takes fifteen before he's allowed to pass out!"

Gerald slammed a heavy mug of dark ale down in front of the hunter, causing the liquid to slosh over the brim. "Standard pack law applies when Alpha Valrik is holding the whip, lad," Gerald grunted, his deep voice loud through their conversation. "When the Luna takes the grounds, the rules tend to bend."

"They say the girl tried to seduce Prince Darius," the hunter murmured, casting a cautious glance towards the tavern entrance. "The Luna called it treason against the royal house."

"Seduce the Prince? Pah!" Gerald scoffed, tossing his rag over a thick shoulder and leaning heavily against the counter. "I knew her mother—Lyanna Vale, before she was executed. Freya has her mother’s eyes. She wouldn't harm a fly, let alone plot to crawl into the Prince's bed."

"Lyanna Vale's daughter?" the blacksmith gasped. "Ah... well, that explains everything. The Luna’s had a grudge against that bloodline for years."

Gerald grunted solemnly, turning to polish another glass. "Aye. Grudge or not, twenty strikes of wolfsbane will rot a wolf's blood from the inside out. If that poor girl wakes up from this... it’ll be a bloody miracle.”

***

Prince Darius walked into his chamber, his expression dark. The door closed behind him with a thud.

He stood still for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Guard,” he called.

The door opened almost immediately, and a guard stepped in, bowing slightly.

“Yes, My Prince?”

“Send for Neriah,” Darius said.

“At once.” The guard bowed again before leaving swiftly.

Neriah was in the kitchen when the guard arrived.

The space was alive with activity, the scent of simmering broth filling the air as maids moved about their duties.

She stood near a long wooden table, carefully arranging utensils when the guard arrived. All eyes turned to him.

“Your presence is required,” the guard announced, looking at Neriah.

Neriah looked up slowly. “By whom?” she asked.

“Prince Darius.”

For a moment, something flickered in her eyes, surprise, followed by something sharper. Then it was gone.

She wiped her hands neatly on a cloth. “I will be there shortly,” she said.

The guard gave a short nod before leaving.

Neriah remained still for a moment, a faint smile forming on her lips. Then she turned and walked out of the kitchen.