Curves And Claws: The Lycan King's Relentless Claim novel Chapter 87

**Title: Fireflies in Winter Rain — Neil A. Varma**
**Chapter 87**

Roana,

283

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The dungeon lay nestled within the heart of an expansive, verdant rainforest, positioned on the right side of the territory. Towering trees loomed overhead, their leaves whispering secrets to the gentle breeze, while a nearby stream glimmered like a playful companion, its waters dancing with the light of the sun.

From the outside, the structure appeared as a relic of an ancient fortress, steeped in the weight of a thousand years of history and shadowed by the stories of those who had come before. Yet, as I stepped across the threshold, it felt as though I had plunged into the depths of a waking nightmare, the air thick with a foreboding that clung to my skin.

I had always known the Royal Army to be formidable, but the reality of their ruthlessness struck me like a cold slap. Witnessing it firsthand, I recognized how naive I had been in underestimating their capacity for cruelty.

“This dungeon is reserved for those who have committed the most heinous of crimes. So, Your Highness, I implore you—do not extend any kindness or pity to these individuals!” Keane’s voice was soft, yet it carried an underlying tension that betrayed his concern.

He must have sensed the shift in my expression, the flicker of compassion that threatened to rise within me, and he wanted to shield me from the weight of sympathy for those who truly deserved none.

“I understand,” I replied, my voice bright but lacking its usual buoyancy as I surveyed the grim surroundings. Indeed, there were faces I recognized—infamous figures whose vile deeds had made headlines across social media, their crimes etched into public memory like scars.

“My God… that’s horrifying,” I whispered, my heart sinking as I spotted one man who had lost a leg, the raw flesh exposed and unbandaged. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and I instinctively recoiled, stepping back as if to escape the reality before me.

Keane, ever observant, moved closer, positioning himself between me and the sight that had rattled my composure. “Please, don’t allow yourself to be disturbed. Each of these individuals has their own unique method of inflicting pain. We simply allow them to experience a fraction of the suffering they have caused others.”

I gasped, the air catching in my throat as I processed his words. “You mean he… he cut off other people’s legs?” My voice trembled, betraying the horror that gripped me.

“Indeed. He targeted young pups, maiming them after assaulting them,” Keane replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather rather than the atrocities committed by the man before us.

A chill raced down my spine, and I pushed Keane aside just enough to catch another glimpse of the criminal.

“I don’t believe this is sufficient punishment,” I said, my voice low and simmering with anger, my eyes flashing with indignation.

“That’s precisely why we take a single inch from him each day. Keeping him awake, aware of his torment. We administer potions to ensure he remains alive,” Keane’s smirk darkened, revealing a side of him I had yet to see. “Don’t worry. He begs for death every hour. Soon enough, he will lose his sanity. But our goal is to keep him intact for as long as possible.”

“That’s gratifying to witness. Instead of granting them a quick death, they must endure until they fully comprehend the pain they’ve inflicted upon others.” My jaw clenched tightly as I turned away from the cell, my fingers curling into fists at my sides, the tension palpable.

An eerie silence enveloped the dungeon, a stark contrast to the usual chaos of a prison where criminals braced themselves for confrontation. Here, they were eerily quiet, too quiet—as if they were waiting for a miracle that would never arrive.

“So, Alexander is here?” I inquired, my tone deceptively calm, though bitterness laced my words.

“Yes,” Keane confirmed, his jaw tightening visibly. “His Majesty has given us full authority over him. I cannot say for certain if he is still alive.”

“He actually said that?” I gasped, my heart racing. “I don’t want him to die. Not until we uncover the truth behind that scent.”

Keane nodded solemnly, leading me into a shadowy corridor. “Follow me, Your Highness.”

I trailed behind him, navigating the narrow passage that veered away from the main cell blocks.

As we entered a small, dimly lit room, my knees buckled, reminding me of the weakness I had felt earlier. The intoxicating scent of Black Moon Flower—a fragrance sweet yet perilous—wrapped around me like a lover’s embrace, leaving me breathless.

But as Keane opened the door wider, the aroma faded, dulled by some unseen barrier. He caught the flicker of uncertainty in my expression and offered a reassuring smile, though it did little to ease my anxiety.

“Fear not. The scent is difficult to eliminate, but we have installed scent blockers within this room. Step inside, Your Highness.”

With a nod, I rushed into the space, but as soon as I crossed the threshold, an icy shiver coursed through me. My jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, I had to avert my gaze.

There, sprawled on the cold floor, lay Alexander. One of his arms—presumably the same one Cassian had shattered—was now missing. His body was grotesquely swollen, marred by bruises and the aftermath of relentless beatings. Whoever had inflicted this torment had shown no restraint.

“That’s horrific,” I muttered, my muscles tightening in response to the sight.

“He deserves every bit of it,” Keane stated coldly, and the sound of his voice made Alexander stir. He lifted his head weakly, and upon spotting Keane approaching, he erupted into a wail that echoed through the room, reminiscent of a terrified child.

He appeared taken aback, shock replacing his bravado. For a fleeting moment, I thought he might respond with sincerity. But to my utter revulsion, a weak smirk crept onto his lips, igniting a fire of rage within me.

“Because they believed I was more worthy of having a daughter. They wanted me to inherit the throne of your pack,” he replied, his voice dripping with arrogance.

I scoffed, crossing my arms in disbelief. As expected from my parents. My fingers tapped against my elbows, a bitter rhythm echoing my disdain. “And do you truly believe that’s something to take pride in?”

“What?” His brow furrowed, confusion clouding his features.

“Regardless, you won’t have any of those packs.” I leaned forward slightly, allowing my gaze to traverse his pitiful state. “Look at you now.”

He swallowed hard, the weight of my words sinking in.

“The woman you deemed unworthy of your so-called loyalty is the one who can either grant you life or take it away. The packs you once dreamed of will now fall under the control of the Royal family. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

His eyes widened, and I reveled in the sight of his despair, a cruel smirk curling my lips. He trembled but remained silent, the realization of his predicament settling heavily upon him.

“Now, for the most crucial question I’ve longed to ask…” I crossed my arms once more, my heart racing but my voice unwavering. “How did you manage to infuse your scent with the Black Moon Flower? And who informed you of my vulnerability to that scent?”

Both Keane and Alexander stared at me, eyes widening in shock.

Keane was the first to break the silence. “You are vulnerable to the Black Moon Flower?”

“Yes. It’s lethal to me. That’s why my parents forbade anyone from harvesting the flowers without their consent.” My voice chilled, the old fear settling deep within my chest.

But Keane’s expression morphed into something I couldn’t quite decipher—an amalgamation of fear and confusion.

Then his next words sent a jolt of dread through me.

“Your Highness,” he said, stepping closer, his silhouette darkening in the flickering torchlight. “Do not disclose to anyone that the Black Moon Flower poses a danger to you. Not even to His Majesty.”