Claimed by the Feral Lycan Prince

There were fifteen of us in the courtyard.

We stood in a straight line beneath the afternoon sky, shoulder to shoulder, staring at Arry.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

Even the birds seemed to have disappeared.

I rubbed my damp palms against the rough fabric of my dress and forced myself to breathe.

Something was wrong.

I could feel it in the silence.

Arry loved silence. He liked watching us stand rigid and frightened, waiting for him to decide what we’d done wrong.

But this was different.

He had ordered every female servant in the Royal Manor outside.

Everyone of us.

And when Arry wanted everyone together, it was never for anything good.

Mila stood beside me. I could see her trembling from the corner of my eye.

“Enya,” she whispered.

I turned my head slightly.

Her lips barely moved.

“Do you know what this is about?”

“No.”

I didn’t know what was coming, but I knew I was going to hate it.

Nothing good ever came from Arry, that evil, power-hungry wolf.

Arry stepped forward.

His boots struck the stone courtyard with slow, deliberate steps.

He stopped in front of us, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression carrying the smug satisfaction of a man who knew something everyone else feared learning.

“I have news,” he announced.

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

“I am sure you will find it exciting.”

Exciting.

The word made my stomach twist.

Arry smiled.

“Tomorrow, we will have a very special guest at the Manor.”

A few women exchanged nervous glances.

I didn’t.

I kept my eyes on him.

I’d learned a long time ago that looking frightened only encouraged wolves.

“His Highness Prince Bailan will arrive with his entourage.”

The world seemed to stop.

Prince Bailan.

I didn’t listen to wolf gossip. I didn’t care about their politics or their royal bloodlines. The name meant nothing to me for half a heartbeat.

Then everything I’d ever heard came rushing back.

Even I had heard the stories about Prince Bailan.

The cursed prince.

The feral prince.

The prince who had lost control of his wolf.

The one whose rage left bodies behind.

The Lycan whose wolf had become so violent that even his own kind feared him.

I’d never even seen him.

But I knew what he was.

A monster.

My fingers curled into fists.

Around me, someone sucked in a sharp breath.

Another woman whispered a prayer.

Mila’s hand found mine.

Her fingers were ice-cold.

Arry continued speaking.

“He will be hunting in our forest and inspecting the northern borders during his stay.”

I barely heard him.

Because I already knew there was something else.

Arry reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden box.

My heart stopped.

He lifted the lid.

“I will draw one name each morning.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

“If your name is selected, you will report directly to Prince Bailan’s chambers.”

Nobody moved.

For one terrible moment, I couldn’t understand why the others looked so frightened.

We had all been used before.

That was what happened at the Manor.

When wealthy Lycans came to stay, the female servants were expected to make themselves available. A warm body in a cold bed. A convenient way to entertain a guest. Something soft and human to take the edge off a long night.

We hated it.

We endured it.

Then I remembered the stories, and my skin went cold.

This wasn’t the usual arrangement.

This wasn’t some drunk noble wanting a human in his bed for the night.

This was different.

They weren’t sending one of us to keep a guest warm.

They were feeding us to a monster.

“As some of you may know, certain measures are required to keep His Highness’s wolf contained.”

Mila’s nails dug into my palm.

I stared at the box.

At the little folded pieces of paper inside it.

Fifteen names.

Every night, one of us would be sent to a monster.

And nobody in this courtyard needed to ask what happened to the women who went to him.

We all knew.

They didn’t come back.

It was a lottery where the grand prize was a violent death.

My pulse hammered in my ears.

For years, I had believed I had already survived the worst thing that could happen to me.

I had been wrong.

I’d watched a Lycan tear my mother’s throat open.

I’d heard my sister scream as another dragged her into the forest.

I’d spent years carrying those sounds inside me, turning them over and over until hatred was the only thing left.

I hated them. Despised them.

Every one of them.

Their entire cursed existence.

Every fiber in my body was built on hatred. It was the only thing that made sense in a world ruled by monsters wearing human skin.

Mila squeezed my hand.

“Enya…”

I looked at her.

Her eyes were filled with terror.

I wanted to tell her it would be fine. I wanted to lie. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because for the first time in years, I was afraid too.

Not of dying.

I’d made peace with death a long time ago.

I was afraid of losing someone I loved once again.

“I advise you to wash and clean yourselves thoroughly tonight. Do not wear scented oils. Any foul human scent can trigger his wolf.”

“Now, go back to work.”

And with that he walked off.

“Enya,” Mila whispered beside me, her voice trembling so hard her teeth clicked.

“We’ll be fine,” I said, my voice low and hard, though a cold dread was already curling tightly in my gut. I gripped her shoulder, forcing her to walk inside. “We wash. We stay invisible. We don’t give him a reason to look at us.”

It was a lie.

I knew it.

She knew it.

But sometimes a lie was all you had.