Lucian's POV
Jalin seized my chin, wrenching my face back to the mirror. "Are you waiting for me to dress you, Your Majesty?" His hands slid down, slow and possessive, unbuttoning my shirt with deliberate malice. The fabric parted, exposing my sunken chest, and his gloved fingers lingered, tracing the jut of my ribs. I grabbed his wrists, my frail grip trembling. "I'm tired," I whispered, voice a broken thread. "I don't want to see anyone today."
Jalin sneered and tore the shirt from my shoulders, seams splitting like skin. He shoved me from the wheelchair, and I crashed to the floor, legs limp, a puppet with slashed strings. "Your brother's coming," he hissed, looming over me. "If you greet him like this - pathetic, lifeless - he'll think I've neglected my duties." His eyes burned with that familiar madness, a sadistic gleam that promised torment.
I shrank back, breath shallow, rasping, "Jalin, please don't…" But he didn't pause. His hand fisted my hair, dragging me up and slamming me facedown onto the table. The wood gouged my cheek as he ripped my pants down, the fabric shredding against my thighs. He forced my legs apart, gloved hands bruising my hips, spreading me wide. My useless limbs dangled, incapable of resistance, and I heard the clink of his belt - a sound that twisted my gut with dread. He pressed himself against me, the leather of his gloves cold and slick as they pinned me in place.
He entered me without mercy, a brutal thrust that tore a choked gasp from my throat. Pain seared through me, white-hot, but I bit my lip, swallowing the scream he craved. His rhythm was savage, each movement a deliberate violation, his hips slamming into mine with a wet, punishing force. The table rocked beneath me, my cheek scraping raw against the grain. His gloved hand slid to my throat, squeezing just enough to make my vision blur, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. "So tight after a few days," he growled, voice dripping with cruel delight. "Did you miss this, Your Majesty? Did you dream of me splitting you open?"
I stayed silent, my body a wreckage of obedience, shuddering under his assault. Blood trickled from my bitten lip, coppery and warm, as he rutted into me, his pace frenzied, unhinged. His fingers tightened in my hair, yanking my head back until my spine arched painfully. "Scream for me," he snarled, his other hand raking down my back, nails carving welts through the gloves. "Let Lycidas hear how I fuck his brother into submission." I clenched my jaw, denying him, my silence a frail defiance he'd long since beaten out of me.
Then the weight vanished. I twisted, dazed, and saw a figure - tall, broad, furious - gripping Jalin's arm. With a roar, he flung Jalin against the wall. The crack of bone on stone rang out, and Jalin slumped, blood spurting from his mouth in a dark arc. I stared, mind reeling.
Lycidas?
He surged toward Jalin, fists raised, but I lunged, clutching his arm. "Don't…" My voice was a ghost, barely there. He shook me off, rage blazing, and I crumpled, legs betraying me. I hit the floor and wrapped my arms around his legs, clinging with the last of my strength. "Please, brother…"
He spun, his gaze a tempest of fury and disgust. "You never once called me brother in your life. " he said, voice a low, cutting blade. "I've been gone all these years, you never bothered looking for me. And now, for this sick bastard, you're calling me brother and begging me for his life?"
I couldn't answer, couldn't lift my eyes. Instead, I turned my head away and rasped in the Lycan voice, "Jalin, you are dismissed. His Highness and I need to speak alone."
It was the first time in my life I used my Lycan voice to Jalin. He was shocked. Then, he staggered up, wiping blood from his lips, his glare venomous as it darted between us. He bowed, a stiff, mocking gesture. "Your Majesty. Your Highness." Then he slunk off, leaving the air thick with the stench of his cruelty.
I released Lycidas, my hands shaking, and collapsed against the floor, my body a map of bruises and shame. The silence between us cut deeper than Jalin's hands ever could.
Lycidas' POV
I hadn't seen Lucian in years. Not since the night our father's throne room burned, and the Lycan crown passed to him in a haze of smoke and blood. I'd heard whispers, of course - rumors of a king who ruled in shadows, a puppet dancing on strings held by Jalin, the man who had once been my brother's most trusted advisor. But I never believed them. Not truly. Lucian was untouchable, a figure carved from moonlight and marble. He was the Lycan King, yes, but he was also my brother. I worshiped him like a god.
But the man before me was dying.
He sat slumped in the corner of the room, his once-proud frame bent and brittle. His skin was pale, almost translucent, stretched thin over bones that seemed too sharp, too fragile. His eyes- those eyes that had once glowed with the fire of the moon - were dull, lifeless. He looked old. Broken.
Jalin had done this. Jalin, the man who had once knelt at our father's feet, had turned my brother into this... this shadow. Rage burned in my chest, hot and wild, threatening to consume me. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I wanted to tear Jalin apart, to rip him limb from limb and scatter his remains across the forest floor. But then Lucian looked up, and the fire in me died.
"Lycidas," he whispered, his voice cracked and hoarse.
I moved before I could think, shrugging off my coat and wrapping it around his trembling shoulders. He leaned into me, his weight so slight it was as if he were made of air. I lifted him gently, cradling him against my chest, and carried him to the bed. He felt like a child in my arms, fragile and small.
"What's wrong with your leg?" I asked, my voice rough with emotion. "Can't you move? Did that bastard hurt you?"