Page 37 of His Loved Lycan Luna

I furrow my brows in confusion. Trey seems harmless enough; perhaps a bit brusque at times, but nothing that would warrant such skepticism. Then again, I remind myself, I trust Dustin implicitly. If he senses something amiss, it can’t be ignored.

“What do you mean?” I ask softly, with genuine curiosity.

Dustin’s gaze meets mine, his eyes searching for understanding. “Just, I don’t know. How he came to be here doesn’t seem right to me,” he explains.

“So, where was he before?” I press on, my desire for answers growing stronger.

“The Landeena Kingdom,” Dustin replies, his tone tinged with sadness. “About twenty percent of the pack here are originally yourfamily guard or those from your kingdom, survivors of the massacre. After your parents were killed, King Kyson’s pack was the only remaining Lycan pack. For safety, Lycans stick together. We are a dying species, so the king took them in.” Dustin nudges me gently with his elbow before stifling a yawn. “My Queen, those people are your people.”

“And Trey was one of these people?”

“Yes, he came here eight years ago. He was here briefly, but he spent two years with the Landeena Guard searching for you. I know he was high up in the Landeena Kingdom, yet he never speaks of his time there. None of the Landeena guards do. I know Kyson knows everything about Landeena and the guard, but I also know Landeena, even to this day, has kept your family’s secrets whatever they are. I am not sure why, but Trey, for some reason, has alarm bells ringing for me. He always appeared obsessed with finding you.”

The revelation hits me like a bolt of lightning.People survived?I had assumed in the aftermath of the horrific events that had unfolded, everyone had been lost. But now it makes sense that there would be survivors, scattered remnants of a once proud and noble lineage. This knowledge makes me feel more connected to a past I don’t recall than ever before. There’s walking, talking evidence of my birthright, of my parents in this castle right now.

“How about we stay in the room for a bit?” I suggest softly, my concern for Dustin’s well-being evident in my voice. “You can sleep. Since you don’t want anyone else as my guard.”

“I am fine; I can take you,” Dustin assures me, but I grip his arm and pull him back toward the room.

“Sleep on the bed if you’d like. I promise I will remain here; I won’t sneak off on you,” I tell him, my voice soft and reassuring. Dustin shakes his head, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Instead, he follows me toward the couch, his eyes lingering on me with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

I retrieve my tablet and open it up and a book, deciding to do somethingeducational.

Dustin stands there, watching me intently, as I raise an eyebrow at him, silently questioning his disobedience.

“You are supposed to be sleeping,” I remind him gently, patting the cushioned surface of the couch as an invitation. He purses his lips, a hint of defiance flickering in his eyes.

“Don’t make me try to order you. It will just embarrass me when I can’t,” I snort quietly, and his lips tug in the corners, but he reluctantly sits, and I put the throw blanket over him.

“Now, sleep,” I tell him.

“Yes, boss,” he laughs, closing his eyes. It doesn’t take him long before he falls asleep, and after an hour, he falls sideways into me, his head resting in my lap while I’m trying to work out how to do the strange letter in the book. It had a dash above it, but I can’t figure it out on the tablet. Giving up, I move to the following sentence when Damian comes in, and I hold a finger to my lips, pointing to Dustin, who is sleeping soundly.

“He should be on guard,” Damian growls, and I growl back at him, shooting him a glare.

“Thirty-six hours he has been rostered on for,” I snap at him, and he seems taken aback.

“No, Trey is his relief,” Damian says, his eyes narrowing as he observes Dustin’s slumbering form.

“Trey was here earlier. Dustin didn’t trust him and sent him off,” I explain.

Damian’s confusion is evident, his brow furrowing. Eventually, he sighs, a resignation settling over him. “Fine, I will speak with Dustin when he wakes; I brought your lunch up,” Damian says, passing me a plate. I sit my plate on the arm of the armchair.

“The king?”

“In a foul mood,” Damian replies with a hint of weariness in his voice. He straightens his black shirt, brushing away breadcrumbs from the sandwich he had hastily made for me.

“Can you take me to see…” I begin to ask, but Damian raises a hand, cutting me off.

“I know what you are going to ask. The answer is no, I have to go with the king to check out something. We will be gone for a few hours,” he explains, and I huff, annoyed.

“The king said he will take you on the weekend. He will, Azalea, just be patient.”

“I can’t be patient when I know she is in trouble.”

“The king said she is fine.”

“It was an act!” I growl, becoming angry that no one will listen to me. Why won’t they believe me?

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