All Chapters of A Deal With The Lycan King: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Vaelen wasn’t in the room when she got out … small mercies.
 Once dressed, Saeris found her meal set by the living area. She gobbled down the duck confit and two cheese-and-chive scones while thinking through what she’d done … in the middle of doing.
 Not an hour later, she was out of Vaelen’s room and was slowed at the curve of the open hall when her eyes landed on Mor. Lord Cassius stood with her, shoulders stiff, mouth drawn tight like he’d swallowed something unpleasant. Mor, in contrast, looked… offended. 
 She tilted her head, said something Saeris couldn’t catch, but it made Cassius flinch ever so slightly, then flicked a hand in an elegant, dismissive wave. 
 Whatever it was, it sent him retreating down the corridor.
 Saeris hadn’t realized she’d moved until she was halfway down the hallway toward Morgana.
 Mor turned her head slowly and began to saunter toward her, hips swaying, that same mild beautiful smile g

“You’re brothers?” Saeris echoed the red-haired male's words, more in disbelief than question. 
 They hadn’t been heading toward the courthouse after all. Samkiel had mumbled something vague about finding someone—a quick grab-and-go, he'd called it. She’d never thought to ask, but the idea of Vaelen having a brother hadn’t once crossed her mind.
 Samkiel rubbed a thumb along his bottom lip, eyes forward. “Not from the same mother. Mine was a mistress. A nobody, really. And since I wasn’t born royal, I rotted away in the slums until my oh-so-magnanimous father decided his bastard son was worth putting to use.”
 His voice carried no bitterness. Just a hollow matter-of-factness that made her stomach tighten.
 “If I did the job well, my mother got to live another day. If I didn’t…” He shrugged. “Then we’d both learn what mercy didn’t look like.”
 Saeris’s throat bobbed. 
 But Samkiel only added, quieter now, “Not like servin

Saeris’ voice wobbled as she noted those eyes and quickly said to him. “I … I didn't mean to come here.” Her fingers were unconsciously pinching each other, an old childhood habit she thought long forgotten. “I was just walking. Clearing my head.”
 A long beat passed.
 “And yet … here you are.” There was no accusation in it—just observation.
 The knot in her chest shifted, tightened, and then turned to something else, something sad.
 He stepped closer, and when his hand lifted, fingers grazing her cheek, she didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into the touch, into him. Into the warmth and weight of his scent: pine, smoke, fresh snow.
 Maybe she just needed a hug, something to hold her together before she splintered entirely. She felt a tension ripple through his frame, felt him stiffen for a long while before it slowly ebbed away. She might have shown too much emotion to warrant that, but she was too tired to care. 
 He wa

The hall was colder than it had any right to be. Carved into the bones of the mountain, like the courthouse had been. But this wasn’t grand, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
 Two raised lofts faced each other across a wide stone pit. Guards flanked either side. And at the center stood Lord Varys.
 Beneath the opposite loft were Vaelen’s conclaves, cloaked in the dusk-colored leathers of the crown. She’d asked Vaelen why they weren’t under his own loft.
 “I want them where they can be seen,” he’d told her. “Eyes matter in a room like this.”
 He had a point.
 It had been two days since the Den. All Saeris cared about now was that Lord Hareth, that bloated, pest of a man, paid for it. For what he did. She couldn’t stomach the thought that there might be others like him.
 A man appeared in the opposite loft, wearing a plain, long black robe, dark leathers, no crown, no sigil like the robes of the conclaves—just a smooth staff of

“Already,” Vaelen said, it wasn't a question.
 Saeris turned, finally gathering the courage to glance towards the bar. Kaan stood at the gate below, nodding once, just as the bar groaned open and the crowd erupted. 
 Vaelen leaned back. “If he brings me my gold, I might let him keep half.”
 That pulled her attention. “What does that mean?”
 “I placed a bet,” he said simply. “On him.”
 “You what?”
 “Why do you sound surprised? It’s only right I did so,” he said, voice almost bored. “Each King places a wager on their own—or against them.”
 Her gaze snapped to his. “You’d bet against him?”
 “I’d never bet on a losing hand.” He angled his jaw toward the arena below. “Now, watch. It’s starting.”
 Saeris turned just in time to see the other fighter emerge from the opposite gate. The breath in her throat caught.
 “That’s one tall Lycan…”
 The man was monstrous. Seven feet tall if he w