Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 91: The Mystery Woman

The sky hung heavy with clouds, the air thick with the scent of impending rain. It looked as though the heavens might open at any moment, but the threat of a storm did little to deter the gathered nobles. For them, the hunt wasn’t truly about the game—it was merely an elaborate excuse.

From her elevated perch, Lorelai surveyed the bustling gathering below. Tents were scattered throughout the dense forest like colorful mushrooms, their vibrant fabrics standing out starkly against the muted green of the woods.

Fires crackled and smoked, forming the heart of a makeshift barracks. The hunters and their attendants moved with practiced efficiency, preparing weapons and checking gear, while chefs stood ready, their knives glinting in the dim light as they awaited the spoils of the day.

Although more than a hundred people had gathered to partake in the spectacle, only a select few—a little over a dozen—were deemed worthy enough to participate in the hunt itself.

Not far from the commotion, Queen Althea stood with an air of effortless authority, feeding her hunting hawk. The bird, a sleek and formidable creature, tore into the raw meat she offered, its sharp beak working methodically as if savoring every morsel. Althea’s elegant fingers, adorned with jeweled rings, moved with precision, the crimson stains on her gloves an almost artistic contrast to her immaculate appearance.

The queen, of course, had no intention of joining the hunt today. Her presence alone was enough to command attention, and her hawk was simply a prop—a tool to stir envy and unease among the noblewomen gathered around her.

Lorelai watched from a distance, her lips tightening into a thin line as bitter memories clawed their way to the surface.

She had always despised that hawk.

It was a perfect hunting bird, intelligent and impeccably trained. But its training went far beyond hunting—it was a killer, through and through.

She had seen it kill before.

The images flickered in her mind like a series of unwelcome ghosts: soft fur, small paws, innocent eyes—all snuffed out in an instant under the cruel paws of Althea’s pet. Rabbits, kittens, even puppies. Nothing she loved had ever been spared.

Lorelai’s fingers clenched the fabric of her gown as she stared at the queen, patting the hawk with an almost maternal affection.

’The queen could never let me have anything to love at all,’ the princess pondered as she dwelled on her childhood memories. ’Rabbits, kittens, even puppies... I had to watch them die... all because of that damned bird.’

Marianna stood uneasily beside Lorelai, her posture stiff and her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her shawl. The princess noticed her maid’s nervousness but chose not to comment on it—for now. More troubling was the absence of Baroness Darina, her most trusted lady-in-waiting.

Baroness Fenwyn rarely missed these events, finding joy in even the bloodiest traditions of the hunt. Her conspicuous absence gnawed at Lorelai immensely.

Shaking off her unease, the princess made her way to the royal kennels, where the hunting dogs were kept.

Their excited yips and deep, rumbling barks grew louder as she approached, and a small smile tugged at her lips. She would have to investigate the matter of Darina’s absence later—once this grand charade of a hunt was over.

The princess paused at the edge of the kennels, her eyes scanning the rows of animals. Most of the dogs were tethered or kept in spacious pens, their muscular forms rippling as they strained against their leashes, eager to be let loose. Then her gaze landed on him.

In the farthest enclosure, a sleek black hunting dog with bright amber eyes perked up at the sight of her. His tail wagged furiously, creating a rhythmic thumping sound against the wooden walls of his pen. She stepped closer, her footsteps soft and quiet, and his excitement grew, his ears twitching forward in anticipation.

"Good boy," Lorelai murmured, her voice carrying the same warmth she reserved for moments of solitude. She reached for her gloves, pulling them on with precision before unfastening the latch to his pen. The dog bounded out but stopped just short of her, his large head tilting as if waiting for permission.

She chuckled softly, crouching to his level. "You remember me, don’t you?" she asked, though the answer was clear in the way his tail wagged even harder.

From a small pouch on her belt, she pulled out a piece of dried venison and held it out. The dog sniffed it eagerly before taking it gently from her fingers.

The animal sat obediently, his sharp eyes locked on hers, radiating intelligence and a fierce loyalty she had come to cherish. Unlike the queen’s hawk—a creature that had haunted her memories with its ruthless efficiency—this dog was a companion, not a weapon.

’After I could no longer allow myself to have a pet, I was excited to meet you as a training puppy. Remember how you used to sneak out from the training grounds searching for food?’

Lorelai ran her gloved hand over his sleek fur, smoothing it down as she felt a pang of bittersweet affection. "You have still managed to make a fine hunter," she whispered. "But I’ve kept you a little too soft, haven’t I?"

The dog barked softly, almost as if in agreement, and she laughed, a rare sound these days. He was no less brave or capable than the others, but it was her affection that never let him be chosen for serious hunts.

Even though the crown prince had never suspected that the absence of cruelty in one of his dogs was the result of Lorelai’s care for it, he certainly knew that he was Lorelai’s favorite and thus, did not dare to dispose of it.

Just yet.

"Here," Lorelai whispered, pulling a thin black silk ribbon from the pocket of her vest. Her fingers lingered on the smooth embroidered fabric for a moment before she knelt down to face her companion. "This is the first time you’re going on such a big hunt in a while. You’ll need a little luck."

The hunting dog tilted his head, his amber eyes fixed on her, as if he understood the significance of the gesture.

Lorelai leaned forward and carefully wrapped the ribbon around his neck, tying it into a loose, elegant bow to ensure his comfort. The dog wagged his tail furiously, then leaned in to lick her gloved hand to show his gratitude.

She smiled softly, a warmth briefly chasing away the cold unease in her chest. ’I just hope today’s companion will be kind to you too.’

The sharp barks of the other hunting dogs suddenly ceased, plunging the air into a strange, unsettling silence. Ears flattened and tails tucked low, the animals huddled close to their handlers, their usual exuberance replaced by palpable unease.

Even the horses, who had been noisily crunching on carrots moments before, froze mid-bite. Their wide eyes darted toward the shadows, and they shuffled nervously, some even retreating a step, abandoning their feed. Above, the hawks shifted restlessly on their perches, their piercing cries slicing through the tension like knives.

It was as though the very forest itself held its breath.

The hunters and attendants exchanged uneasy glances, their focus drawn instinctively to their animals’ behavior. Conversations died mid-sentence, and the cheerful buzz of the gathering dissolved into a heavy, expectant hush.

Lorelai’s breath hitched as she followed their gazes. Her pulse quickened, though she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something else entirely.

The silence had only one explanation.

From between the trees emerged Rhaegar, the King of Beasts.

His strides were measured, almost casual, but every step he took radiated the authority that made even the most steadfast hounds quiver. His presence demanded submission, a primal deference that no creature, human or otherwise, could easily resist.

Lorelai’s eyes locked onto him, and she found it impossible to look away. His black hunting attire clung to his powerful frame, emphasizing his lithe yet muscular build. The quiver slung over his shoulder and the sword resting at his hip were unexpected but fitting. Somehow, any weapon seemed to belong in his hands, an extension of the raw, untamed power he exuded.

Behind Rhaegar strode the beasts he had chosen to accompany him on the hunt. Four in total, their formidable presence sent ripples of unease through the crowd. Alim and Gian, his usual companions, walked with their characteristic confidence, their every step a reminder of their prowess. Yet, among them was someone Lorelai had seen before.

It was a woman, though her appearance made it hard to place her among the other beasts. She stood as tall as the lycan warriors at her side, but her frame was surprisingly slender, almost delicate, an impression heightened by the way her silk blue robe draped over her figure. The flowing sleeves and the soft shimmer of the fabric gave her an almost ethereal quality, but the thick silk belt tied at her waist hinted at practicality over elegance.

Dozens of tiny glass bottles hung from the belt, each meticulously secured in place. Their contents varied—powders in muted shades of green and brown, herbs dried to perfection, and a few bottles containing liquids that shimmered faintly under the dim light filtering through the trees. It was clear these were no mere decorations but tools of her trade, though what that trade might be was still a mystery.

The woman’s appearance was striking in more ways than one.