Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 122

**Fireflies in Winter Rain — Neil A. Varma**
**Chapter 122**

Cassian,

Eleven elite servants stood rigidly in the hall, a line of tension and unease.

The vast expanse of the room felt constricted, as if the very air conspired to press down on every shoulder present, creating an atmosphere thick with unspoken dread. Five of them were positioned directly before me, their bodies a tableau of discipline, yet their faces betrayed a different story. Among these five were Carolyn’s two lite servants, their complexions pale as if drained of color, the rigid discipline instilled in them unable to mask the fear that flickered in their eyes—quiet, trembling, and unmistakably present.

I crossed my arms slowly, the movement deliberate, and leaned against the edge of the table behind me. The wood creaked softly under my weight, a sound that seemed to echo in the heavy silence. I chose to remain silent, knowing that my quietude was far more potent than any words I could utter.

Silence had always been my most effective weapon, a tool I wielded with precision.

Each second dragged on, stretching into an eternity. A bead of sweat trickled down one servant’s temple, a testament to the mounting pressure. Another servant shifted his weight, a nervous gesture quickly corrected, as if the mere thought of my attention sent shivers down his spine.

Eventually, Lorenzo shattered the silence, stepping forward with purpose. His boots struck the marble floor with a calculated force, the echo reverberating through the hall like a thunderclap, sharp and commanding. He halted directly in front of the servants, hands clasped behind his back, his posture immaculate.

“Elite Guards,” he began, his voice steady and devoid of emotion, rendering it all the more dangerous. “Do you recall the first basic oath of your position?”

They exchanged puzzled glances, their confusion evident. “Yes, Beta Lorenzo,” they responded in unison, their voices disciplined yet tinged with an underlying crack of uncertainty.

Lorenzo’s gaze swept over them, slow and deliberate, like a blade gliding across flesh.

“Recite it,” he commanded.

“Our loyalty lies with His Majesty, the King, Cassian Wolfram. Betrayal will be the path of our death.”

Their voices rang out louder this time, sharper, as though sheer volume could mask the guilt simmering beneath the surface.

These were the finest soldiers the kingdom had to offer—men and women forged in the fires of war, bloodshed, and grueling training. They had earned their place near the royal family instead of the battlefield, a privilege bestowed upon them for one singular reason: absolute loyalty.

They served their assigned masters, yes, but above all, they served me.

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin. “Then Leah,” he said, his voice cutting through the tension. “Step forward.”

At the mention of her name, Carolyn’s elite servant visibly stiffened, her body betraying a flicker of anxiety. Her shoulders tensed, fingers curling slightly before she forced herself to relax. For a moment, hesitation danced across her features, but then she stepped out of line, each movement heavy with the weight of impending judgment.

With every step toward us, the atmosphere thickened, the air crackling with unspoken fears.

She halted before Lorenzo, eyes cast down, hands clenched tightly at her sides, a picture of trepidation.

“Where does your loyalty lie?” he asked sharply, his tone slicing through the tension like a knife.

She trembled, casting furtive glances in my direction as she lowered her head. “His Majesty, The Lycan King!” she declared, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then explain everything,” Lorenzo ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “Truthfully. About the incident that occurred this evening. Who entered His Majesty’s chambers, and what role did you play? Do not omit Lady Carolyn’s involvement.”

The blood drained from Leah’s face, leaving it a ghostly white.

Her lips parted, then closed again, a silent struggle waging within her. She inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling too quickly, too shallow. When our eyes met, the world around us seemed to still.

In that moment, time froze. I did not glare; I did not move. I simply observed her, the weight of my gaze a palpable force.

Whatever resolve she had crumbled in an instant. Turning to Lorenzo, her eyes glimmered with desperation, almost pleading for understanding.

For a fleeting moment, I noticed a flicker of hesitation in Lorenzo’s demeanor. He had always shown a certain softness towards Carolyn, a flaw in his otherwise steadfast character. But softness had no place in this moment. We had indulged Carolyn to the point of ruin, and it was time to confront that reality.

“Answer,” Lorenzo snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Leah swallowed hard, the movement of her throat exaggerated, her fear impossible to conceal now.

“Beta Lorenzo,” she began cautiously, her voice trembling despite her effort to maintain control. “According to Rule Thirty, I am permitted to swear loyalty to my current master. If my words could cause harm to my master, may I—”

The shift in the room was instantaneous.

Lorenzo’s expression darkened, disbelief flaring briefly before giving way to an unmistakable fury. I rested my hand on the armrest, a hint of amusement dancing in my chest at her audacity.

“Do not insult my intelligence,” he said coldly, his voice a chilling whisper. “When it comes to His Majesty, your master is irrelevant. That is precisely why the first rule exists—to ensure servants like you understand where true loyalty lies.”

He took a single step closer, the air thickening with tension.

“Are you denying that oath?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “Or are you committing treason?”

“No!” Leah shook her head violently, her eyes wide with panic. “Never. I would never betray the Crown!”

With a sharp sound, her knees hit the marble floor, a painful thud that echoed in the silence. She bowed deeply, palms pressing against the cold stone, her body trembling uncontrollably.

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