Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 150

Mordred's POV

"No?" I repeated, my voice dangerously quiet. "Fergus, he tried to have me executed. He plotted my death, convinced half the realm to support it, and you're telling me no?"

"My King, I understand your anger," Fergus said, his expression grave. "Believe me, I want Sebastian's head on a spike as much as you do. But you need to listen to me. You cannot move against him. Not yet."

"He committed treason—"

"And he has the support of half the realm," Fergus interrupted, his voice urgent. "Mordred, you've been gone for seventy years. Seventy years. In that time, Sebastian has been building his power base, consolidating support, positioning himself as the natural successor. He's cultivated relationships with dozens of lesser lords, placed his supporters in key positions, created a network of alliances that spans the entire archipelago."

I stood and walked to the window, my hands clenched into fists. The rage burning in my chest demanded action, demanded blood, demanded justice for this betrayal.

"And after the incidents," Fergus continued relentlessly, "the servants you killed, the violence, the instability—many lords genuinely believed execution was the right choice. They weren't acting out of treachery or ambition. They were trying to protect the realm from what they saw as a dangerous, uncontrollable beast."

"So I should just forgive him? Pretend this never happened?"

"No," Fergus said firmly. "But you need to be smart about this. If you move against Sebastian now, openly, he'll have no choice but to rebel. And he has enough supporters that the outcome of such a conflict would be... uncertain at best."

I turned to face him. "You think we'd lose?"

"I think it would be close," Fergus said bluntly. "And even if we won, the realm would be torn apart by civil war. Thousands would die. The human territories might see it as an opportunity to rebel. The whole structure we've built over centuries could collapse."

The truth of his words settled over me like a weight. He was right. I hated it, but he was right.

"Right now, you have the advantage," Fergus continued. "Your miraculous recovery has shocked everyone, including Sebastian. His supporters are off-balance, uncertain. Many of them are probably questioning their allegiance, wondering if they backed the wrong horse. Some are likely terrified that you'll execute them for treason."

"As I should," I muttered.

"But if you give them a reason to fear for their lives, they'll rally around Sebastian out of self-preservation," Fergus said. "They'll have no choice but to support him in open rebellion, because the alternative would be death."

"So what do you suggest?" I asked, my voice tight with barely controlled rage.

"Patience," Fergus said. "We need to move carefully, methodically. Rebuild your support base, remind the realm why you were a great king. Undermine Sebastian's influence gradually, turn his supporters back to your side. Show mercy to those who were genuinely misguided, and they'll remember that mercy when the time comes to choose sides again."

"How long will that take?"

"I don't know. Months, maybe years. But it's the only way to ensure we don't plunge the realm into civil war."

I returned to my seat, the rage still burning but tempered now by cold calculation. Fergus was right. I couldn't let emotion drive my decisions, couldn't let the desire for immediate vengeance blind me to the larger strategic picture.

"I want his head, Fergus," I said quietly. "I want to watch the life drain from his eyes as payment for his treachery."

"And you'll have it," Fergus promised. "But not today. Today, we smile and accept his congratulations and pretend we believe his loyalty. We play the game, and we play it better than he does. We must be careful, walk on thin ice. Sebastian's power is considerable, especially after these recent incidents. We cannot afford to move against him openly, or we'll face rebellion and ruin."

The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but I nodded. "You're right. I hate it, but you're right. We move carefully. We watch and wait and plan. And when the time comes..."

"When the time comes, I'll hand you the blade myself," Fergus said.

I took a deep breath, forcing the rage down, locking it away in a cold, dark place where it could fuel my patience rather than my impulse.

"Thank you, Fergus," I said. "For everything. For standing by me all these years, for trying to reach me even when I was lost. For being willing to fight for me tonight, even though you knew it was hopeless."

"You're my King," Fergus said simply. "My brother. There was never any question."

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. I was back. I was myself again. And with Fergus at my side, I would reclaim my throne and destroy those who had betrayed me.

But it would take time. And patience. And careful planning.

"Get some rest," Fergus said, standing. "Tomorrow will be a long day. You'll need to address the court, reassure the realm, begin the process of reclaiming your authority."

After Fergus left, I sat alone in my chambers, staring out at the dark ocean.

Seventy years. I'd lost seventy years of my life to madness.

And somehow, inexplicably, I'd been restored.

There had to be a reason. Had to be some catalyst, some trigger that had broken the curse or illness or whatever had held me prisoner in my beast form.