The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 270

**TITLE: Never Love 270**

Lyra

As we finally crest the last ridge, the air shifts around me, filled with the familiar and comforting scents of wild herbs mingling with the faint aroma of wood smoke. It’s a welcome change after the oppressive opulence of the palace, where every corner seemed to whisper of power and expectation. Here, the simple arrangement of hide tents and wooden shelters sprawls before us, a stark contrast that feels like the blissful relief of surfacing after being submerged for far too long. Instinctively, my shoulders drop, the tight knot of anxiety that court life had woven around me beginning to unravel.

“You look happier already,” Kieran remarks, guiding his horse closer to mine. His keen green eyes, forged from years of friendship and shared experiences, study me with an intensity that feels both comforting and unsettling. “The palace weighs on you.”

“It’s… different,” I concede, careful to maintain a neutral tone even as relief floods through me like a gentle tide. “Complex in ways I never imagined.”

“And the prince?” he probes, his voice cautious yet curious. “Is he worth the complexity?”

His question hangs in the air, layered with unspoken implications. Our bond, though temporarily stable, feels like a fragile silver thread stretched taut between me and Alexander, connecting us even across the distance. Discussing him with Kieran feels strangely intimate, as if Alexander might somehow sense our conversation, eavesdropping on our thoughts.

“It’s not that simple,” I respond, nudging my horse forward down the slope, eager to reach the settlement below. “The bond exists regardless of worth or choice.”

Kieran follows, his silence speaking volumes. As we reach the edge of the settlement, excited shouts and laughter greet us like a warm embrace. Children rush toward us, their faces lit with joy, followed closely by elders and fellow healers emerging from their shelters, relief etched across their features. During the chaos of our evacuation, many had feared we might never return.

Elder Mara, who stepped into a leadership role after Thalia remained behind, envelops me in a tight embrace. “You’ve returned to us,” she exclaims, her voice thick with emotion. “When you left with the prince, some feared the royal world would claim you entirely.”

“I promised two days,” I remind her, dismounting with a sense of purpose. “I keep my promises.”

Her knowing gaze assesses me with a blend of wisdom and concern. “And after these two days? Where will your path lead then?”

Her question echoes Kieran’s earlier inquiry, though it carries a weight of its own. Before I can gather my thoughts to respond, the urgent needs of the community demand my attention—a child suffering from a persistent fever, an elder whose joint pain has worsened due to our hasty relocation, and a pregnant woman filled with anxiety about bringing new life into such uncertain circumstances.

I slip back into the familiar rhythms of healing work, my hands instinctively remembering their purpose. Here, in this space, my worth is not tethered to my connection to royalty but is rooted in the skills I have honed through years of dedication and practice. People seek me out for the knowledge I have cultivated, the compassion I have nurtured—not for what prophecy or fate has dictated about my future. There’s something deeply comforting in that realization.

As the evening descends, the community gathers around the central fire, sharing a meal and discussing our current situation. I recount the palace’s offer of protection, careful to present the information without pressuring anyone toward a particular decision.

“Royal protection has been promised before,” one elder interjects skeptically, his voice tinged with the weight of history. “Yet history teaches caution regarding such assurances.”

“The current king and queen are different,” I counter, surprised by my own fervor in defending their intentions. “Queen Sage comes from a lineage of healers herself. She understands our concerns intimately.”

“And the prince?” another elder questions, skepticism lacing their tone. “Does he truly accept his healing abilities as equal to his Alpha strength? Or does he merely tolerate them because prophecy demands it?”

The question unsettles me, its perceptiveness cutting deeper than I care to admit. Alexander’s acceptance of his dual nature seems genuine, yet the factions within the court clearly resist such integration. Just as I am about to formulate a response, Kieran speaks up unexpectedly.

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