Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 155

Natasha's POV

Three months had crawled by since that night in Lord Fergus's office.

Ninety-two days without seeing Mordred.

Not that I'd expected to. He was at Howling Citadel, reclaiming his throne after seventy years of madness, while I remained here on Ashclaw, just another nameless servant hauling water and mending clothes.

Exactly as Lord Fergus had advised.

The suppressants had become routine—wake, uncork the vial, swallow the foul liquid that tasted like ash and regret. It dulled something essential inside me, as though I was slowly fading into a ghost of myself. But it kept me safe. Kept my secret buried.

And yet, despite the suppressants, despite the distance, I felt the bond constantly. A persistent ache beneath my sternum, a compass needle always pointing toward something I could never reach. Some mornings I woke gasping, certain I'd felt him nearby, only to remember he .

Today, the entire compound buzzed with frantic energy. The new year's feast was tomorrow night, and we'd been preparing for weeks—preserving meats, brewing ale, sewing new table linens until our fingers bled.

I was in the storage cellar, counting sacks of grain by lamplight, when Lucy's voice echoed down the stairs.

"Nathan! You have a visitor!"

I looked up, surprised. "Who?"

"Lord Caelan," she said, her eyes wide with curiosity. "He's asking for you specifically."

My heart stuttered. Lord Caelan—the gentle Lycan lord who'd offered me something I'd been too frightened to accept.

Until now.

---

I found him waiting in the entrance hall, dressed in fine wool and leather that marked his status. When he saw me, his expression softened with genuine warmth.

"Nathan," he greeted. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all, my lord." I bowed, aware of Ingrid watching us with sharp eyes.

"I'm hosting a small meal this afternoon and thought you might enjoy a respite from your duties. With your overseer's permission, of course."

Ingrid's mouth thinned, but she nodded. "A few hours won't hurt. Go on."

---

Caelan's manor was modest but comfortable, all warm wood and soft furnishings. He led me to a private dining room where bread, cheese, roasted meat, and fresh fruit waited—more food than I'd seen in months.

"Please, eat," he said, gesturing to a chair. "You look half-starved."

I sat, suddenly ravenous. We ate in companionable silence before he spoke again.

"I've been thinking about our last conversation. About the offer I made."

My hand stilled on my bread. "My lord, I appreciate your kindness, but—"

"I'm not asking for a decision," he interrupted gently. "I simply want you to know the offer stands. This house is a safe space. No one here will judge you or expose you. You can be yourself here, Natasha."

"I don't know if I can," I whispered. "If anyone discovered—"

"No one will discover anything," Caelan said firmly. "You have my word. What happens within these walls stays here."

I studied his face, searching for deception or hidden motives. But I saw only genuine kindness, a desire to help without expectation.

"Why?" I asked. "Why would you risk this for me? You barely know me."

Caelan was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Because I understand what it means to hide who you are. To perform a role day after day until you forget what's real and what's pretense. It's exhausting. And lonely. No one should have to live that way if there's an alternative."

His words cracked something open inside me, and tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.

"I'm so tired," I admitted, my voice breaking. "So tired of pretending. Of being afraid every moment. Of feeling like I'm disappearing a little more each day."

"Then don't," Caelan said simply. "Not here. Not with me. Let yourself be real, even if only for a few hours."

I wiped my eyes with trembling hands. "What if I've forgotten how?"

"Then we'll help you remember."

---

An hour later, I stood before a full-length mirror in one of Caelan's guest chambers, staring at a stranger.

The woman looking back wore a simple but elegant dress in deep blue, the fabric flowing in ways that made me feel simultaneously exposed and liberated. My hair, freed from its usual binding, cascaded past my shoulders in soft waves. One of Caelan's female servants had applied subtle cosmetics—just enough to enhance my features without being obvious.

I looked... beautiful.

Not like Nathan, the frightened servant boy with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

Like someone new. Someone I might have been, in another life.

My reflection blurred as fresh tears gathered. This was me. This was who I was supposed to be.

"How do you feel?" Caelan asked from the doorway.

I turned to face him and watched his eyes widen, his breath catch.

"I feel..." I searched for the right word. "Real. I feel real again."

"You look stunning," he said, and there was no flattery in his tone, just honest appreciation. "Truly stunning, Natasha."

A knock interrupted us. One of Caelan's servants entered, bowing apologetically.

"My lord, forgive the interruption, but I need to confirm—will you be bringing a companion to tomorrow's feast?"

Tomorrow's feast. The New Year's celebration. The grandest event of the year, where all the lords and their households would gather in splendor and excess.

Caelan glanced at me, a question in his eyes.

"Actually," he said slowly, "yes. I'll be bringing Lady Natasha as my guest."