The Lycan King's Secret Daughter novel Chapter 18

ROVAN’S POV

I wasn’t supposed to be here but it was a Summit that I had to attend as the Alpha of my Pack.

News of SYLRA’S transformation had spread and I was curious to see it myself.

We had all called her weak.

The gates of the Lycan palace towered before me like judgment cast in stone. Lit torches lined the path to the summit grounds, each flame swaying in the wind like it knew something was about to change.

Voices echoed from beyond the courtyard walls, cheers, roars, the pulse of drums. The scent of bonfires and wild magic hung in the air.

She was here.

Sylra.

I slipped into the outer ring of the summit platform, sticking to the shadows.

The clearing was massive, crowds packed around its edges, Alphas in ceremonial armor, their banners staked high. The High Seer stood at the altar, her silver robes gleaming, her arms lifted in invocation.

And at the center, on her knees, was Sylra.

My heart stilled.

She was bent forward, sweat glistening down her back, her fists clenched into the stone platform. Her body shook with the force of whatever power clawed through her.

The crowd was silent.

Then her scream ripped through the air, primal and raw.

Magic exploded outward in a shockwave.

Gold. Blinding.

I shielded my eyes with my forearm.

When I looked again, I saw it.

Her body breaking and rebuilding itself in front of all of us.

Fur burst across her skin, glowing like sunlight against the night. Her limbs reshaped with sharp, fluid precision. Bones cracked, but she didn’t fall. She endured it.

And when she stood, on four powerful legs, fur shimmering gold beneath the blood moon, every single wolf in the court dropped to their knees.

Even me.

Even without thinking.

She howled, and the world howled back.

The royal pack bowed.

The summit erupted into cheers, as if the earth itself had been waiting for her rise.

The Blood Princess.

It wasn’t a myth anymore. It was standing right in front of me.

As the ceremony melted into celebration, music rising and dancers flooding the courtyard, I moved through the crowd, quietly, quickly, my eyes fixed on her.

She stood near the stone altar now, back in her human form, cloaked in silk and raw power. Her golden hair shimmered under torchlight, and even with her back turned, I could feel it.

Her presence was like gravity. I stepped closer, and then she turned. Her eyes found mine, and everything stopped.

For a breathless second, it was just us again. No crown. No palace. Just the two of us.

Then she turned her face away and walked in the opposite direction.

Without thinking, I followed.

“Sylra,” I called, catching up to her near the side archway, away from the crowd.

She kept walking.

“Sylra, please.”

I exhaled hard. “Then maybe I stayed because of something else.”

“You had your chance,” she snapped. “You had three years of chances.”

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