Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 115

Natasha's POV

Fergus started toward the door, clearly considering the conversation over.

But I couldn't let it end like this. Not with so much uncertainty. So much danger.

"Wait," I said. My voice came out smaller than I'd intended. "My Lord, please. I—I'm not sure I can do this. I don't even know where to start. What if I fail?"

Fergus paused. His hand on the door handle. He didn't turn around.

"What if I make things worse?" I continued desperately. "What if being near him triggers something? What if he hurts me again? Or kills me?"

"Then you die," Fergus said flatly. "And we move on to the next attempt. The next theory. The next desperate hope."

The casual way he said it—like my life meant nothing—sent a chill through me.

But then he turned. Looked at me with something that might have been... consideration.

"However," he said slowly, "I understand that asking someone to walk willingly into a beast's den requires... motivation beyond simple survival."

He moved back toward me. Leaned against his desk.

"So let me make you an offer. If you succeed—if you manage to restore Mordred's sanity—I will grant you certain privileges."

I looked up warily. "What kind of privileges?"

"You'll no longer have to perform regular slave duties," Fergus said. "No kitchen work. No cleaning. No serving other Lycans. Your sole responsibility will be attending to the King."

He crossed his arms. "You'll receive better food. Better clothing. More freedom to move about the fortress. And—" He paused. "—I'll ensure you're protected. From other Lycans who might try to... use you."

It wasn't freedom. It was still slavery. But it was better than what I had now.

"And," Fergus continued, "I'll grant you one request now. One favor. Within reason."

"One request?" I echoed.

"Yes. Ask for something. And if it's within my power to grant—and doesn't involve releasing you—I will. Consider it... payment. For the enormous risk you're taking."

My mind raced. One request. But not my freedom.

*What else is there? What could actually help us?*

"Can I think about it?" I asked.

Fergus considered this. Then nodded. "Fair enough. The offer stands indefinitely. When you decide what you want, come to me. If it's reasonable, I'll grant it."

"Thank you, my Lord," I said quietly.

"Don't thank me yet," he replied. "You still have to survive long enough to use it."

He moved back to his desk. Began writing something on parchment.

"In the meantime, I'm going to make your task easier. Starting immediately, you'll have unrestricted access to the King's Den. No guards will stop you. No one will question your presence there."

He continued writing. "This is your pass. It bears my seal and signature. Show it to any guard who challenges you, and they'll let you through."

"Thank you," I said again.

He finished the document. Set it aside to dry.

"I'm also going to have you moved," he continued. "You and your sister. To better quarters. Closer to the King's Den."

I looked up sharply. "Better quarters?"

"Yes. The slave barracks are too far away. If you're going to be spending significant time with Mordred, you need to be nearby. Ready to respond if he... calls for you."

He pulled out another sheet of parchment. Began writing again.

"There are two small chambers near the corridor that leads to the forbidden wing. They were originally guest rooms but haven't been used in years."

He met my eyes. "They're not luxurious. But they're private. Secure. And significantly better than where you're staying now."

"Two chambers?" I asked. Hope flaring. "One for me and one for—"

"For your sister," Fergus finished. "Yes. I assumed you'd want her close. For comfort. Or safety. Or whatever reason siblings cling to each other."

His tone was dismissive, but the gesture itself was... kind. In its own way.

"Thank you, my Lord," I said. This time with genuine gratitude. "That means more than you know."

"Don't get too comfortable," Fergus warned. "This arrangement lasts only as long as you're useful. If you fail—if you give up or prove unable to help—you'll be moved back to the barracks. Possibly worse. Understood?"

"Understood."

I hesitated. Then decided to push my luck. "My Lord, about that request you mentioned. The favor you'd grant if I succeed."

"Yes?"

"Could I... could I make part of it now? A smaller part?"

Fergus raised an eyebrow. "Explain."

I took a deep breath. This was dangerous. But I had to try.

"You haven't sent any female slaves to Mordred recently, have you?"

"No," Fergus agreed.

"So if I succeed—if I can restore his sanity enough that he's... functional again—then you won't need to send women to die anymore. Right?"

"In theory," Fergus said slowly. "If Mordred regains control. Becomes rational. Then yes, the senseless killing would stop forever."

I met his eyes. "But if I fail. If he stays feral. You'll eventually have to start sending women again. Won't you? Because the beast still needs... that. Sex. Blood. Whatever it craves."

Fergus's jaw tightened. "Where are you going with this?"

"My request," I said. My voice steady despite my fear. "If I fail—if I can't restore Mordred and you have to go back to sending women to him—I want you to promise that you'll never send my sister. No matter what happens. Davelina will never be one of those women."

Silence fell over the room.

Fergus stared at me. Something flickered in his ice-blue eyes. Surprise? Respect?

"That's what you want?" he asked quietly. "Protection for your sister specifically?"

"Yes." I didn't look away. "Even if I die trying. Even if Mordred kills me tomorrow. Even if I fail completely. Promise me that Davelina will never be sent to him again."

Fergus was quiet for a long moment. Thinking. Calculating.

Then he nodded slowly. "That, I can agree to."

Relief flooded through me so intensely I felt dizzy. "Really?"

"Really." He turned back to his desk. Picked up a fresh sheet of parchment. "I'll put it in writing. Make it official. Your sister will be permanently exempt from being sent to the King's Den. Regardless of what happens to you."

He began writing. His handwriting surprisingly elegant.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Save your thanks for when you've actually accomplished something," Fergus said without looking up.

He finished writing. Signed the document with a flourish. Held it up to dry the ink.

He set down the document. Started on a third piece of parchment.