Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 183: The Queen’s Army

"My Queen, please," Alim urged, his voice low and steady as he lightly shook Lorelai by the shoulders, desperate to anchor her spiraling thoughts. His golden eyes searched hers, concern etched into every line of his face. "What happened? Are you in pain?"

Lorelai shook her head sharply, swallowing hard to soothe her dry throat.

Her voice broke through the tension, trembling. "I remembered everything!" she exclaimed, clutching Alim’s vest tighter, as if the act alone could ground her. "I know what Althea has done—to me and to others! She cannot die! He cannot kill her!"

Alim’s brows shot upward, his confusion stark and unguarded. "What do you mean? If you’ve broken her spells, doesn’t that mean she can no longer control you?"

His gaze darted to Naveen, silently pleading for answers. The witch, equally troubled, stepped closer to Lorelai, her features drawn tight with concern. "What happened, Lorelai? What did Althea do?"

Lorelai inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling as though the weight of her revelation was physically crushing her.

"The blood... I thought she was using my blood to stay young, to conceal her true identity. But I was wrong. She’s using it for blood magic. I saw it in my dream—there are patterns, runes, everywhere! If she dies, we all die too!"

The air in the room seemed to thicken as the gravity of her words settled over them. Alim stiffened, his hands still resting on her shoulders, while Naveen’s lips parted in shock.

Lorelai bit her lower lip and instinctively pulled back, her expression contorting into one of uncertainty and unease.

How could she explain what she had seen? Fever dreams were not known for their clarity or logic, but she could feel the truth of it in her bones. The blood on her hands and feet, the ominous patterns, and the small black wolf cub from her dream—each image felt vivid, undeniable.

And, more importantly, Lorelai knew how it could all be fixed.

"I need to check something," Rising to her feet, Naveen strode toward the small window in their cramped hiding place. With a quick motion, she shattered the glass, the shards tinkling like tiny bells as they fell away.

From the belt strapped across her waist, she retrieved a small glass vial, its contents glowing faintly under the dim light. Uncorking it with a practiced hand, she leaned out the window and hurled the bottle into the cold night air.

The liquid dispersed in a fine mist, glittering as it collided with the biting wind. Then, without warning, a multitude of red sparkles erupted, snapping and flickering like a thousand miniature fireworks igniting at once.

Moments later, the atmosphere around the palace shifted. The air thickened ominously, and it seemed as if an impenetrable veil of darkness had descended over the royal grounds, suffocating the night in its eerie embrace.

Naveen turned back to the group, her expression grave.

"Our Queen is right. We assumed Althea was merely tethering Lorelai to the palace through her blood. But the true spell—it’s far more insidious. She anticipated everything. Every move we could make. She even planned for her own death. It’s... horrifyingly clever."

Alim, still cradling Lorelai’s fragile frame in his arms, shot to his feet, his movements sharp with frustration and desperation. "Then what do we do? We could go to Rhaegar, stop him before he reaches the ghoul queen—but what about the blood magic? How can we undo it?"

Naveen sighed deeply, her brows furrowing as she stared at the ground. A shadow of defeat darkened her features, the weight of her silence spreading unease through the room.

"Rhaegar’s blood alone isn’t enough to purify Lorelai’s body," Naveen explained. "He has a unique power—an ability to resist the spells since his seal was broken. But even that only serves one purpose: killing Althea. And that... won’t do anyone any good. Rhaegar’s blood needs to course through Lorelai’s veins to make it work."

She paused, scratching her chin thoughtfully as her cold blue eyes flickered in the faint moonlight streaming through the cracked window.

Lorelai, perched stiffly in Alim’s protective embrace, fixed her gaze on the witch.

Clearing her throat, Lorelai broke the heavy silence, her voice trembling slightly. "What if... there was a way it could work?"

Naveen’s sharp blue eyes darted to her in an instant, an unmistakable flicker of understanding igniting in their depths. Her expression softened, brightening with a glimmer of hope that pierced through the otherwise grim atmosphere.

"My Queen?"

***

The ground trembled as Rhaegar’s army stormed the queen’s palace, only to be met by a deafening screech that sent a chill down their spines. The unearthly sound reverberated through the vast halls, its pitch grating and unnatural, like nails scraping against the bones of the dead.

From the cracks in the walls and floors, clouds of black smoke seeped out, curling like living shadows and leaving a faint, malevolent residue clinging to every surface. The ominous aura thickened the air, oppressive and suffocating.

The men froze in place as the rancid stench of decay enveloped them, clawing at their throats and making their stomachs churn. The unmistakable smell of death wrapped around them like a ghostly shroud, leaving even the bravest soldiers shaken.

"What in the world...?" one of Rhaegar’s generals murmured, his sharp orange eyes narrowing as his pulse quickened.

Drawn by the sound and the stench, he glimpsed the horrific shapes materializing before them—ugly, tall, and unnervingly thin figures stretched forward from the shadows, emerging in grotesque unison.

They were neither human nor beast, neither fully alive nor entirely dead.

Their flesh was mottled with shades of dark brown and ashen gray, their decomposing skin hanging in shreds and fluttering like torn flags in the still air.

Empty, black hollows stared out from their faces where eyes should have been, gaping voids that seemed to swallow light.

Their mouths opened and closed with an unsettling rhythm, their long, jagged teeth clanking together in a ghastly, hollow melody.

Moving with a synchronized, almost unnatural precision, the creatures advanced, their thin limbs bent awkwardly as if they were marionettes controlled by invisible strings.

They stopped abruptly, forming a line just before the beastly army, their heads tilting in a disjointed motion, as if they were attempting to see through the voids where their eyes had once been.

Rhaegar stood frozen, his amber gaze fixed on the nightmare before him. A cold shiver coursed through his veins—not from fear of the creatures, but from the horrifying realization of their existence.

"So?"

The chilling voice cut through the air like a blade, low and taunting. Rhaegar’s eyes snapped to the center of the monstrous horde, where a figure emerged with an unsettling grace.

There she was—Althea, her presence as menacing as the vile army she commanded. Her crimson eyes glinted with cruel amusement as she spread her arms in mock invitation.

"How do you like my children, King?"