Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 158

Natasha's POV

"Clearly," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. He made no move to release me, and I made no move to pull away. "I could ask what you were doing pressed against the wall outside Caelan's study, but I suspect I already know."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "I... I dropped something. An earring. I was looking for it."

Mordred's eyes flicked to my ears, where both earrings were clearly visible, then back to my face. One eyebrow rose slightly.

"I see," he said, his voice rich with skepticism. "And did you find it?"

"No," I admitted, my face burning hotter. "I must have been mistaken."

He studied me for a long moment, and I was acutely aware of how we must look—locked in an embrace in the middle of the corridor, my hands gripping his shoulders, his arms still around me.

I should pull away. This was improper, dangerous, completely inappropriate.

But I couldn't make myself move.

"Would you care to take a walk with me?" Mordred asked suddenly, his voice softer. "I'd like to see the grounds. It's been decades since I last visited this estate, and I'm told the gardens are quite remarkable. Though of course, if you'd prefer not to—"

"I want to," I blurted out before I could stop myself, the words tumbling from my lips with embarrassing eagerness.

Realizing how that sounded, I felt my blush deepen. I cleared my throat, trying to regain some composure. "I would be honored, Your Majesty," I said again, more steadily this time.

A smile tugged at his lips—a real smile, warm and genuine in a way that made my heart stutter. "Excellent."

He released me slowly, almost reluctantly, and offered his arm. I placed my hand on it, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fine fabric of his coat, and let him guide me toward the gardens.

---

The evening air was cool and pleasant, carrying the scent of flowers and earth. Lanterns had been lit along the garden paths, casting warm pools of light that made everything look magical and dreamlike.

We walked in silence for a few moments, and I was hyperaware of every point of contact between us—the occasional brush of my skirt against his leg, the way our steps fell into sync.

"Have we met before?" Mordred asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

My heart stopped. "No, Your Majesty. I'm certain we haven't."

"Strange," he murmured, his eyes studying my profile. "You seem... familiar somehow."

"Perhaps I simply have one of those faces," I suggested, trying to keep my voice light.

"Perhaps." He didn't sound convinced.

We continued walking, and I could feel his gaze on me, intense and searching. It made me nervous, made my pulse race and my palms sweat.

"You seem very nervous around me," he observed.

"I'm human, Your Majesty," I said carefully. "And you're the Lycan King. Your people don't exactly... welcome my kind. We're slaves to you, property. It's natural to be nervous."

Something flickered across his face—displeasure, perhaps even hurt. "I see."

I immediately regretted my words. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. That was... I shouldn't have spoken so bluntly. It was disrespectful."

"No," he said quietly. "It was honest. And you're not wrong. We haven't treated your kind well." He paused. "But you're not a slave, Lady Natasha. You're Caelan's betrothed. That makes you... different."

"Does it?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Or does it just mean I'm a slave with a prettier title?"

Mordred stopped walking, turning to face me fully. His expression was serious, almost troubled. "Is that how you see yourself?"

I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "I don't know what I am anymore."

The admission surprised me. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to reveal anything real. But something about him—about being near him—made it impossible to maintain all my walls.

"I think," Mordred said softly, "that you're far more than you give yourself credit for."

I looked up at him, and the intensity in his eyes took my breath away.

We stood there for a moment, the air between us charged with something I couldn't name. Then Mordred cleared his throat and gestured toward a section of the garden where unfamiliar flowers bloomed in vibrant colors.

"What are those?" he asked. "I don't recognize them."

Grateful for the change of subject, I led him toward the flower beds. "These are from England—a human country across the sea. Lord Caelan had them brought over on his last voyage. We've been planting them together over the past few months."

I knelt beside one of the beds, my skirts pooling around me, and gently touched the petals of a rose. "This is a rose. They come in many colors—red, white, pink, yellow. These red ones are my favorite. They smell wonderful."

Mordred crouched beside me, and I was suddenly very aware of how close we were. "May I?" he asked, reaching toward the flower.

"Of course."

He plucked the rose carefully, avoiding the thorns, and brought it to his nose. But instead of smelling the flower, his eyes fixed on me again with that same intense focus.

"Lady Natasha," he said slowly, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. "May I ask you something that might be... improper?"

My heart began to race. "Yes?"

"Your scent," he said, and I felt my blood turn to ice. "It's... intriguing. Distracting, even. I know you're betrothed to Caelan, and I shouldn't ask this, but..." He paused, seeming to struggle with the words. "May I scent you properly? I feel as though I've encountered your scent before, somewhere, and it's driving me to distraction. I need to... I need to know."

Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to make an excuse, to run. The suppressants were supposed to mask my scent, but what if they weren't working properly? What if he recognized me?

But the bond was singing in my chest, pulling me toward him, and I found myself nodding before I could think better of it.

"Yes," I whispered.