The Forgotten King Beneath the Dust: How a Humble Stable Boy Awakened the True Dragon Core and Bared His Lycan Crown

The central square of the Iron Blood Pack keep was packed with hundreds of warriors by sunrise.

Alpha Merrick stood on the high stone dais, wearing his heavy steel plate armor. Beside him stood Bran and eight fully armored enforcers, their broadswords unsheathed and glistening in the early morning light.

In the center of the yard, Vana was chained to a heavy iron post. Her face was bruised, her hands bound behind her back. She had tried to fight off the squad sent to their cottage, but Merrick’s enforcers had outnumbered her ten to one.

“People of the Iron Blood!” Merrick’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “This woman’s husband tried to ruin the prestige of our pack before the royal court! He is a traitor, a fraud, and a coward who ran into the night!”

“He didn’t run!” Vana shouted, spitting blood onto the flagstones. “You’re afraid of him, Merrick! You’ve always been afraid of anyone you can’t break!”

Merrick struck her across the face with his gauntleted hand, forcing her to her knees. The crowd gasped, but no one dared to step forward. Merrick’s cruelty was well known, and his authority was absolute.

“According to pack law,” Merrick sneered, pulling a heavy executioner’s axe from a wooden rack, “a tracker whose mate abandons the pack forfeits her life. Since her human coward isn’t here to face me, she takes his sentence.”

He raised the heavy axe high into the air. Vana closed her eyes, biting her lip until it bled, refusing to let them hear her cry.

CLANG.

The sound of iron boots echoing against stone cut through the cold air.

The crowd parted instantly.

Fenris walked through the front gates alone. He wore no armor. He carried no weapon. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his worn leather vest.

“Put the axe down, Merrick,” Fenris said calmly.

Merrick lowered the blade, a sickening grin spreading across his face. “Well, well. The stable boy came back to die. Look at you. No armor. No sword. No wolf.”

“I don’t need a sword to deal with a rabid dog,” Fenris replied, stepping onto the raised wooden platform.

The warriors surrounding the platform laughed, but the sound was forced and hollow. Something about the way Fenris walked—unhurried, precise, completely devoid of fear—was making the instincts of every wolf in the yard scream at them to run.

“On your knees, human,” Bran barked, drawing his blade and stepping behind Fenris. “Kneel before the Alpha and maybe he’ll make your death quick!”