To heal a Rogue

LYSANDER

I crossed to the door and unlocked it immediately.

Bradley stood in the corridor, taller than me by a fair margin, older too as his face carried the kind of authority that came from decades spent surviving in rooms far more dangerous than this one.

He bowed as soon as the door fully opened.

"It’s unsafe for you to be without a retainer and a fleet of sentinels, Your Majesty," he said.

He snapped his fingers, and six sentinels filed out of the corridor behind him with practiced precision. Leading them was a weathered wolf whose neck bore a lattice of pale, aged scars. At his side stood a retainer in immaculate uniform, a long scar slashing diagonally across his cheek, lending his otherwise impassive face a permanent air of menace.

"I’m only regent for now," I said. "I do not believe I need all of this. ."

"Well... you do and in a few more days, you will get the crown. So best get used to it, Your Majesty."

I was going to say something about that. But he looked like he wanted to say more so I just kept quiet.

"This isn’t the proper room for you either, if I may say so," Bradley added, glancing past me at the space.

"My uncle is still freshly in the morgue," I said. "I don’t feel comfortable desecrating his memory in his own chambers yet. I happen to feel more comfortable here." I studied him a moment. "Is there a reason you’re here, High Beta?"

Bradley smiled faintly. "I did intend to come regardless. But the main reason is the elders said you wouldn’t listen to reason, given the state you were in tonight. I was fairly certain I could make you see it. Reason."

"About the girl?"

"Absolutely not," he said. "The healer is no concern of mine. Interesting, certainly, but she’s a breeder now, and yours to do with as you wish. The matter I’m here for is far more pressing."

I remembered the meeting the elders had mentioned earlier that day, the one they’d said I’d learn about in due time.

"Is it about the meeting?" I demanded.

"Oh... they did mention that they already brought it up with you," Bradley said, something approving crossing his face. "I’m glad you remember."

"Can it not wait until tomorrow?"

"I believe tonight is the best time, actually."

"Will you stay here, then," I said, "if I leave? Her protection is paramount right now. I’m sure you understand what exposure like this could invite."

"This space is the safest in the world," Bradley said.

"There have been two attacks in two days. I do not know about that."

"Because we have traitors," Bradley said, matter of fact. "Obviously."

"Do you know who those traitors are?"

"We have a living, breathing rogue currently in custody who was directly involved," he said. "I’m certain some torture would loosen his tongue eventually. If that fails, a delicate or a talented witch would manage it easily enough. The witch option does appetize me."

"I would leave more easily," I said, "if I were certain she’d be protected while I’m gone."

Bradley cleared his throat and turned slightly, and the High Gamma stepped into view from the corridor behind him.

"Will this suffice, Your Majesty," Bradley said, "along with the royal retainer and the sentinels already assigned?"

My eyes settled on the High Gamma. Then they drifted to the scarred retainer, the six sentinels standing in disciplined silence behind him. I measured each of them in turn, searching for hesitation, weakness, anything that suggested they would fail if another attack came.

The High Gamma met my gaze without flinching.

I let the silence stretch another moment before finally nodding.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, it will."

"In that case, come with me, Your Majesty."

We left the room, moving through the main estate toward my uncle’s old study, where several of the High Elders were already gathered, waiting.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"A significant part of ruling all of werewolf society," Bradley said, "is maintaining the status quo. Obeying the will of the goddess." He studied me carefully. "You must know the rhyme."

"The children’s rhyme?" There was confusion on my face even as I posed the question as my mind snapped immediately back to what Bonnie had told me my uncle whispered before he died.

"You think quickly," Bradley said, something like approval in his voice. "No wonder the late King cherished you so much." He nodded once. "Yes. The children’s rhyme. Do you happen to know what it’s actually about?"

I thought of the conversation with Freya, the messages still sitting unread on my phone.

"Lycans," I said.

My mind started to spiral before he’d even confirmed it, questions stacking faster than I could organize them.

"That is correct," Bradley agreed.

"So they exist?" I quizzed, sharing a brief, disbelieving look with the elders standing nearby. None of them looked amused. All of them looked entirely serious.

I was playing my own game with them of course. I knew bits and pieces but it was clear they could know something more.

Bradley stepped closer to me. "Just one."

What did that mean?

"Your hand," he said.

"For what?"

"I need to cut you," he said. "And draw blood."

"And that would be for—"

"The protective spell is hardlocked," Bradley said. "Only royal blood can shatter it, temporarily."

"Please speak plainly," I said. "I don’t like being kept in the dark."

"Then offer me your hand, Your Majesty."

I gave it to him, begrudgingly, and he led me to a bare stretch of wall near the far side of the study before drawing a small blade from somewhere inside his coat. Before I could even flinch properly, he cut into my palm and pressed the wound flat against the wallpaper.

The wall drank it greedily.

Crimson veins spread beneath the paper in impossibly precise lines, branching outward until they formed a sprawling rune that pulsed with a dull, living glow. The study fell deathly silent. Every elder watched without speaking.

Then the wallpaper dissolved.

It did not peel away or tear. It simply ceased to exist, revealing a steel door hidden behind it.

Calling it a door felt inadequate.

It was a vault.

Thick slabs of reinforced metal disappeared into the surrounding stone. Interlocking bolts protruded from every edge. The wheel fixed to its center was nearly as tall as Bradley’s chest.

"What the fuck," I breathed.

Bradley grasped the wheel.

It took both hands.

Metal groaned against metal as unseen mechanisms shifted somewhere inside the walls. The sound echoed through the study like something ancient stirring in its sleep.

Then...

The vault opened.

Cold air rolled over us.

It carried the sterile bite of chemicals beneath something older, something organic that I couldn’t quite place.

"Come with us, Your Majesty," Bradley said, and I followed.

Inside, machinery lined the walls, humming faintly, wires running along the floor toward something at the center of the room that immediately drew every bit of my attention.

A massive tube, tall enough to reach from floor to ceiling, filled with liquid the color of dying moss.

Floating inside it, suspended and hairless, wires threading into his skin from every visible angle, was a butt naked man.

I stopped walking.

"What the fuck," I said again, my voice barely above a whisper. "Who is that?"

Every elder in the room turned toward me in unison, their voices overlapping into a single flat statement that landed in my chest like a stone dropped into still water.

"The Lycan King," they said. "The only surviving member of the Lycan race."

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