The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 221

**TITLE: Never Love 221**

Alexander

The remainder of the Gala unfolds like a fever dream, a haze of forced smiles and insincere pleasantries that blur together in my mind. I move through the evening with a mechanical precision, engaging in obligatory dances with potential suitors, exchanging political niceties that feel as empty as the champagne flutes I keep raising to my lips. Yet, amidst the swirling colors and laughter, my thoughts are anchored firmly in the recent conversation with Selene, her veiled threats resonating ominously in my mind.

“The final night of the Gala approaches. Traditionally, the heir makes his intentions clear by then. I would hate for… misunderstandings to arise.”

What secrets did she hold about Lyra? How much had she uncovered regarding our clandestine meeting in the depths of the forest? The questions spiral relentlessly in my mind as I navigate the crowded ballroom, accepting congratulations on my impending coronation from nobles blissfully unaware of the storm brewing beneath my carefully curated exterior.

“You’re distracted tonight,” Dominic murmurs, appearing at my side like a welcome shadow, offering me a glass of water that I take gratefully. “More than usual.”

“Something’s wrong,” I confess in a low voice, my heart pounding. “Selene knows something about today—about the forest. She made thinly veiled references to ‘experiences’ and ‘destinies that cannot be denied.'”

Dominic’s brows knit together, his expression sharpening with concern. “You think she knows about Lyra? About the mate bond?”

“I’m not certain, but—” I pause, my gaze sweeping across the room, searching for her. “Where is she, anyway?”

Together, we scan the ballroom, a growing sense of unease settling in my gut as we realize that Selene is conspicuously absent. The Northern princess, who has commanded attention for days, has vanished from the very Gala that was supposedly her reason for being here.

“Her advisors are missing too,” Dominic observes, his voice laced with tension. “The stern one—Vega—and that military attaché.”

A chill snakes down my spine, a premonition of something sinister. “Find out what you can about their whereabouts. Discreetly,” I instruct, my voice low but firm.

He nods, slipping away into the throng of guests, leaving me to continue my rounds. My senses are heightened now, keenly aware of the other absences around me. Several Northern delegates, who had been fixtures at court, are also missing, along with their personal guards. A sense of foreboding wraps around me like a shroud; something is amiss, something that feels meticulously orchestrated.

By the time I manage to extricate myself from the festivities, the clock has long since passed midnight. Dominic awaits me in my chambers, his expression grave as he presents the information he has gathered.

“They left the palace four hours ago,” he reports, his voice steady but urgent. “A group of eight, including Princess Selene and her two primary advisors. The guards were informed they were attending to an urgent diplomatic matter at their camp outside the city.”

“Did they return?” I ask, my heart racing.

“Selene and her immediate circle came back just before I found you. The others remain unaccounted for.”

I begin to pace the length of my chamber, piecing together the fragments of a puzzle that remains largely obscured. “The reports from the eastern border about attacks on healing settlements, strangers inquiring about specific healers with distinct birthmarks—it has to be connected.”

“You think the Northern delegation is behind the attacks?” Dominic’s voice is laced with disbelief.

“I’m nearly certain of it. But to what end?” I stare out the window, my gaze locked on the moon, which hangs nearly full in the inky sky. “And why now? Why bring the prophecy text forward at this precise moment?”

“Perhaps because your coronation is imminent,” Dominic suggests thoughtfully. “Or maybe they’ve finally located what—or who—they need for whatever scheme they’re plotting.”

The mate bond thrums steadily within my chest, a silver thread that pulses with each heartbeat. Since parting from Lyra in the forest clearing, the connection has remained, a constant reminder of what fate has decreed and duty has denied. Yet now, something shifts—a sharp twist of anxiety courses through that ethereal link, a sense of danger that feels foreign yet intimately familiar.

“Lyra,” I breathe, my hand instinctively rising to my chest, where the bond feels most potent.

“What is it?” Dominic asks, his tone shifting to one of concern as he senses the change in my demeanor.

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