The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 268

**TITLE: Never Love 268**

The council chamber feels suffocating this morning—a gilded cage, meticulously crafted from the threads of obligation, duty, and the tangled web of politics. It keeps me firmly anchored in a place I would rather escape. My gaze drifts repeatedly to the window, lingering on the eastern gate, where I know Lyra will soon depart with Kieran. An unsettling churn of anxiety twists in my gut at the thought of her leaving the palace, of her traveling with another man who, I can see all too clearly, harbors feelings for her. The very idea fills me with a restless fury that I struggle to suppress.

“Your Highness?” Lord Harrison’s voice slices through my reverie, pulling me back to the present. “What are your thoughts on the proposal from the Northern territories?”

I force myself to refocus on the stack of documents laid out before me, battling the agitation that threatens to spill over. “Their offer of partial reparations is utterly insufficient,” I declare, my eyes scanning the diplomatic jargon that attempts to mask the Northern delegation’s blatant effort to downplay the severity of their actions. “They engaged in an unprovoked attack on our throne. I refuse to accept anything less than full accountability for their transgressions.”

A murmur ripples through the council members; some nod in agreement while others wear expressions of concern.

“The Northern territories possess considerable military strength,” one councilor reminds me, his tone careful, as if walking on eggshells. “Pushing too hard could provoke open conflict.”

“Open conflict?” I retort, my voice rising in indignation. “What would you call it when they kidnap your future king and force him into a deadly ritual? They should count themselves fortunate that the full might of the royal army isn’t marching to their doorstep as we speak.”

“Accepting compensation is already a compromise,” I continue, my voice steady but firm. “To allow magical attacks on the royal family to go unpunished would only invite further aggression.” I glance around the room, my gaze landing on the members who have remained silent, weighing their reactions. “Princess Selene has shown herself to be reasonable in negotiations thus far. She knows her people must make amends.”

“Speaking of Princess Selene,” Lady Merrick interjects, her tone deceptively casual, “has Your Highness reconsidered her potential as a suitable match? Despite recent… complications, a political alliance would still serve the kingdom well.”

Her suggestion ignites a surge of pure rage within me that I fight to contain. My connection to Lyra flickers uncomfortably in response, as if sensing my emotional upheaval.

“My mating choices are not open for discussion today, Lady Merrick,” I reply, my voice dangerously calm, each word measured. “To be perfectly clear for all those present—I have found my true mate. That matter is settled.”

A heavy silence blankets the room following my declaration. I have been deliberately vague in official communications regarding my bond with Lyra, referring to her as an “honored guest” rather than explicitly naming her as my mate. This direct statement leaves no room for misinterpretation or political maneuvering.

Lord Harrison clears his throat, breaking the tension. “Of course, Your Highness. We merely wish to ensure that all diplomatic avenues remain open during this delicate transition.”

“The best diplomatic avenue,” I assert firmly, “is to demonstrate that our kingdom values healing abilities as much as Alpha strength, that we protect all Lycan bloodlines, regardless of their gifts, and that we will not tolerate attacks driven by prejudice against healing magic.”

Several councilors shift uncomfortably in their seats, and I can sense the tension in the air. For days, I have suspected that certain factions oppose the integration of healing communities, despite my parents’ years of effort to combat such prejudice. Now, observing their reactions to my statement, I can begin to identify who belongs to this resistance.

Councilor Rickham, Lady Merrick, and Lord Reynard all display subtle but telling signs of discomfort—averted eyes, restless fingers tapping against the polished wood of the table, and stiffening postures. Three powerful nobles, each with extensive territories and ancient bloodlines, all seemingly opposed to the integration that the prophecy demands.

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