The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 424: Trap VI

Silence settled over the chamber like a suffocating fog. It pressed against my ears. Against my chest. Against the fragile edges of my resolve.

Freda did not answer my question. She didn’t even look at me again.

She simply turned, heels clicking softly against the stone, and walked away as though none of this concerned her—my pain, my impending death, the corruption festering at the heart of this palace.

The door responded to her presence instantly, parting without touch, without sound, opening as though it recognized her authority.

I watched it with a dull, aching focus. The mechanism fascinated me in a distant, desperate way. It wasn’t just a door. It was a system. A spell. A gate woven into the very bones of this place.

It meant escape might be possible.

If I survived long enough to attempt it. If the stake didn’t finish dismantling me first.

The queen remained where she was, studying me with open, predatory amusement.

"Why do you care so much about Freda," she asked lazily, "when you’re only hours away from leaving this earth?"

Her tone was conversational. Casual. Cruel.

I swallowed past the dryness in my throat, the movement sending another ripple of pain through my chest. "Curiosity," I rasped. "If I’m going to die, I’d rather not do it ignorant."

She chuckled, low and pleased. "Curiosity killed more than cats."

My gaze held hers. "Why would Freda kill?"

The queen’s smile sharpened. "That is not my story to tell. And it is certainly not your business."

We stared at each other. A standoff. Her smirk was unflinching, brimming with confidence. My expression betrayed nothing, even as fear coiled inside me like a living thing.

"I can’t wait," she added softly, tilting her head, "to suck your powers when you’re gone."

The words sent a cold ripple through my veins.

I didn’t let it show. Instead, I leaned into the terror and shaped it into something steadier.

"How do you do it?" I asked quietly.

She blinked, briefly surprised.

Then she shrugged, elegance rippling through the movement. "Black magic," she replied lightly. "A useful art, when you grow tired of never being enough."

The admission hung between us.

"You learned it because you wanted more power," I murmured.

"No," she corrected, eyes darkening. "I learned it because no matter what I did, I could never measure up to my stepsister."

The word struck harder than I expected. Stepsister.

My brows knit faintly. "You were not born into this family?" 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

She scoffed at the realization on my face. "No. I was adopted."

Her voice took on a bitter edge. "Ruelle’s father found me during one of his travels. My parents had died in a fire outbreak—burned to ash. He took pity on me. Brought me home. Raised me alongside his precious daughter."

Ruelle.

The name resonated faintly—a ghost of history, a queen whose legacy had been rewritten, twisted, erased.

"So you owed them goodwill," I said slowly. "Instead, you killed their daughter. Took her throne. Then blamed it on the werewolves. On her husband."

My lips curved in a weak, humorless line. "Isn’t that so?"

The queen didn’t deny it. She didn’t even bother to pretend.

"There was no choice," She said flatly. "I was tired of being second. Of being overlooked. Of being the lesser sister in every story."

Her gaze flickered, momentarily unguarded. "Especially when Brekan chose Ruelle over me."

So, Peter was right then. This wasn’t only political rivalry. It was personal. Might even be the rot at the core of it all.

"You hated him," I murmured. "And transferred that hate to his kingdom."

Queen Aliana lifted one shoulder. "Hate is a powerful motivator."

"And the abstenum," I added weakly, irritation flaring despite my failing strength. "That was an added incentive. A way to terrorize his people. To prolong your own life."

Her smile widened. "You’re learning, finally."

The realization sickened me. And the humiliation fueled something dangerous inside me, an ember of defiance that refused to die quietly.

If I made it out of here alive, I would rewrite fate. Rewrite the visions that haunted me. Rewrite the ending.

But how? The question throbbed like a second wound.

A chair scraped softly across the floor. Hendel rose to his feet with leisurely grace, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves.

"My love," he said lightly to Aliana, "I’m leaving."

The words hit me with a sharp jolt of déjà vu.

The first time I had attended a meeting in this community, and had seen the tension between them. The subtle closeness that had seemed too intimate to be familial.

My throat tightened.

"You two are sleeping together," I croaked.

Aliana turned to Hendel with a slow, pleased smile. Then she leaned up and kissed him. Not shyly. Possessively.

"We’ve been together since our teens," she said calmly when she pulled back. "We just couldn’t be together publicly. Brekan would have stopped our romance, but he chose my sister..."

Her eyes glittered at the shock on my face. "We are not siblings, after all."

"Rachel," she continued smoothly, "and Raul belong to him."

The words crashed into me like a wave. Disgust surged, hot and nauseating. I swallowed it back, bile burning my throat.

"How," I whispered, struggling to keep my voice steady, "could you ever want Adam and Rachel to marry?"

The queen studied me as though I were an amusing riddle.

"That union would never have gone through," she replied lightly. "It was a tool. A cover. A convenient distraction."

Her gaze narrowed. "I had plans for it." Then she smirked. "But then you came along, Sage. And things became... much better."

The implication coiled around my heart like a snake. Tears burned behind my eyes.

"Do Raul and Rachel know?" I asked hoarsely.

"Of course not," she replied breezily. "They think Duke’s father is their father."

Her lips curved. "That’s why they were willing to go along with the marriage in the first place... they knew I was adopted."