Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 204

Mordred's POV

"If you'd told me," he said, his eyes boring into Fergus, "if you'd been honest about what we were dealing with, I could have made an informed decision. I could have weighed the risks, considered the implications. But you didn't give me that choice."

"What would you have done?" Fergus asked quietly. "If I'd told you then, what would you have done?"

"I don't know," Gregor said. "Maybe I would have stayed neutral. Maybe I would have tried to find a solution. Maybe I would have walked away entirely. But at least it would have been my choice to make."

He turned to look at the crowd again, and I saw his jaw clench.

"Instead, I'm standing here with five thousand of my warriors, committed to a losing battle, because you decided to play god with other people's lives."

A new chant started up from below, and this one made my blood run cold.

"Endurers are whores!"

"Endurers are whores!"

"Endurers are whores!"

I felt my claws extend involuntarily, felt the beast inside me stirring with rage. Fergus's hand came to rest on my shoulder, a silent warning, but I shook it off.

"They're wrong," I said, my voice low and dangerous.

"Are they?" Gregor asked, and there was something cruel in his tone now. "She lived here for months, disguised as a boy, serving the man who raped her. What would you call that?"

"Survival," I said through gritted teeth.

"Or opportunism," Gregor countered. "Maybe she knew what you were to her. Maybe she stayed close, waiting for you to recover, so she could claim her position as your mate."

"That's not—" I started, but stopped. Because I didn't know. I didn't know what Natasha had known, what she'd felt, what her motivations had been.

"The point is," Gregor said, his voice dropping back to that dangerous quiet, "I don't know either. None of us do. Because Fergus decided to keep secrets instead of trusting his allies."

He looked at Fergus, and I saw something shift in his expression. Disappointment. Betrayal.

"I thought we were friends," he said quietly. "I thought we trusted each other. But apparently, I was wrong."

"Gregor—" Fergus started, but Gregor held up a hand.

"Don't," he said. "Just... don't."

Below us, the crowd surged forward again. I heard the sound of splintering wood—they were trying to ram the gates.

"We need to reinforce the defenses," Gregor said, his voice flat now, emotionless. "If they breach the gates, we'll have a massacre on our hands."

"I'll handle it," Fergus said.

"No," Gregor said sharply. "I'll handle it. You've done enough."

He started toward the stairs, then paused and looked back at me.

"Three days until the trial," he said. "Three days to figure out how to salvage this disaster. I suggest you use them wisely."

Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing on the stone stairs.

Fergus and I stood in silence, watching the crowd below. The chanting had grown louder, more aggressive. I could see people throwing things now—bottles, rocks, anything they could find.

"He's right, you know," I said quietly. "You should have told him."

"If I'd told him three months ago, he never would have committed his forces," Fergus said. "And you needed those forces. You still do."

"So you manipulated him."

"I protected you," Fergus corrected. "There's a difference."

"Is there?" I turned to look at him. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been playing games with all of us."

Fergus met my eyes, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw something like regret in his gaze.

"I did what I thought was necessary," he said quietly. "What I thought would give you the best chance of survival. If that makes me manipulative, so be it."

"And now?" I asked. "Now that the secret's out, now that half the kingdom wants my mate dead and the other half wants my throne, what do we do?"

Fergus was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the sea of torches below.

"We survive," he said finally. "However we can."

A bottle smashed against the wall below us, close enough that I felt the spray of glass. The crowd was getting bolder.

"We should get inside," Fergus said. "Before someone decides to start shooting arrows."

But I stayed where I was, looking down at my people. My angry, betrayed, terrified people.

Somewhere in the dungeons beneath my feet, Natasha was alone. Cold. Probably scared out of her mind.

And I had no idea how to save her without losing everything else.

"Mordred," Fergus said quietly. "There's something else you need to know. Something I haven't told you."

I turned to look at him, and saw something in his expression that made my stomach drop.

"What?" I asked.

"Not here," he said, glancing around. "Too many ears. But soon. Before the trial. There are... complications. Things that will affect how we proceed."

"What kind of complications?"

"The kind that change everything," Fergus said cryptically. "But I need to be sure of something first. I need to verify—"

Another crash from below cut him off. The gates were groaning under the pressure now, the iron hinges starting to bend.

"We need to go," Fergus said urgently. "Now."

As we headed for the stairs, I looked back one last time at the crowd. At the torches and the angry faces and the hatred burning in thousands of eyes.

And I wondered if there was any way to come back from this.

Any way to save Natasha without watching my kingdom burn.

The study was cold despite the fire burning in the hearth. I stood by the window, watching the torches flicker in the darkness below, listening to the distant chanting that never seemed to stop.

Fergus closed the door behind us with a soft click, then moved to check the other entrances—the servant's door, the balcony, even the gaps around the windows. When he was satisfied we were truly alone, he turned to face me.

"What you said on the battlements," I said, not looking at him. "About complications. About things that would change everything."

Silence. Long enough that I turned to look at him.

Fergus stood with his back to the door, his hand still on the handle, his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

"Fergus?"

"There's someone I need you to meet," he said finally, his voice rough.

I frowned. "Now? In the middle of all this?"

"Especially now." He released the door handle and moved to the side entrance—a small door that led to the antechamber. His hand hesitated on the wood for a moment, then he pulled it open. "Because what I'm about to show you changes everything."

He gestured into the darkness.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a figure stepped into the firelight, and I felt something twist in my chest.

A young woman. Dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders. Delicate features. Eyes the color of spring leaves.

She was beautiful. Terrified. And achingly, impossibly familiar.

"This is Davelina," Fergus said quietly.