Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 131: Under The Mask

Lorelai felt uneasy hearing the witch’s reply. There was something in Naveen’s voice—an undercurrent of raw emotion—that made her heart clench with a pain she could not quite place or understand.

Naveen seemed to sense her distress. The witch said nothing, her bright blue eyes studying every subtle shift in Lorelai’s expression as she quietly puffed at her pipe.

When she finished, she tucked the pipe into the sleeve of her long black robe with a fluid motion, her gaze never leaving the princess.

"Times have changed. That much is true," Naveen said, her words seemingly unprompted, yet they immediately drew Lorelai’s full attention. "The horrors of the purists’ reign may be over, but it will take decades—perhaps even centuries—to heal the wounds they inflicted on those of human blood."

Lorelai blinked, her confusion genuine. "Purists? Do you mean... the pure-blooded beasts?"

Naveen gave a slow nod. "Yes. Just as some humans refuse to mix their bloodlines with those they consider of lower birth, pure-blooded beasts have long despised the idea of mingling their blood with the human race. Those who dared defy that belief have survived, even risen to power, but at great cost. And for some, the price is still being paid—often dearly."

The witch’s voice, though steady, carried a weight that hinted at personal experience. She shifted slightly, her hand hovering near the flowing fabric of her mask.

Lorelai’s heart skipped a beat, a sudden rush of curiosity overtaking her. For a moment, she thought Naveen might lift the veil, revealing what lay hidden beneath the mask. But the witch’s hand faltered, dropping back to her side with practiced restraint.

The princess could not decide whether she felt disappointed or strangely relieved. Perhaps she was not completely ready to see what was hidden under the mask.

She thought of Rhaegar. Half-beast, half-human. His kingdom had only thrived under his reign, growing stronger and more prosperous with each passing year.

Then her mind wandered to Erelith. Was one’s lineage or the purity of one’s blood truly that important in the end?

"Naveen..." Lorelai asked softly, her voice barely audible as she clutched the thick robe tightly around her small frame. "How is it that... you are still with the beasts?"

The question felt wildly inappropriate, yet she could not suppress the urge to ask. After all, no mage or witch could be forced to serve the crown unless they had no other choice.

And now that Rhaegar ruled the kingdom, Lorelai could not help but wonder why Naveen remained by his side. From what she had observed, it didn’t seem like the king needed the witch’s help at all.

Naveen’s gaze softened, her luminous blue eyes revealing a glimmer of understanding. There was an almost imperceptible warmth in them, like the ghost of a hidden smile.

"I am a Gypsy," Naveen began, her voice calm and measured as she tucked her hands into the long, flowing sleeves of her robe. "My people are loyal to one another, yes, but above all, they are loyal to themselves and to what serves their best interests. That was why I got involved with the beasts... Or, to be more precise, with the purists."

The witch’s expression darkened as she turned her face toward the silver disc of the moon hanging low in the sky. She inhaled deeply, as if bracing herself for the weight of the story she was about to share.

***

All kinds of magic were coveted in the Beast Kingdom.

Having no innate magic of their own, the beasts envied humans who possessed such extraordinary talents. As their influence grew, taking over more lands and wielding immeasurable power, their fascination with the supernatural deepened.

They sought out mages and witches to enhance their strength with magic. Yet, knowing the value of their abilities, no mage or witch could be easily bought. They thrived on the balance of power, carefully avoiding allegiances that would tip the scales too far in one direction.

No amount of wealth or threats could force those gifted with magic into captivity. Their skills made them untouchable, their autonomy a necessity to preserve the delicate competition between rivaling kingdoms.

Naveen was born into a small Gypsy camp that traveled along the northern border between Erelith and the Beast Kingdom. Her mother died when she was barely a week old, her life claimed by a sudden and merciless blood infection.

Orphaned before she could even understand the world, Naveen was left in the care—or rather, at the mercy—of the camp’s greedy leader.

When he discovered the young girl had inherited her mother’s gift for witchcraft, he wasted no time in exploiting her abilities. Without hesitation, he sold her powers to the pure-blooded lycan king, who was in desperate need of magic.

Naveen was only twelve years old when her powers were nearly drained. The power-hungry lycan king tormented her day and night, mercilessly depleting her abilities in his desperate quest to amplify his own inhuman strength.

She endured the suffering, not out of loyalty to the king, but for her own survival. Naveen vowed that once she was strong enough, she would leave that cursed land forever. She swore to never again use her powers to aid those who sought only to spread pain and suffering for the sake of their own greed.

Her goal was noble, but her timing could not have been worse.

The first half-blood rebellion erupted within the royal palace—a horrific massacre, a bloodbath sparked by those who had grown weary of the purists’ tyranny.

For the first time, Naveen allowed herself a glimmer of hope. She thought this was her chance at last—a chance to escape and leave everything behind.

Without hesitation, she gathered her few belongings and fled the palace, praying fervently to the heavens that the darkness of the night would cloak her escape.

But her prayers went unanswered. What she had thought was a rebellion turned out to be nothing more than a brutal coup—a violent carnage designed to replace one tyrannical king with another.