Vanished Sisters: The Lycan King's Slave Island Chapter 210

Natasha's POV

They'd moved me last night—dragged me from the dungeon beneath the citadel to Blood Fang Arena.

The cell here was smaller than my previous one, with no window, no bench, just bare stone and a thin layer of straw on the floor. I'd spent the night curled in the corner, trying not to think about what morning would bring, trying not to imagine the axe falling, the crowd cheering, the darkness that would follow.

But morning came anyway.

The cell door scraped open, and two guards stepped inside, their faces impassive in the torchlight.

"It's time," one of them said.

I stood on shaking legs, my dress filthy and torn, my hair tangled around my shoulders. The guards moved forward and bound my wrists with rough rope, tight enough to bite into my skin.

"Walk," one of them said, giving me a slight push.

I walked.

The corridor leading from the cells was narrow and damp, sloping upward toward sounds I could already hear—voices, hundreds of them, raised in excitement and anger. As we climbed, the noise grew louder, and I could make out individual shouts.

"Death to the deceiver!"

"Human whore!"

"Make her pay!"

We emerged into blinding sunlight, and I had to stop, blinking rapidly as my eyes adjusted. I was standing at the edge of Blood Fang Arena. Every seat was filled. Thousands of Lycans had gathered to watch me die.

The arena floor was sand, dark with old bloodstains, and in the center stood a wooden platform. On it sat the execution block—dark wood worn smooth by use, with a groove carved where countless necks had rested. Beside it stood the executioner, a massive Lycan in a black hood, holding an axe that gleamed in the sunlight.

My breath caught in my throat.

This was real. This was happening.

The guards pulled me forward, and the crowd erupted in a roar that made my ears ring. They were on their feet, shouting, pointing, their faces twisted with rage and satisfaction.

I scanned the crowd desperately, looking for familiar faces. There—in one of the lower sections—I saw Davelina standing with Fergus, his arm around her shoulders. I expected to see tears, devastation, the same terror that was clawing at my insides.

But Davelina wasn't crying.

She looked pale and exhausted, but there was something else in her expression. Something that looked almost like... calm. Like she knew something I didn't.

She met my eyes across the distance, and I saw her lips move: "You'll be alright."

I stared at her, confused. How could I be alright? I was about to be executed.

Beside her, I spotted Lucy, tears streaming down her round face, her hands pressed to her mouth. At least someone understood the gravity of what was happening.

The guards hauled me up the steps to the platform, and suddenly I was standing above the crowd, exposed and vulnerable. The executioner turned to look at me, his eyes cold and professional through the slits in his hood.

"Kneel," one of the guards said, pushing me toward the block.

My legs locked. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to fight, to do anything except walk toward that block and lay my head down.

"I said kneel," the guard repeated, his voice harder.

Before he could force me down, I heard footsteps on the platform behind me. I turned and saw Sebastian climbing the steps, dressed in formal robes of deep crimson trimmed with gold. He moved with easy confidence, and when he reached the top, he looked at me with an expression of satisfaction.

But not surprise. Not triumph. Just... satisfaction, like a man watching a plan come together exactly as expected.

Behind him came other Grand Lords—Gregor among them, his expression unreadable. They arranged themselves in a semicircle, witnesses to what was about to occur.

Sebastian raised his hand, and the crowd gradually quieted.

"Natasha Hastings," he said, his voice carrying across the arena. "You have been found guilty of crimes against the Lycan Kingdom. Guilty of deception—of disguising yourself as male to infiltrate our sacred spaces. Guilty of seducing our King through manipulation and lies. Guilty of corrupting the highest authority in our land with your human weakness."

The crowd roared its approval.

"For these crimes," Sebastian continued, "the sentence is death. Do you have any final words?"

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, another voice rang out across the arena.

"I do."

The crowd fell silent, turning as one toward the entrance.

Mordred walked into the arena, moving with slow, deliberate steps. He wore his crown—the simple circlet of dark metal—and formal robes that seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Behind him walked Fergus, his expression grim but unsurprised.

The crowd parted automatically as Mordred crossed the sand toward the platform, centuries of ingrained deference overriding their bloodlust. But I could hear the whispers starting, see the confusion spreading.

Of course the King would attend. This was his failure being corrected, his weakness being purged. His presence was expected.

Mordred climbed the steps to the platform, his eyes finding mine and holding them. I saw so much in that gaze—love, grief, determination, and something that looked like peace.

"Your Majesty," Sebastian said, inclining his head. There was no surprise in his voice, no shock. Just formal acknowledgment. "We are ready to proceed."

"Not yet," Mordred said quietly. "There is something that must be said first."

Sebastian's expression didn't change. He simply nodded and stepped back, giving Mordred the floor.

Mordred turned to face the crowd, and his voice rang out across the arena, amplified by Lycan vocal cords that made every word carry to the farthest seats.

"People of the Lycan Kingdom," he said. "You have gathered here today to witness justice. To see punishment delivered for crimes against our traditions, against our laws, against everything we hold sacred."

The crowd roared its approval.

"You believe this human woman deceived us all," Mordred continued. "That she disguised herself as male, infiltrated our society, and seduced your King through manipulation and lies."

More shouts of agreement.

"And you have demanded her death as recompense."

"Yes!" someone shouted. "Kill the deceiver! Give us justice!"