Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 149

Fergus's POV

"Seriously though," I said, my voice growing more somber. "How are you feeling? The healers said you're physically fine, but..."

"But am I mentally sound?" Mordred finished. He took another sip of his drink, his expression thoughtful. "I think so. My mind feels... clear. Clearer than it's been in a long time, actually. It's like waking up from a nightmare that lasted..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing. "You said seventy years?"

"Yes," I said quietly. "Seventy years since you last walked among us as a man."

"Seventy years," Mordred repeated, his voice hollow. "Gods. I've lost seventy years of my life."

"I'm sorry," I said, wishing I had better news to give him. "I know this must be—"

Mordred set down his glass with a hand that trembled slightly. "Seventy years as a beast. Seventy years of madness." He looked at me, his eyes haunted. "Did I... did I hurt people? Kill anyone?"

I hesitated, not wanting to add to his burden but knowing he deserved the truth.

"Yes," I said quietly. "Mostly in the early years, when we didn't understand what was happening. We tried to let you roam free, thinking the beast form was temporary. But you attacked servants, killed several people before we managed to contain you."

Mordred closed his eyes, pain etched across his features.

"And more recently," I continued, "there were incidents. People were killed. That's part of why Sebastian was able to convince so many that execution was the only option."

"How many?" Mordred asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know the exact number. Hundreds, over the years, if you count the slaves."

"Gods," Mordred breathed. "All those lives. All that blood on my hands."

"It wasn't your fault," I said firmly. "You weren't in control. The beast—"

"The beast was me," Mordred interrupted. "Whatever drove me to madness, whatever caused the transformation, the creature that killed those people was still me. I'm responsible."

We sat in heavy silence for a moment.

"Did you visit me?" Mordred asked suddenly. "During those seventy years, did you come to see me?"

"Every week," I said, my throat tight. "Sometimes more often. I would come to your den and talk to you, tell you what was happening in the realm, try to see if there was any recognition in your eyes." I paused. "Sometimes I thought I saw a flicker of awareness, but I could never be sure. Most of the time, there was just the beast, staring at me with those red eyes."

"I don't remember," Mordred said, his voice breaking. "I don't remember any of it. Your visits, the years passing, the people I killed. It's just... gone. Like it happened to someone else."

A thought occurred to me, and I hesitated before asking. "Do you remember anyone else? Anyone who might have spent time with you recently?"

"Like who?"

"A boy," I said carefully. "A human servant named Nathan. He's been... he was assigned to tend to you. To bring you food, keep your den clean. He spent a lot of time with you over the past few weeks."

Mordred's expression was blank. "I don't remember any boy. I don't remember anyone or anything from my time as the beast. It's all just... darkness."

So he didn't remember Nathan. Didn't remember the boy who had somehow captured the beast's attention, who had been the only one able to approach without being torn apart.

That was... interesting. And potentially significant.

"How did this happen?" Mordred asked, pulling me from my thoughts. "How did I transform back? Was it the tranquilizers? Some kind of treatment?"

"We don't know," I admitted. "The healers are baffled. The tranquilizers should have kept you unconscious, not triggered a transformation. And there's no known cure for the kind of madness you were suffering from. You've been examined by every healer, every scholar, every expert we could find over the past seventy years. None of them could help you."

"Then what changed?" Mordred pressed. "There has to be a reason. Things like this don't just happen spontaneously."

I thought about Nathan. About the boy's strange ability to calm the beast, about the way Mordred had seemed almost protective of him.

Could there be a connection? Could Nathan have somehow...

"I don't know," I said honestly. "But I intend to find out. Discreetly, of course. If there's some factor that triggered your recovery, we need to understand it."

In case it happens again. The unspoken words hung between us.

"There's something else we need to discuss," Mordred said, his voice growing harder. "Tonight. In the courtyard. They were going to execute me, weren't they?"

I met his gaze steadily. "Yes."

"On whose orders?"

"Sebastian's. He convinced the other lords that you were too far gone, too dangerous. That the only merciful option was to end your suffering."

Mordred's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with anger. "Merciful. How convenient that my 'merciful' death would have left the throne vacant, with Sebastian perfectly positioned to claim it."

"That was certainly his plan," I agreed.

"Then his head belongs on the citadel walls," Mordred said flatly. "Along with anyone else who supported this treason."

"No," I said immediately, and Mordred's eyes snapped to mine in surprise.