Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 119: One Last Look

Rhaegar lifted his head and stared at the clouds gathering above him.

The day of the beasts’ departure had been marked by unusually ominous weather—far from typical for the peak of summer. The sky, a shade of gray that mirrored the smoke he was exhaling, seemed as heavy as his heart.

As Naveen had observed, he no longer needed to smoke his herbal cigars. But even so, the pain still clung to him, relentless and gnawing. novelbuddy.cσ๓

It was a dull ache, yet so intense that it felt as if he might climb the walls, howl at the heavens, claw at his own skin, tear everything apart—destroying everything and everyone in his path. There was no escape, no relief. It felt as though he were slipping into madness.

’Is this what it feels like to lose your mate?’ he wondered, his question directed toward his wolf, but the beast remained silent.

In truth, it had been silent ever since Rhaegar had left Lorelai in her room, walking away with the bitter answer of "no" burning in his chest.

Everything was nearly set for their departure.

Rhaegar’s final task was to visit the Gypsy tribe and give them instructions to keep watch over both Lorelai and the queen. No matter what happened next, the princess’s safety had to be ensured.

"King Rhaegar," Gian approached him, offering a brief but respectful bow. "The carriages are ready. Shall we leave immediately?"

Rhaegar frowned, inhaling deeply from his cigar once more. The bitter herbal smoke lingered on his tongue, and with another short exhale, a slight wave of relief relaxed his muscles. His tanned face settled into its usual, unreadable expression.

There was no point in staying in the palace any longer.

No one came out to see them off; they had never been truly welcomed here from the start.

Rhaegar lifted his head once more, his amber eyes moving to the draped window of the princess’s bedroom. She wasn’t there.

His heart sank painfully in his chest. He had hoped—just hoped—that she would at least watch him leave from a distance.

"Will you visit her one last time?" Gian asked, his heavy hand settling on Rhaegar’s shoulder. He offered a supportive, friendly smile, though his eyes betrayed the sadness he felt. He could sense the king’s growing misery with every breath, and it pained him deeply.

Gian understood the weight of losing a mate like no one else.

Rhaegar exhaled another puff of smoke, followed by a low growl, signaling his frustration. He didn’t know what he truly wanted to do.

If he went to the princess’s room now and she wasn’t there, he would only feel more rejected, more abandoned. But if she was there... if he saw her, he knew he would lose control. He would take her—abandon reason, abandon everything—and claim her, without considering the consequences that might follow.

One last look, a voice whispered weakly in his mind. With a deep sigh, he gave in to it.

One last look. He could only hope—pray—that she wasn’t there.

It didn’t take him long to reach the balcony outside her bedroom. He was skilled enough to climb the tallest trees and navigate around any lock, no matter how secure.

He could break into any room, unlock any door, but there was one that remained closed to him: Lorelai’s corrupted heart.

As he sat perched on one of the branches of the mighty oak tree, his eyes could not tear themselves away from every little detail visible in Lorelai’s room.

There was the tall standing mirror, framed in white wood and intricately carved with ornate patterns. He watched, as if in a trance, how she had paused before it, twirling, searching for flaws in her otherwise perfect, petite figure.

Her dressing table was a mess of brushes and sparkling little bottles carelessly scattered about—odd, considering how meticulous her maids usually were. He had seen her sit on the plush blue ottoman, running a wooden brush slowly through her wavy, sandy blonde locks. The grace in her movements was unmistakable, elegant even in the simplest of tasks.

And then, there was her bed.

The bed where they had shared hours of passion, a memory that would be forever etched in his mind and soul. He could still see her body, naked and sprawled seductively across the sheets, every time he closed his eyes. The image haunted him, but it only made the ache in his chest deeper, more unbearable.

Now, that bed would remain empty. Just like his heart.

One last touch.

A daring thought flashed in his mind, and before he could question it, his body was already moving—leaping through the branches with the agility of a predator—until he landed softly on the balcony leading to Lorelai’s room.

The door was not locked, and he entered immediately, his hungry eyes scanning the room for something he couldn’t quite place.

Perhaps he was looking for something of hers to keep—something tangible, a token, a memory tied to a physical object. He had the black ribbon she had given him during the hunt, but it clearly wasn’t enough.

His inner beast was terrified of forgetting her unforgettable scent, so he wanted—he needed—to preserve it as long as he possibly could.

Almost instinctively, his hand reached for the wooden brush. The concentration of her scent was so intense on it that he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

Look at yourself, Rhaegar... First, you became a fool in love, and now... you’re obsessing and stealing.

He placed the brush back on the table, but just as he did, the air shifted. Lorelai’s scent filled the room, enveloping him like a heavy, suffocating blanket. It was almost too much to bear, but he knew it was close.

Strangely, however, another smell mixed in with it. A rotten stench—a sickening odor of something old, yet unmistakably dead.

Startled, his body tensed. He nearly lunged for the door and swung it open, but as soon as he stepped into the threshold, he froze, rooted to the spot.

"Lorelai?"