The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 418: At The Queen’s

SAGE

The palace gates opened for me as they always did.

Guards straightened at my approach. One bowed, another offered a small smile—respectful, familiar, unchanged. Their gazes lingered with the same deference they had always shown, the kind reserved for royalty and those close to power.

"Lady Sage," one murmured.

"Welcome back."

Maids passing through the corridor dipped into curtsies, skirts rustling in a practiced ripple. Their expressions remained warm, ordinary, unconcerned. No tightening around the eyes. No whispering mouths. No flicker of suspicion.

Relief slid through me like a slow exhale.

I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been coiled until that moment—how much tension I’d carried since leaving Peter’s home, expecting every step to reveal that I’d been exposed. That the disaster at the pack had already spread. That someone here had heard.

But the palace felt the same. Too calm. Too pristine. Too ignorant.

My shoulders loosened a fraction as I moved forward, forcing my gait into something unhurried, graceful, unburdened. If fear whispered behind my ribs, it never reached my face.

The halls stretched long, light pouring through high windows to gild marble floors. Normally, voices would hum here—servants passing instructions, council aides murmuring reports, courtiers trading quiet gossip.

Now, the palace felt empty. Most had gathered at the meeting hall. Only my family remained elsewhere, safely tucked away.

Which made this moment perfect for snooping around. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

When I confirmed no one watched, I let myself dissolve.

My body thinned into mist, flesh and bone surrendering to vapor. The world softened at the edges, walls losing their authority as I drifted forward in a ribbon of pale haze.

I slipped toward the queen’s court.

The doors parted soundlessly as I reformed inside, inhaling the familiar scent of wax, parchment, faint lingering magic. Tall pillars flanked the chamber, carved with symbols of lineage and ancient decrees. The queen’s throne loomed at the far end.

I began my search with deliberate care. I moved to her desk first.

Scrolls lay stacked in tidy piles. I lifted them one by one, scanning names, decrees, petitions. My fingers brushed across ink still faintly scented with spice. Trade agreements. Land disputes. Requests for arbitration between rival clans.

I opened drawers, rifled through sealed letters, read margins where hurried notes had been scribbled. I traced financial records, tallies of resources, shipments logged with meticulous precision.

Nothing.

No sign of treachery. No hint of forbidden dealings. No evidence of the rot I knew existed beneath her authority.

I crossed to the shelves lining the wall, running my fingertips along their spines. Legal tomes. Ancestral archives. Historical accounts of queens past. I pulled several free, flipping through dense text, searching for patterns, hidden references, anything that might point to deeper secrets.

Still nothing.

The silence in the room pressed heavier as frustration bloomed under my skin.

I moved into the resting court—the smaller chamber where she withdrew between hearings.

Soft cushions lined the walls. Curtains filtered sunlight into muted gold. A low table bore half-written letters, quills abandoned mid-thought, wax seals cooling in uneven pools.

I sifted through them slowly. Messages exchanged with neighboring witch communities. Diplomatic courtesies. Subtle power negotiations veiled in polite phrasing. Notes requesting alliances. Invitations to seasonal gatherings.

All ordinary. All expected.

I bit my lip. Either the queen had erased her tracks with surgical precision, or I was looking in the wrong places entirely.

Mist reclaimed me once more as I left the palace proper, gliding toward the queen’s residence. A place where masks could loosen.

Inside, I bypassed the common room without pause.

Velvet drapes spilled like dark waterfalls beside tall windows. Plush furniture gleamed beneath polished light. The air smelled faintly of perfume and something older—magic embedded deep within the walls.

I headed straight for her private chamber. The moment I crossed the threshold, memory struck. This was where we had once sat together. Whispering. Plotting. Planning the downfall of the pack.

Shame curdled in my stomach. Rage followed close behindI had thought myself clever...

The truth tasted foul.

Every step deeper into the room felt heavier, weighted with regret, while luxury surrounded me. Too perfect luxury.

Then my nose twitched.

A scent threaded through the chamber, faint at first, then sharper as I focused on it.

Blood.

Hunger stirred instantly, low and traitorous. My vision sharpened, edges of the world crisping as instinct stirred beneath conscious thought.

Is someone here?

My heart rate quickened. I scanned the chamber.

Behind curtains. Beside the bed. Near the vanity. Along the far wall. My movements grew faster, more urgent. I checked corners, traced shadows, listened for breath, heartbeat, the faintest rustle of presence.

Nothing. No one.

Yet the scent lingered.

Not fresh. But strong. Clinging to the room like a secret.

Slow realization dawned. It wasn’t a person. It was blood itself.

I frowned. Why would blood be here—in the queen’s chamber?

Turning, I began opening wardrobes, drawers, cupboards. Silk gowns rustled as I parted them. Hidden compartments revealed carefully stored possessions.

Then I reached the cupboard near the library shelves. The scent intensified.

My pulse kicked harder. Inside, I found bottles. Three full. More than ten empty.

Dark red liquid gleamed behind glass, catching candlelight like polished garnet.

Wine.

Or what I had once assumed was wine.

My frown deepened as I lifted one bottle carefully, heart thudding louder with each second. Has the queen been drinking blood all this while?

I brought it closer and inhaled. The reaction was immediate. Hunger surged,, flooding my senses. My jaw tightened as instinct screamed at me to tear the cork free, to drink, to consume.

This blood was rich. Potent. Supernatural.

I gnashed my teeth, fighting the urge with sheer will. I sniffed again. Not werewolf.

Jaguar, perhaps. Or maybe some other shifter in the cat family...

I returned the bottle, forcing my hands to be steady. Why would the queen be drinking blood?

Longevity? Power? Black magic?

Maybe all of it.

Memory stirred again... about the delivery that had come for the queen when I still worked with Levina at the store. The box, with a strange unlocking mechanism, which contained bottles we had thought were filled with wine.

I cursed softly under my breath, stepping back from the cupboard, pulse still racing.

Then—

A click.

Soft. Distinct.

My head snapped toward the library, aware of the shelves trembling.

What was going on?

Stone shifted. Wood parted. Slowly, the structure divided, revealing a narrow opening behind it—a passage cloaked in darkness so dense it seemed to swallow light whole.

The light in the chamber was bright, yet the darkness did not recede. It remained absolute.

My brows knit as I stared. What manner of darkness resisted illumination?

The air around it felt wrong—cooler, heavier, threaded with strange magic that prickled against my skin.

Is this where she conducts her experiments?

Curiosity sat in my mind. I stepped closer, the threshold looming, breathing cold against my senses.

Then El’s voice brushed against my mind, tight with worry. Sage—turn back. This feels wrong.

"I need answers," I murmured under my breath, heart hammering. "I can’t keep guessing."

Fear flickered through her presence. This place reeks of danger. I don’t like this darkness... It smells like a trap.

"Then I’ll face it."

Before doubt could root itself deeper, I stepped forward, and plunged into the darkness.