Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 148

Fergus's POV

All the grief I'd been holding back, all the despair and rage and helplessness of the past seventy years, came flooding out in a rush.

I was moving before I even realized it, pushing through the stunned crowd, my vision blurred with tears. Gregor was doing the same, both of us converging on our King from opposite sides.

We reached him simultaneously and threw our arms around him, not caring about protocol or dignity or the fact that he was naked and we were supposed to be dignified Grand Lords. None of that mattered. Our King—our brother, our friend—had returned.

"My King," I choked out, my voice breaking. "You're back. You're actually back."

Gregor was openly weeping, his massive frame shaking with sobs. "Seventy years. Seventy years we've waited for this moment."

"Seventy years?" Mordred's voice was hoarse, confused. "What do you mean, seventy years?"

"Later," I said, my throat tight with emotion. "We'll explain everything later. For now, just... just let us have this moment."

"I know," Mordred said, his arms coming up to embrace us both. His voice was rough with emotion. "I can feel it. The time that's passed. It's like waking from a nightmare that lasted lifetimes."

Behind us, the crowd erupted.

Those who had supported Mordred—who had mourned him for decades, who had wept at the thought of his execution—surged forward with cries of joy and relief. The guards quickly formed a protective circle around us, holding back the enthusiastic masses, but nothing could contain the sheer euphoria that filled the air.

"THE KING HAS RETURNED! THE KING HAS RETURNED! THE KING HAS RETURNED!"

The chant started somewhere in the crowd and spread like wildfire, growing louder with each repetition until it became a thunderous roar that shook the very stones of the citadel.

"THE KING HAS RETURNED!"

Thousands of voices joined together, rising toward the dark sky in a declaration that could probably be heard across the entire island chain.

I pulled back slightly to look at Mordred's face—truly look at him for the first time in seventy years. His amber eyes were clear and intelligent, filled with awareness and understanding. This wasn't the mindless beast that had terrorized the citadel. This was my King, restored.

"How?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the cheering. "How is this possible?"

"I don't know," Mordred admitted, his expression troubled. "I wish I could tell you, but I don't understand it myself."

Movement caught my eye, and I turned to see Sebastian approaching, his face ashen, his expression that of a man who'd just watched his entire world collapse.

For a moment, I thought he might try to run or fight. My hand moved instinctively to my sword, ready to cut him down if he made any threatening move toward Mordred.

But Sebastian simply dropped to one knee, his head bowed.

"My King," he said, his voice carefully neutral despite the shock that must have been coursing through him. "I... we are overjoyed at your return. Your recovery is nothing short of miraculous."

It was a masterful performance, I had to admit. Anyone who didn't know better might actually believe he was sincere.

The other conspirators quickly followed Sebastian's lead, dropping to their knees one by one, their expressions ranging from genuine relief to barely concealed horror.

"LONG LIVE THE KING!" Sebastian called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

"LONG LIVE THE KING!" the crowd responded, the chant shifting seamlessly from celebration to declaration of loyalty.

Mordred's eyes swept over the kneeling lords, and I saw something flicker in his gaze—recognition, perhaps, or suspicion. He knew. Somehow, despite everything, he understood what had been about to happen here.

But he simply nodded, accepting their obeisance with the grace of a king who had never doubted his subjects' loyalty.

"Rise," he commanded, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise. "All of you, rise. Tonight is a night for celebration, not for kneeling."

The crowd erupted into fresh cheers as servants rushed forward with robes to cover the King's nakedness. Mordred accepted them with a slight smile, wrapping the fabric around himself with practiced ease.

I stayed close to his side, my hand never far from my weapon, watching Sebastian and his supporters with wary eyes. They had just tried to execute their King. The fact that Mordred had miraculously recovered didn't change that fundamental truth.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

---

Several hours later, after the crowds had finally dispersed and the citadel had settled into an uneasy calm, I made my way to the King's chambers.

Mordred had been examined by healers, bathed, dressed in proper clothing, and given time to rest. When I entered, I found him sitting by the window, staring out at the dark ocean beyond.

"You know," I said, closing the door behind me, "you left quite the mess for me to clean up. Do you have any idea how exhausting it's been, trying to hold this realm together while you were busy being a mindless beast?"

Mordred turned to look at me, and for a moment his expression was serious. Then a smile tugged at his lips.

"My apologies, Fergus. I'll try to be more considerate next time I lose my sanity for seven decades."

"See that you do," I said, moving to pour us both drinks from the decanter on his desk. "The paperwork alone has been a nightmare."

I handed him a glass, and we both drank in silence for a moment. The tension that had been coiling in my chest since the moment I'd seen him transform finally began to ease.