Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 156

Natasha's POV

My heart stopped. "My lord, I couldn't possibly—"

"Why not?" Caelan asked, turning to face me fully. "Look at yourself, Natasha. You look nothing like Nathan right now. No one would recognize you. And don't you deserve to experience at least one night of freedom? One night of being yourself without fear?"

"What if someone recognizes me?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly. "What if—"

"Who would recognize you?" Caelan interrupted gently. "Look at yourself, Natasha. You look completely different like this. And you'd be in a formal setting, surrounded by nobility. No one would think to look for a servant boy among the guests. The transformation is too complete."

He had a point. The girl in the mirror bore almost no resemblance to Nathan. Different clothes, different hair, different posture even. I carried myself differently as Natasha—more upright, more confident.

"And even if someone did somehow recognize you," Caelan continued, I'll tell them you're my betrothed. you'd be under my protection. As my betrothed, you'd be untouchable. No one would dare question you while you're with me."

The idea was insane. Reckless. Dangerous beyond measure.

And yet...

I looked back at the mirror, at the woman staring back with hope and terror warring in her eyes.

When was the last time I'd felt this alive?

When would I ever get another chance like this?

"I'll do it," I whispered.

Caelan's face broke into a brilliant smile. "Excellent. I'll have a proper gown prepared. Something worthy of the occasion."

---

*This is madness. You should turn back. Run back to safety.*

But my feet kept moving forward.

The gown waiting for me was breathtaking—deep emerald green with delicate gold embroidery along the bodice and sleeves, the neckline daring without being scandalous. There were matching slippers, a necklace of polished amber stones, even delicate earrings.

Caelan's servants helped me dress, their hands gentle and efficient as they laced the bodice, arranged my hair in an elaborate style I could never have managed alone, applied cosmetics with expert precision.

When I finally looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself at all.

I looked like nobility. Like someone who belonged at a grand feast, not scrubbing floors or hauling water.

Like someone Mordred might actually notice.

The thought sent a thrill of fear and longing through me. Would he be there? Would he see me like this?

Would he recognize me, or would I be just another beautiful stranger in a room full of them?

"You're breathtaking," Caelan said from the doorway, offering me his arm. "Are you ready?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "As ready as I'll ever be."

We left the bedchamber and made our way through the manor toward the entrance hall. With each step, my anxiety grew. This was real. This was actually happening.

I was about to walk into a room full of Lycans—predators who could smell fear, who could detect the slightest inconsistency—and pretend to be one of them.

What if the suppressants failed? What if someone looked too closely? What if—

A commotion at the front entrance made us both freeze on the main staircase.

Servants were rushing about, straightening their clothes, bowing deeply. The air itself seemed to change, charged with sudden tension and reverence.

And then I heard the announcement that made my blood turn to ice.

"His Majesty, King Mordred, has arrived!"

No. No, this couldn't be happening.

My hand clenched on Caelan's arm so tightly I must have been hurting him, but I couldn't let go. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

The massive entrance doors swung open, and there he was.

Mordred.

My mate. My love. The man I'd been separated from for three agonizing months.

He stood in the doorway, tall and commanding, dressed in formal black with silver embroidery that caught the lamplight. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, framing a face that was both beautiful and terrible in its intensity. Those amber eyes—the same eyes that had looked at me with such hunger in his den—swept the room with regal authority.

And then his gaze landed on me.

The world stopped.

Our eyes met across the distance, and I felt it—that pull, that connection, that bond that had been straining and aching inside me for months, suddenly blazing to life like a fire given fresh air.

My breath caught. My heart stuttered. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to run to him, to close the distance between us, to—

But I couldn't move. Could only stand there, frozen on the stairs, drowning in those amber eyes.

Did he feel it too? Did he recognize me?

Or was I just another face in the crowd, another stranger he'd never seen before?

Mordred's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. His nostrils flared slightly, as though catching a scent.

The suppressants. Please let the suppressants hold.

His gaze lingered on me for what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds. Then he looked away, acknowledging Caelan with a slight nod.

"Lord Caelan," Mordred's voice was deep, commanding, sending shivers down my spine. "I hope I'm not intruding."