Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 177: Setting Free

Rhaegar ran for what felt like an eternity.

The royal forest loomed around him, dark and menacing, its massive trees twisting upward like grotesque monsters. Their gnarled branches clawed at the night sky, casting eerie shadows that seemed to reach for him. Though his eyes were well-adjusted to the darkness, the weight of sorrow pressing down on him blurred his vision, his tears forming a thick, bitter film that refused to clear.

In his trembling hands, he clutched two items—his most precious possessions. One was the crude, rusted blade fashioned from Tharahan leaves, a parting gift from Tayiid. The other was the silk pouch filled with dried raisin bread, given to him by Princess Lorelai.

His stomach growled relentlessly, the ache of hunger gnawing at him with every step, yet Rhaegar refused to stop and eat. The thought of consuming the bread felt unbearable. If it were gone, he feared, there would be nothing tangible left to remind him of her—the girl who had risked everything for him.

But, of course, he knew deep down that he could never forget her. How could he forget the little miracle who had saved his life, offering him not just a fleeting moment of kindness but an enduring chance at freedom?

***

Rhaegar glanced up at the grim sky looming overhead. The thick gray clouds appeared heavier with each passing moment, their foreboding presence all but guaranteeing rain.

During the day, the warmth of the sun had provided him some comfort, but the nights outside Erelith were an entirely different story. They were bone-chilling, the unrelenting winds slicing through the barren landscape that offered no shelter. It was as if the desolation of the land itself conspired to strip away whatever strength he had left.

Utterly exhausted, Rhaegar’s gaze landed on a lone tree standing tall in the distance. Its massive trunk bore a hollow large enough to serve as a makeshift refuge.

Without hesitation, he stumbled toward it, exhaling deeply as he climbed into the hollow space. The rough wood walls closed in around him, but for the first time that night, he felt somewhat safe. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Scooping up the dry leaves scattered within, he wrapped them around himself like a fragile shield, coiling his small frame into the wooden cave.

Sleep, however, did not come easily. He tossed and turned, his body refusing to succumb to rest as the gnawing ache of hunger burned inside him, hollowing him out from within. It was a pain so raw, so consuming, that it felt as though his very insides might dissolve.

At last, with a reluctant sigh, Rhaegar reached for the silk pouch. The princess’s gift had become his lifeline. Carefully, he pulled out one of the slices of dried raisin bread. His hands trembled slightly as he brought it to his mouth, and as his teeth sank into it, the bread crumbled effortlessly.

The sensation was so unexpected—a strange, fleeting wave of relief washing over him. It wasn’t just the taste; it was the comfort of nourishment, the realization that, for now, his body would hold on a little longer.

The bread was unexpectedly delicious, and for a moment, Rhaegar wanted to devour every last crumb. But he steeled himself, forcing the urge away. He knew he had to ration it. Food was scarce, and the barren wilderness had yet to yield anything remotely edible. Starving to death was not an option.

Carefully placing the remaining bread back into the pouch, Rhaegar sighed and leaned back. A thick, matted lock of his hair fell into his line of vision, the strands greasy and tangled beyond recognition. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he brushed it away, the filth and grime of his ordeal clinging to him like an unwanted second skin.

What did she even think of me? Rhaegar couldn’t stop the thought from circling in his mind. Did she find me ugly and repulsive? There’s hardly anything here for a princess to look at.

With a heavy sigh, he set the silk pouch aside and unsheathed the knife he had taken from the dead guard. He stared at his reflection in the cold, gleaming blade. The distorted image staring back at him stirred something unfamiliar deep inside.

Was he handsome? He didn’t know.

It was a question he’d never cared to ask himself. Survival had always been his only concern—his strength, his ability to endure. Yet now, after meeting Lorelai, his thoughts strayed to things that had once seemed trivial. For the first time in his life, Rhaegar wondered if there was anything about his appearance that someone like her might find... appealing.

I don’t know... Long, dirty, tangled hair is never pretty, right?

He exhaled deeply, frustration bubbling up inside him. Grabbing a few greasy locks of his shoulder-length hair, he tugged them straight above his head. With a swift, precise motion, he brought the knife down, slicing the strands clean off. The severed hair fell around his feet, dark and lifeless, like tiny dead snakes coiling at his feet.

Strangely, he found the act fascinating—how easily he could shed something that had been a part of him for so long, and how painless it was. A drastic change in his appearance, yet it carried no emotional weight. It was just hair, after all.

Again and again, his hand moved, jerking the knife left and right as he worked to remove the messy, tangled waves of dark brown that had clung to him like a reminder of his struggles. Each snip brought him closer to a version of himself he barely recognized.

Before long, his head was completely bald. He ran his hand over the smooth surface, feeling the unfamiliar texture. The change was stark, almost jarring, but somehow, he felt lighter—unburdened.

I forgot you were still there, Rhaegar thought, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the small seal etched into the back of his head. It felt like an unhealing scar—a silent mark of power and restraint.

It was his mother’s warning––never to unleash what lay dormant beneath it. But now, after everything he had endured, he couldn’t help but wonder if the time had come to set his inner beast free.