Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 136: Collapse

The royal palace of Erelith had been steeped in unrest for quite some time.

Not only had it been struck by the shocking and untimely murder of Duke Kalder, but the kingdom was further rattled by the abduction of his young fiancée, Princess Lorelai Erelith, who had been taken by none other than the savage beasts led by King Rhaegar.

This unprecedented series of events sent tremors throughout the kingdom, unsettling everyone from the aristocracy to the common folk.

The growing unease spread like wildfire, fueled by whispers that passed through markets, taverns, and bustling streets. The common people, cut off from any official news, relied on fragments of hearsay, which inevitably morphed into rumors layered with wild assumptions and fanciful speculations.

"The beasts must have killed the duke!" This became the refrain echoing through the streets.

To the masses, it seemed the only plausible explanation.

The lycan king had long been rumored to covet the princess, but she was already promised to another. What other path could a barbarian like him take? In their minds, he had done what beasts were infamous for—succumbing to his cruel, primal instincts. Murder and abduction seemed to be his only tools of negotiation.

Yet, within the palace walls, where the undercurrents of political intrigue ran deeper, not everyone agreed with this simplistic narrative.

"The princess was a whore," Katarina, the newly appointed head lady-in-waiting of the queen’s palace, sneered as she took a generous sip of wine.

The goblet in her hand had been pilfered from the royal kitchens—an act of boldness she had justified by the current state of disarray in the palace and Queen Althea’s apparent apathy toward the management of her quarters.

"I cannot blame her, though," Katarina continued, her lips twisting into a cruel, self-satisfied smile. "The old duke was a horrifying man. How many young wives had he buried before the ink on their marriage contracts had even dried? He practically salivated every time the princess entered the room. I wouldn’t be surprised if she begged the beast king to take her away from this dreadful place."

She giggled, her wine-stained teeth flashing as she took another sip of the stolen vintage. The other ladies-in-waiting, eager to align themselves with her sharp tongue, nodded in agreement, their own smiles equally laced with venom.

"If begging didn’t work, I bet she seduced him," one of the women chimed in, her voice carrying a note of smug superiority. She poured champagne into a tall crystal flute with an air of practiced elegance, though the gesture seemed more theatrical than sincere.

"But the princess was always foolish like that. Everyone knows the beasts value strong, hardy women to breed with, not fragile little dolls. She’s nothing more than a passing toy for him. Once he’s done breaking her body, he’ll throw her away, just as the old duke would have done."

A ripple of bitter laughter filled the room, echoing against the cold, high walls of the drawing room. The sound was sharp, dripping with jealousy and disdain, as if mocking the very idea that the princess could escape her miserable fate with any semblance of triumph.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Count Elion clicked his tongue in irritation as he passed by the partially open door, shaking his head at the cacophony of spiteful laughter. He dropped his chin to his chest, visibly restraining his annoyance.

Walking beside him, Marquess Frederick Galeran shot him a sympathetic glance before turning a disapproving eye toward the doorway.

With a sharp jerk of his head, he motioned for Elion to keep moving, muttering under his breath, "A bunch of useless wenches! The palace is falling apart, and all they do is drink and gossip! What is the queen thinking, letting them carry on like that?"

Frederick’s complaints, though harsh, were not without merit. The royal palace was indeed a shadow of its former glory, a place where disorder had taken root like an invasive weed. Yet, as dire as the state of the court was, this was hardly the most pressing issue facing the kingdom.

"With Duke Kalder’s sudden death, the royal family should be focusing all its efforts on securing the borders and forging new political alliances to stabilize the crown. But what has Her Majesty been doing all this time? Absolutely nothing!"

Count Elion let out a weary sigh as he adjusted his tie, the fabric tight against his throat. His teeth pressed anxiously into his lower lip, betraying the growing frustration he struggled to suppress.

The state of the monarchy was troubling, to say the least.

Once, Queen Althea had ruled with an iron will, overseeing every aspect of governance with unrelenting precision. She had often relied on Princess Lorelai to handle the critical tasks that required a delicate touch, using her as a hidden hand to manage the kingdom’s most pressing matters. But now, Althea had vanished into the shadows of her own court, showing no interest in the affairs of the crown.

Even her appearance had changed drastically. Once a beacon of grace and authority, she now seemed hollow, her beauty faded into a frail, sickly visage that left a haunting impression on anyone who saw her.

The crown prince, too, was a shadow of his former self.

Gone was the man brimming with ambition and fire, eager to lead and secure the future of Erelith. Instead, he had confined himself to his chambers, drowning in the haze of expensive liquor and the fleeting company of female entertainers.

Whispers swirled about the palace—some women who entered his quarters never left, their disappearances adding an air of sinister mystery to his already crumbling reputation.

"Everything is falling apart," Elion muttered, his voice heavy with resignation.

He sank heavily onto the plush couch in Princess Lorelai’s study, now abandoned and repurposed as an impromptu meeting room for those still striving to keep the kingdom from crumbling.

Without her, the space felt eerily empty, yet it remained the only place where serious conversations about the crown’s future could safely occur.

"With both Her Highness and Dame Marianna gone," Marquess Frederick said, picking up the conversation with a grim tone, "it’s only a matter of time before the nation collapses into chaos. The vultures are already circling, ready to claw at the throne. Unless His Highness, the Crown Prince, finally pulls himself together and assumes responsibility, we’ll be left defenseless in the face of collapse."

"If only the king were in his right mind..." Count Elion sighed deeply, his voice heavy with despair, as he covered his eyes with a cold, trembling palm.

The study descended into a suffocating silence once more. Minutes passed before Elion finally broke the quiet, his tone now subdued, almost hesitant. "Sometimes, it feels as if... both the queen and the crown prince are plotting something beyond our understanding."

Marquess Frederick nodded slightly but refrained from voicing his agreement. His silence spoke volumes, a reflection of his unease.

There was indeed something unsettling about the queen and the prince’s recent behavior, a creeping strangeness that neither man could fully comprehend. Yet, without the princess to lend her influence and support, neither of them dared to openly challenge their actions.

The tension in the room was abruptly shattered by a sudden commotion beyond the closed doors. A loud, insistent knocking reverberated through the study, startling both men out of their grim contemplation.

Before either could call out or rise to respond, the doors swung open with a bang, slamming against the walls.

Lady Katarina stormed in, her face flushed a deep, angry red, reminiscent of boiled beetroot. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, her usually composed demeanor entirely unraveled.

"My Lords," she gasped, her voice shaky and strained as she forced the words out. "It’s His Majesty! His Majesty has passed away!"