Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 24

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Chapter 24

Roana,

I woke to the unmistakable chill of an empty side of the bed. Cassian must have slipped away long before dawn. My hand instinctively reached out, gliding over the cool, vacant sheet, and a soft sigh escaped me. Stretching my arms overhead, I felt the familiar faint crackle of my joints loosening. Since leaving the Silverstone Wolf Pack, my mornings had lost their purpose. Back then, I would have been up well before sunrise, lacing my boots and heading out to the training grounds with Alexander, guiding the young wolves with purpose and pride.

Now, those mornings felt hollow, devoid of meaning.

“Yeah, because we’re unemployed now!” Rye’s sarcastic voice echoed in my mind, stretching herself exaggeratedly with a mocking yawn. Her biting tone grated on my nerves, testing my patience.

I rolled my eyes, though she couldn’t see me, and forced myself out of bed, dragging my feet toward the bathroom. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the sight struck me again—familiar yet surreal. My lips parted slightly, disbelief flickering within me despite having seen it just yesterday. The bathroom gleamed with pristine marble floors that caught the gentle morning light, polished glass surfaces reflecting golden fixtures that shimmered softly. A subtle scent of lavender lingered in the air, adding a delicate freshness. Every detail screamed luxury.

I wasn’t ashamed to admit it—the bathroom alone was larger than my entire old bedroom back in Silverstone. The thought made me chuckle bitterly, a quiet reminder of how far I’d come, or perhaps how far I’d drifted.

After freshening up, hunger gnawed at me, a low growl from my stomach reminding me it was time to eat. My belongings hadn’t arrived yet—especially my precious little Candy. Until that woman returned to knock on my door again, or until Veronica tried to hatch another scheme, I resolved to give my empty stomach the one thing it deserved: food.

Food was life.

Descending the stairs, I wore one of the new outfits Cassian had bought me yesterday. The air around me shifted subtly, though it wasn’t something visible—more a prickling sensation at the nape of my neck, a quiet warning I couldn’t ignore.

The servants stiffened as soon as they noticed me. Their shoulders tensed, eyes quickly dropping to the floor, avoiding my gaze as if my very presence scorched them. Their movements slowed, deliberate and cautious, as though they wished to disappear entirely.

I forced myself not to overthink their behavior. They didn’t know me. I was a stranger abruptly thrust into the role of their King’s Luna. Hesitation was expected.

But when I stepped into the kitchen, a voice cut through the silence—smooth, cold, and sharp as glass.

“They didn’t prepare breakfast for you.”

I turned slowly to find Carolyn standing in the dining room, arms crossed, her weight lazily resting on one leg. A smirk tugged at her lips, but her eyes were filled only with disdain.

“Since you aren’t officially the Luna,” she said, her tone dripping with venom, “no one here will serve you until you prove your worth.” She picked up a tangerine from the table, rolling it between her fingers before flicking it toward me.

I didn’t flinch. My hand shot up and caught it effortlessly. Peeling the bright skin with steady fingers, the sharp citrus scent filled the air.

“You mean, in this house, a guest isn’t even treated like a guest?” I asked calmly, amusement threading through my voice.

For the first time, her smirk wavered. She froze for a brief moment, throat bobbing as she cleared it quickly, trying to cover her slip. “You are not a guest,” she snapped, tightening her expression. “You haven’t earned that place.”

I laughed—a genuine, clear laugh that made a few nearby chefs glance nervously in my direction before quickly looking away. I strode past Carolyn into the kitchen, my footsteps echoing softly on the tiled floor. She followed, the sharp click of her heels betraying her irritation.

“I wonder what His Majesty will think about that,” I mused, my voice light but carrying across the room. The chefs stiffened, pretending to busy themselves with chopping and stirring.

“After all, he stayed by my side all night, let me rest on his chest, and even left me a small note saying he would return soon.”

Several chefs exchanged quick, wide-eyed glances. I caught their uneasy whispers beneath their breath but chose to ignore them.

“Does His Majesty usually share his room like this?” I asked louder, tilting my head toward Carolyn.

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. She slammed her palm down on the kitchen counter with a sharp crack that made a young maid flinch.

“His Majesty can’t sleep! He has insomnia. You lying bitch!” Her voice was shrill, trembling with rage as if my words had struck her physically.

Her claim stunned me. Insomnia? It didn’t add up. I had seen him sleep—twice now—once at the café, and again last night, deeply and soundly, like someone who hadn’t rested in years.

“Insomnia?” I whispered, frowning.

“Yes, you lying—”

“Don’t call me bitch.” My hand rose sharply, and the steel in my voice made the air grow taut. Her mouth snapped shut.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. But he does not have insomnia. And even if he did, it wouldn’t stop him from being with me.” I stepped closer, my eyes darkening as I locked onto hers. “Besides, is this how you run this household? By treating people poorly just because you’ve decided they’re not good enough?”

Carolyn didn’t flinch. She held her ground, her face carefully composed. Her calmness was almost eerie, more threatening than her earlier outburst. People like her never revealed their true thoughts.