Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 209

Davelina's POV Same Day That Night

The study was cold despite the fire burning in the hearth. I sat in the corner, arms wrapped around myself, watching Mordred and Fergus move like caged animals. The King stood by the window staring into darkness while Fergus paced, hands clenched into fists.

I couldn't stop crying. Silent tears streamed down my face no matter how many times I wiped them away. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—alone in that cold cell, waiting to die. And I hadn't even been allowed to see her, to hold her one last time.

"There has to be a way," I whispered. "There has to be a way to save her."

Neither answered.

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.

I couldn't bear it. I stood, legs shaking, and moved toward them.

"There has to be something," I said, voice rising. "Some option we haven't considered—"

"There isn't," Mordred said flatly.

"There has to be!" I was shouting now, tears streaming. "You're the King! Lord Fergus is a Grand Lord! Between you, there has to be something you can do!"

"Davelina—" Fergus started.

"No!" I shook my head violently. "I won't accept that my sister has to die because of fear and hatred! There has to be a way!"

My legs gave out. I fell to my knees, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe.

"Please," I begged, looking up through tears. "Please save her. She's all I have left. She's my only family. I can't lose her."

Fergus was beside me instantly, pulling me into his arms, holding me tight. I could feel his heart pounding, hear his ragged breathing.

"I know," he whispered into my hair. "I know, love."

But he didn't promise. Because he couldn't.

I clung to him, fingers digging into his shirt, and cried until I had no tears left.

The room fell silent except for crackling fire and my broken sobs. Minutes passed, maybe longer.

Then Mordred spoke.

"Fergus," he said quietly. "Do you remember?"

Fergus tensed. "Remember what?"

"The game we used to play," Mordred said, voice distant. "When we were children."

Fergus pulled back from me, brow furrowed. "What game?"

Mordred moved to the desk, leaning against it. His expression was strange—calm, almost peaceful, but with something broken underneath.

"The four of us," he said. "Me, you, Sebastian, Gregor. We were just children. Seven, maybe eight. We used to play in the courtyard at Ravenclaw."

Fergus listened, silent.

"We played knights," Mordred continued. "Pretending to be heroes, fighting imaginary battles. We'd assign roles—who would be king, who would be lords, who would be knights."

I wiped my eyes, confused but too exhausted to interrupt.

"Sebastian was the youngest," Mordred said. "Small for his age, easy to push around. We used to tease him, make him play squire or servant."

Fergus's expression shifted, recognition dawning.

"But he had a temper," Mordred said. "Stubborn. Willful. Every time we assigned him a role, he'd refuse."

"I remember," Fergus said quietly.

"We'd say, 'Sebastian, you can be a knight. Knights are brave and strong.'" Mordred's voice was almost dreamlike. "But he'd shake his head. 'I don't want to be a knight.'"

"So we'd offer something better. 'Fine, be a lord then. Lords are powerful. They command armies.'"

"But he'd still refuse," Fergus said, voice barely audible.

"Yes," Mordred said. "He'd cross his arms and glare at us. And we'd ask, 'What do you want to be then?'"

Mordred paused, silence stretching.

"And he'd always say the same thing," Mordred finished. "'I'll either be King, or I won't play at all.'"

The words hung in the air.

I looked between them, completely lost. What did a childhood game have to do with Natasha?

"Every single time," Mordred said softly. "No matter how we argued. He'd rather sit on the sidelines and sulk than accept any role except the one he wanted."

"We used to laugh at him," Fergus said, voice hollow. "Called him a spoiled brat. Too proud for his own good."

"But he never changed his mind," Mordred said. "Never compromised. Never settled for less."

Fergus stared at Mordred, expression shifting from confusion to understanding to something like horror.

"No," Fergus said. "Mordred, no. You can't be serious."

"Send a messenger to Sebastian," Mordred said, voice calm and steady. "Tell him we need to meet. Private. Just the three of us."

"Mordred—"

"Tell him we have a proposal," Mordred continued. "One that will interest him greatly."

Fergus stood abruptly. "You can't. You can't be considering—"

"I'm not considering," Mordred interrupted. "I've decided."

"Then you've lost your mind!" Fergus's voice rose. "Do you have any idea what you're suggesting?"

"I know exactly what I'm suggesting."

They stared at each other, something passing between them—some terrible understanding that made Fergus's hands shake.

"There has to be another way," Fergus said desperately.

"There isn't," Mordred said. "You know there isn't. We've exhausted every option. This is what remains."

"It's insane," Fergus said.

"It's survival," Mordred corrected. "For the people who matter."

I couldn't stay silent. I stood, legs shaking, and moved toward them.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, voice trembling. "What does that story mean? What are you planning?"

Neither answered.

"Fergus," Mordred said, turning back to him. "Send the messenger. Tonight. Tell Sebastian we'll meet tomorrow at dawn. Neutral ground."

Fergus's hands clenched into fists so tight his claws extended. "Mordred, please. Don't do this. There has to be another way."

"There isn't," Mordred said again. "And you know it."

"I can't—" Fergus's voice broke. "I can't let you—"

"You don't have a choice," Mordred said gently. "Neither of us do."

They stared at each other, and I saw tears streaming down Fergus's face.

"Are you certain?" Fergus asked finally, voice barely audible.

"Yes," Mordred said.

Fergus closed his eyes, whole body shaking. Then he nodded once, sharply, and turned toward the door.

Then he was gone, the door closing with a soft click.

I stood staring at the closed door, mind racing.

I turned to stare at Mordred, a terrible suspicion forming.

"What are you planning?" I whispered.

"Go to your quarters, Davelina," Mordred said, not meeting my eyes. "Get some rest. Tomorrow will be difficult."

"You're going to give him something," I said slowly, pieces clicking together. "Something he wants badly enough to spare Natasha."

"That's not your concern," Mordred said quietly.

"It is my concern!" I said. "If you're planning to sacrifice yourself somehow, if you're going to—"

"I'm not sacrificing anything," Mordred interrupted. "I'm making a trade. That's all."

"A trade for what?"

"For the people I love," he said simply.

"I don't understand," I said finally.

"You will," Mordred said. "Soon enough."