Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 201

Natasha's POV

The journey back was slow. Agonizingly slow.

I sat in front of Mordred on his horse, his arms bracketing me as he held the reins. His chest was solid and warm against my back, and I could feel every breath he took, every shift of his muscles as he guided the horse.

But there was a distance between us that had nothing to do with physical space.

I was wrapped in the cloak he'd given me, but I still felt exposed. Vulnerable. The fabric did little to hide the bruises forming on my wrists and ankles, the scrapes on my knees from being thrown to the ground.

Behind us, I could hear Fergus and Gregor's forces riding in formation, their presence both comforting and ominous. They were protecting us, yes. But from what? From Sebastian's soldiers? Or from the growing anger of Mordred's own people?

The tears came without warning, hot and silent, streaming down my face.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I should have told you from the beginning."

Mordred's arms tightened around me slightly, and I felt him lean closer, his breath warm against my ear.

"This isn't your fault," he said quietly. "You were just trying to survive."

His words were kind, but I could hear the strain in his voice. The confusion. The hurt.

"I wanted to tell you," I continued, unable to stop the words from spilling out. "So many times, I wanted to tell you. But I was afraid. Afraid of what would happen. Afraid of this."

We rode in silence for a moment, and then Mordred asked, "Why didn't you come to me? After I recovered, after I regained my sanity, why didn't you tell me then?"

I closed my eyes, remembering those painful days. "Fergus foresaw this. He knew what would happen if people found out about us. He told me to stay away from you, to protect you from losing everything. And I tried. God, I tried so hard."

I felt Mordred's body tense behind me. "But?"

"But when you walked into Caelan's manor that morning," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "when you stopped in front of me and looked at me like that... I knew I was in trouble. I knew I couldn't stay away from you, no matter how hard I tried."

There was a long pause, and then Mordred asked, his voice carefully neutral, "Why were you with Lord Caelan?"

I felt my cheeks heat despite everything. "Fergus told me I should choose a Lycan lord to spend my life with. Someone who could protect me, give me a better life than being a servant."

"So you really were his betrothed?" Mordred's voice had gone cold, and I felt him pull back slightly. "You slept with him?"

"No!" I said quickly, turning my head to look at him. "No, I was never his betrothed. Caelan has been my friend since the beginning. He helped me keep my secret, protected me when he didn't have to. But he never touched me. Never. That's why, when my heat came, he wanted to find you. He knew. He knew I was your mate."

"You still lied to me," Mordred said, his jaw tight. "You let me believe you were engaged to him."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, tears streaming down my face again. "I'm so sorry, my love."

I felt him stiffen at the endearment, and for a moment I thought he might push me away.

But then he sighed, a long, weary sound. "It doesn't matter now. None of it matters."

"My name is real," I said desperately, needing him to know at least one truth. "My name is Natasha. Natasha Hastings. That part was never a lie."

I felt some of the tension leave his body, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer. "Natasha Hastings. That's a beautiful name."

"Thank you," I whispered.

We rode in silence after that, the only sounds the steady clip-clop of hooves and the jingle of harnesses. I wanted to say more, to explain everything, but I could feel Mordred withdrawing into himself.

Finally, he spoke. "I need... time. To process this. To figure out what to do."

His words were careful, measured, but I could hear the turmoil beneath them.

"I understand," I said quietly.

"Fate is cruel," he continued, almost to himself. "To bind us together. To force this connection between us. It would be nothing if you are a Lycan or I'm a human. Now it's just..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to.

*Cruel,* I thought, my heart breaking. *Yes. Fate has been unbearably cruel to both of us.*

---

As we approached Howling Citadel, I noticed something that made my blood run cold.

There were military camps set up outside the city walls—Mordred's forces, I assumed, preparing for the possibility of war with Sebastian.

But there were also civilians. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands, gathered in clusters along the road. And they were all staring at us.

"What's happening?" I whispered.

Mordred's arms tightened around me protectively. "I don't know."

As we drew closer, the crowds began to move, slowly at first, then with more purpose. They were positioning themselves in our path, blocking the road to the city gates.

A sense of dread settled over me like a heavy blanket.

At first, it was just scattered voices. Individual pleas that cut through the air like knives.

"My King, please don't betray us!"

"Your Majesty, remember who you are!"

"Don't abandon your people for a human!"

Mordred's face had gone pale, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. He said nothing, just kept the horse moving forward at a slow, steady pace.

But the crowd was growing, swelling around us like a tide. And their voices were getting louder, more organized.

"Remember who our enemies are!" someone shouted, and others took up the chant.

"Remember who our enemies are!"

"Remember who our enemies are!"

The words hammered at me, each repetition like a physical blow. I knew what they meant. They were talking about humans. About my people. About the atrocities committed during the wars, the lives lost, the families destroyed.

About Mordred's family.

"No human can be Queen!" another voice called out, and that chant spread too.

"No human can be Queen!"

"No human can be Queen!"

I felt Mordred's body go rigid behind me, felt his breathing become shallow and quick.

*He's torn,* I realized. *He wants to protect me, but he also wants to protect his kingdom. And he doesn't know how to do both.*

The crowd pressed closer, their faces twisted with anger and fear and betrayal. Some were crying. Some were shouting. All of them were looking at Mordred with desperate, pleading eyes.

"Endurers are whores!" someone screamed, and the words hit me like a slap.

"Endurers are whores! A whore cannot rule us!"