The Lycan King and his Dark Temptation novel Chapter 422

NARRATOR

The news of Duke Thesio’s death during a hunt, supposedly devoured by wild wolves, spread like wildfire across the neighboring duchies and beyond.

Greedy eyes immediately turned toward the “poor” widow, left with little support from Thesio’s army but with an abundance of gold and land ripe for the taking.

It was like stealing candy from a child—she hadn’t even had time to conceive an heir, so the crown wouldn’t interfere, no matter how much she protested.

Ovidio Pensival wasted no time reaching out to Thesio’s general, enticing him with all kinds of promises to sway him to his side.

The man was fairly new, having only recently risen to his position after the previous general’s death. His loyalty lay more with money than with the woman who had climbed into his former master’s bed.

They planned to strike from within, with the general himself opening the city walls for Ovidio before any competition arrived.

A neat plan—except they didn’t realize they were already too late.

Brenda had warned Elliot the night before Thesio’s execution, and by then, every hidden alley, tavern, and crevice in the city was crawling with Everhart’s soldiers.

*****

That morning, the cemetery behind the castle grounds was suddenly surrounded.

They had barely lowered the Duke’s cold corpse into his coffin, the earth still fresh, his widow “mourning in anguish,” when the sharp neighing of horses filled the air, encircling those attending the funeral.

"Surrender without protest, Duchess, and I will give you the chance to live!"

The general, sporting a thick mustache, dismounted from his dappled horse, striding forward heroically toward the small group of mourners.

Brenda herself had preferred a discreet ceremony—her own downfall. The mustached general’s threatening gaze locked onto Brenda, who "trembled" in fear.

"What are you doing?! This is treason! How dare you rebel?! I am the head of this family now—"

"SHUT UP!" he roared, and the ten soldiers accompanying him had already dismounted, surrounding the funeral attendees.

Most were women, their heads covered with black veils, quietly sobbing, their eyes downcast.

"Give me the security key to the walls! The steward told me you stole it! Tell me where it is!"

He advanced toward her, fully intending to search her roughly.

He was in a hurry, having already wasted too much time upon discovering that the city gates had been locked without his consent—and that this wretched woman held the master key.

"You mean this key?"

Brenda abruptly stopped crying and, with a defiant smirk, pulled out a pendant hidden within her cleavage—a thick golden key dangling from it.

"That exact one. Give it to me willingly, or I’ll cut off your head and take it anyway!"

He drew his sword, pressing it to her throat with clear intent to kill. But something in the Duchess’s expression unsettled him.

Why didn’t she look afraid?

"Sorry, idiot, but this key already has an owner—and he’s standing right behind you."

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