The Lycan Slave Princess

CHAPTER 4: Buried Secret.

Neriah arrived at Prince Darius’s chamber. The guards at the door stepped aside immediately, pulling the doors open for her. She entered quietly, with confidence.

Inside, Prince Darius sat on a chair, a book resting in his hands. His gaze moved steadily across the pages.

Neriah stopped a few steps away and lowered her head. “My Prince.”

Darius did not answer. The only sound in the room was the faint turning of a page... then silence. Slowly, he closed the book and placed it on the table beside him before lifting his gaze to her.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice calm but edged with quiet authority, “did you have me reported to my mother... because you were jealous?”

Neriah’s breath hitched for a moment. But she quickly recovered. “No, my Prince,” she replied softly.

A brief silence followed. Then Darius stood. He walked toward her slowly. “I hate it,” he said in a low voice, “when I am being lied to.”

Neriah forced herself to remain still, her hands steady at her sides. “I am not lying, my Prince,” she said firmly. “I am telling you the truth.”

He stopped in front of her without saying anything. His gaze studied her closely. Then his hand lifted. His fingers brushed her cheek slowly, almost gently tracing her skin. “Then prove it,” he murmured.

Neriah’s lips parted slightly, her breath unsteady.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the chamber. The space between them had narrowed to nothing, just the heat of shared breath and the unspoken agreement that passed between their eyes.

Darius's hand remained against her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a deliberation that spoke of control barely held. Neriah did not flinch. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her lips parting in silent invitation.

"Prove it," he had commanded, and she intended to.

She began unlacing the front of her dress, her movements unhurried, her gaze never leaving his. She wanted him to watch. She wanted him to see exactly what he was taking, and what she was willingly giving.

Darius's expression remained composed, but she saw the subtle shift-the darkening of his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw. When she stood before him in only the dim firelight, skin bare and breath steady, she reached for his hand and placed it against her collarbone.

"Touch me," she whispered, "I know you want me badly."

His restraint broke. He pulled her against him with a sudden force, his mouth finding hers in a kiss. Neriah melted into it, her arms winding around his neck, her fingers tangling in the dark hair at his nape. She walked backward until the edge of his bed met the back of her knees.

They tumbled together onto the furs, a tangle of limbs and hands. Darius rose above her, his shirt already half-unfastened, and she helped him strip it away, her palms sliding over the hard planes of his chest, the heat of his skin.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

Neriah obeyed, her eyes locking onto his as he positioned himself between her thighs. There was no hesitation, only the slow, deliberate joining of their bodies that made her gasp, her back arching off the mattress, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He moved, each thrust measured, deep, intended to unravel her piece by piece. Neriah met him eagerly, her hips rising to meet his, her soft moans filling the silence of the chamber.

The fire crackled, throwing golden light. Sweat slicked their skin as the rhythm built, faster now, less controlled. Darius's composure cracked further with every sound she made, every desperate clutch of her hands against his back. He gripped her hip, tilting her angle, driving deeper until her cries broke into something incoherent, her head falling back against the pillows.

"Say it," he demanded, his breath hot against her throat.

"Your w***e," she breathed. "Only yours."

His pace became relentless, the bedframe creaking beneath them. Neriah felt the pleasure building like a storm, coiling tight and unbearable in her core. When it broke over her, she cried out, her body tightening around him.

He followed her over the edge moments later, his body going rigid above hers, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat as he spent himself within her. For a heartbeat, he collapsed against her, his face buried in the curve of her neck, their hearts hammering a frantic duet against each other's chests.

Neriah lay beside him, her breathing still uneven, her hand reaching tentatively to trace the line of his shoulder. Before her fingers could make contact, Darius sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Without looking at her, he reached for his discarded shirt and pulled it on.

"My Prince," she began, her voice soft.

"Don't." He cut her off. He stood, adjusting his collar. "Don't speak as if this were something."

Neriah pushed herself up on one elbow, the sheet clutched to her chest. "I thought—"

"You thought?" He laughed then, a low, humourless sound that made her flinch. "You thought what, Neriah? That spreading your legs would make you special? That I would look at you differently than any other convenient body?"

He turned finally, and his eyes were ice. "You are a servant who happens to have a pleasing shape. Nothing more. I used you. That is the beginning and end of this."

Her lips parted, colour draining from her face. "But you touched me like-"

"Like what?" He moved closer, leaning down to grip her chin between his fingers-not gently this time, but with a pressure that bruised. "Like you mattered? Like you were someone worth cherishing?" His lip curled. "You are a maid. You serve. And you just served a purpose. Do not mistake utility for affection."

He released her with a roughness that snapped her head back.

"Get dressed," he said, turning away again. "And do not linger. The scent of your ambition sickens me."

Neriah's hands trembled as she reached for her clothes, her eyes burning with humiliation she refused to let fall. She dressed quickly, fumbling with laces, her pride in tatters around her feet.

At the door, she paused, looking back once.

Darius had already poured himself wine, his back to her.

"You may leave," he said without turning. "And Neriah, if you ever think to enter my chamber uninvited again, I will have the guards throw you out. Do you understand?"

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "Yes, my Prince."

"Good." He raised his glass, still not looking at her. "Close the door on your way out. The draft is irritating."

And as Neriah walked the empty corridors back to the servants' quarters, she held back her tears.

***

The hall fell into silence as Alpha Valrik took his seat upon the throne. Beside him stood Luna Seraphine. Not far from them, Beta Bane stood.

Alpha Valrik leaned slightly against the throne, his gaze sweeping across the hall before settling forward. “Summon the pack,” he ordered. “There will be an announcement.”

Beta Bane bowed immediately. “As you command, my Alpha.” He turned and left.

The pack gathered beneath the open sky.

A wide circle formed across the grounds as warriors, elders, and servants stood together.

Murmurs echoed low, until they slowly faded into silence.

Alpha Valrik stepped forward, ascending the raised stone platform at the centre. Behind him stood Luna Seraphine and Prince Darius.

Every eye turned toward him.

“In two moons’ time,” Alpha Valrik said, his loud voice heard in the crowd, “we will gather as one. We will hold the Harvest Feast. It has been long since this pack stood together, not in war… not in discipline… but in unity.”

He stepped forward slightly. “The coming season will test our strength. But before that… we will come together in celebration. A feast, prepared for all. All you need to do is be present. It does not matter if you are a maid… or a warrior.”

“Then, on that night, the harvest will be shared. The fires will burn. And every member of this pack will stand beneath the moon… equal in its light.”

A ripple of quiet murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Prepare yourselves.” His voice dropped slightly. “Because when that moon rises… I expect unity. You are dismissed.”

The pack dispersed, conversations rising again in low, cautious tones.

***

The market bustled under the afternoon sun. Voices overlapped, traders calling out, fabrics rustling, baskets shifting. Near a fruit stall, two women leaned close.

“Did you hear what the Alpha said?” one asked.

“The Harvest Feast?” the other replied. “Of course. Everyone has heard.”

“It’s been so long…” the first woman murmured. “Maybe things will change.”

The second woman hesitated. “Maybe,” she said carefully. Then, in a lower tone, “but as long as the Luna remains the same…”

The first woman leaned closer. “She is cruel,” she whispered. “What happened to that maid—”

“Stop,” the other woman hissed, gripping her arm. “You are speaking too loudly.” She glanced around.

Then, she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “The walls have ears.”

“Give it back!” A cry cut through the market.

Two children struggled over a doll.

“It’s mine!”

“No! You dropped it!”

They tugged at it fiercely, each refusing to let go.

“It’s mine!”

“It’s mine!” The doll stretched between them.

“Enough!” A woman stepped in, separating their hands.

The other woman crouched, taking the doll gently. “Is this what you fight over?” she said, shaking her head. “This is not how you behave.”

One child pouted. “She won’t give it back.”

“It’s mine,” the other insisted.

The women exchanged a look. “Then share it,” one said firmly, placing the doll between them. “Or neither of you will have it.”

The children hesitated. Slowly… their grip loosened. “Now go,” she said. “Play nicely.”

Reluctantly, they walked off together, still holding onto the doll. The women watched them go.

“This pack…” one murmured.

“Yes,” the other replied softly. “Let’s hope the Alpha is right.”

***

In the maids’ quarters, the soft light of afternoon filtered through the small window. On the bed, Freya stirred. Her fingers twitched slightly before her eyes slowly opened. A faint groan escaped her lips as the dull ache in her body returned, spreading across her back in waves. She blinked weakly, adjusting to the light.

At that moment, the door creaked open.

Elira stepped inside, having just returned from her duties. Her eyes immediately moved toward the bed, and the moment she saw Freya awake, she was relieved.

“Freya…” she quickly walked over. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly, sitting beside her.

Freya shifted slightly, wincing before settling again. “A little better,” she replied weakly.

Elira nodded, her expression softening. “That’s good.”

She reached for a small container placed nearby. “The healer said you should take this when you wake,” Elira added, handing it to her.

Freya took it slowly and drank. The moment the taste hit her tongue, her face tightened slightly. “It’s… bitter,” she muttered.

Elira couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Of course it is,” she said with a small smile. “Medicine is never sweet.”

Freya managed a faint, tired smile in return.

Elira adjusted the cloth over her gently. “Rest, you need your strength.”

Freya nodded weakly.

“I’ll go to the kitchen and get you something to eat,” Elira added, standing up. She gave Freya one last reassuring look before turning and heading toward the door.

The room fell quiet again as Freya closed her eyes, her breathing slow as she drifted back into rest.

***

Night had fallen over the pack, the sky stretched wide beneath. Only the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of night creatures filled the silence as Luna Seraphine walked slowly along the stone path outside the main hall.

“Lyanna.” The name lingered like a shadow she could not escape. A woman who reminded her of the sacrifice she made to be where she was today. Her gaze hardened slightly as she continued walking.

“What if Alpha Valrik finds out the truth?” she murmured under her breath. “No… I won’t let that happen. Seeing that lowly maid so much reminds me of her.”

The night air brushed against her skin as her royal blue gown flowed gently behind her. Then she stopped.

“Guard,” she called.

A guard stepped forward immediately and bowed. “My Luna.”

“Send for Neriah,” she ordered calmly.

“At once, my Luna.”

The guard bowed again and left. Minutes passed. Luna remained where she stood, her eyes fixed ahead, her thoughts distant. Soon, footsteps approached.

The guard returned, and beside him was Neriah. They stopped a short distance away.

Neriah bowed her head. “My Luna.”

Luna turned slowly to face her.