Chapter 330 Dinner II
“This way…” one of the guards spoke respectfully when Isla and I were allowed into the sprawling estate that belonged to the Lycan royals.
We followed him judiciously, our steps soft on the paved walkway, our eyes roaming freely, drinking in the sight of the residence—the part of the estate I hadn’t visited since coming into the pack as Sage.
The air smelled faintly of roses and fresh polish, a scent that screamed maintenance and money. The guards stationed along the path stood straighter when we passed, eyes flicking once to our dresses before jerking back to the front as though staring too long might get them killed.
This area was different from the other regions of the estate I’d seen—the part of the great hall where Isla had partied her life away, as she’d so proudly gisted me when she returned home that night, glitter in her hair and the faint scent of ale on her breath. That part had been loud, gilded, and bursting with extravagance. This side, though… quiet. Stoic. Even the air felt heavier.
And the gardens—well, one of them at least—were visible in the distance, framed by ancient marble columns and the glimmer of white lilies under the setting sun. I knew there were more gardens hidden behind the estate; the royals always had a way of building beauty around their pride.
Another surprising fact was the state of the place. While the Queen’s palace back in the community had undergone a complete overhaul—a shining beacon of opulence and power—this royal residence seemed… unchanged. Preserved in time. The difference was sharp, almost offensive. Some of the expensive decorations that once lined the outer walls had even been taken down.
I furrowed my brows, my gaze catching on a pedestal that now stood empty. The missing monument had once been there, I was sure of it. I remembered it from when I was still Dora—the statue of the first Lycan king, his wolf carved at his feet. Gone.
Were they short on money? The thought almost made me laugh. The mighty Lycans, kings of wolves, counting pennies? But then again, anything was possible. Even rulers could fall prey to rot when their greed outpaced their wisdom.
At the smaller gate that opened to the main residence, the guard handed us off to another and disappeared without a word. The new one was older, broad-shouldered, eyes sharp enough to slice, but he didn’t speak either. He gave us a swift, assessing glance—one that lingered a heartbeat too long on our attire—then looked away quickly, face stiff.
That brief look was enough to tell me we were going to make an impression on the royals. As I’d anticipated. Good.
The large doors opened before us with a quiet creak, and I wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted us inside.
The wide hallways stretched long and empty, echoing softly with our footsteps. Gone were the heavy portraits of old kings and warriors. Gone were the thick drapes that had once smothered the windows. The walls were white now—marble and glass, sleek, cool, and modern. It felt almost sterile, like a museum that had thrown away its history to make room for something new.
Servants scurried about quietly, heads bowed, arms full of trays, towels, and flowers. They moved with the silent grace of people long used to walking on eggshells. Every once in a while, one of them stole a quick, curious glance at Isla and me, their eyes darting down to our dresses before quickly returning to the ground.
The living room came next—or what passed for it. It was nothing like the grand hall I remembered. The golden wallpaper had been replaced by subtle cream, the ornate chandeliers by minimalist crystal orbs that floated like captured moons. The grand fireplace remained, but above it hung no ancient painting of the royal bloodline—just a single, sleek portrait of the current Queen and her sons.
Interesting.
The couches were low and made of soft dark leather, the tables were glass with edges so sharp they could slice. Everything screamed wealth, but also distance. Modern wealth lacked the warmth of legacy.
Then the dining..
The aroma hit first—rich coffee, roasted spices, and a faint sweetness that spoke of cinnamon and honey. My stomach gave a quiet lurch of interest.
The dining hall itself was magnificent. Modern, yes, but expensive in a way that whispered power rather than shouted it. The table was long—obsidian black and gleaming—stretching across the room like a river of glass.
Tall windows lined the far wall, spilling the moonlight in silver ribbons across the glossy floor. A massive chandelier hung low, its golden glow soft and dreamlike, making the air hum with quiet luxury.
Everything was symmetrical, deliberate—the silver cutlery, the ivory napkins folded like swans, the porcelain cups that gleamed under the light.
The guard bowed and left us in the care of a servant, who gestured politely for us to sit while he went to inform the royals of our arrival. Another servant poured steaming tea into cups that looked far too delicate to touch. The fragrance was rich—spiced vanilla and caramelized herbs. Whoever made it was no amateur.
“The royal family will be joining you soon,” the servant said softly, his tone smooth, professional.
“This looks good,” Isla breathed, fingers curling around the mug as her eyes wandered across the grand dining space. Her voice carried a mix of awe and rebellion, her mouth twitching upward. “I’m curious though… why would they painstakingly make this place modern but leave their people ancient? A sigh?”
I was as curious as she was. I thought the triplets had decided to take a trip back to the medieval times and stay there permanently. But no—they had driven their people into the mud while enjoying the gifts of modernity for themselves. Typical of rulers. Feed the masses crumbs, dine on gold.
I smiled slyly at the thought, sipping my tea. It wasn’t the kind I usually drank—lighter, more fragrant—but it wasn’t bad. Something I could get used to. The tea maker, whoever they were, knew their onions.
“This is good,” I murmured, more to myself than to Isla, swirling the cup lightly before setting it down.
We didn’t have to wait long. The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway before the grand doors opened again.
The royals entered as one.
Daniel came first, his usual air of arrogance preceding him. His bride walked beside him, all stiff poise and narrowed eyes, her smile brittle.
Noah followed next, smirking as though the world were a private joke only he understood.
And Adam—always the last. He stepped in slow, his tall frame commanding even without effort. His gaze swept the room before landing squarely on me. It stayed there.
Like his brothers, he didn’t speak immediately. He just stood there, hands behind his back, brows furrowed slightly as though assessing, thinking.
I understood why.
After all, I hadn’t stood when they entered.
The servant tried—gestured subtly, eyes flicking at me, then to the floor, silently begging me to rise.
But I ignored him, deliberately taking another slow sip of tea as if royalty were no more impressive than a child’s tantrum.