Chapter 5

Everyone fell on their knees simultaneously, their heads bowed low in a display of unwavering reverence. The atmosphere in the room turned palpably heavy as a hushed silence descended upon the gathering, amplifying the tension that hung in the air like a suffocating fog.

Althea, her heart pounding in her chest, had painstakingly orchestrated her movements to blend seamlessly with the others. Each step she took, every gesture she made, was executed with a calculated grace that betrayed the underlying nervousness threatening to consume her. Sweat trickled down her brow, mingling with the fear that gripped her tightly, as she fought to maintain her composure amidst the heightened stakes.

Every eye in the room was fixated on the central figure, an imposing presence whose mere presence commanded both respect and fear. His piercing gaze swept across the room, dissecting each individual, searching for the faintest sign of disobedience or dissent. The weight of his scrutiny bore down on Althea, making her feel as if a thousand invisible hands were pressing against her, suffocating her resolve.

Although Althea had been a little clumsy about it, her heart skipped a beat as she realized the potential consequences of her misstep. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to blend in, to disappear among the obedient masses. She could feel the collective breaths held in anticipation, waiting for the slightest misjudgment to expose her as an outsider in their midst.

The tiniest bead of sweat betrayed Althea's inner turmoil, sliding down her temple and threatening to betray her secret. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as she desperately willed herself to remain invisible. The fear of discovery weighed heavily upon her shoulders, threatening to crush her resolve and reveal her true intentions.

"Rise," thundered the Lycan King, his voice reverberating through the chamber with an unmistakable air of command. Every syllable dripped with a potent authority that pierced the hearts of those present, rendering them incapable of defying his will. It was a voice that echoed with generations of dominance, a voice that demanded unwavering respect.

Reluctantly, almost as if their bodies moved against their own volition, the assemblage rose from their prostrate positions. The collective shuffling of feet against the cold, stone floor was a testament to the overwhelming power that emanated from the Lycan King. The sheer weight of his presence compelled even the most daring among them to acquiesce, their gazes lowered in deference to the formidable figure before them.

"You may all sit," the King commanded once again, his voice brooking no disobedience. Like marionettes controlled by an unseen force, they obediently lowered themselves onto their designated seats. The act of sitting felt more like an act of submission, as if their bodies had become mere extensions of the King's will.

With each measured step, the Lycan King approached them, his imposing figure drawing closer and closer. The woman who had arrived earlier, an ethereal beauty draped in mystery, trailed behind him, her alluring smile serving as a stark juxtaposition to the tension in the room. A hushed murmur rippled through the crowd as all eyes fixated on the King's approach, their hearts beating in an anxious rhythm.

Althea's heart pounded against her chest, her senses heightened as she cast her gaze downward, unwilling to meet the piercing eyes of the Lycan King. Her arms instinctively wrapped around herself, a feeble attempt to shield herself from the intensity of his presence.

The atmosphere grew heavy with anticipation as the footsteps halted just inches away from where she sat, the air thick with a mixture of fear and fascination.

Althea could not help but kept on praying that she wasn't chosen. Let the goddess be by her side today and let her not be chosen.

"You may begin," He said to the woman that was now standing behind.

She stepped forward, looking from one lady to another while she went through the space between the benches.

"Get up," She commanded.

Now that she wasn't announcing the presence of the King, her voice sounded firm and stricter.

With trembling limbs and a palpable aura of fear emanating from her, the lady rose from her seat, her every movement betraying the trepidation that consumed her. Each step she took was laden with an unspoken dread, as if the weight of her own existence threatened to crush her beneath its oppressive burden.

"Go over there," the woman commanded, her voice carrying a mix of authority and desperation.

The lady's gaze followed the woman's outstretched hand, pointing towards a group of guards stationed at a considerable distance.

Relief washed over her as she realized the guards stood a safe distance from the colossal Lycan, who sat languidly nearby, engrossed in grooming his formidable paws. However, even the remoteness of the guards did little to assuage the growing unease that permeated the atmosphere.

The villagers, their faces etched with terror, stood frozen in place, their eyes locked on the Lycan and its master. The mere presence of the beast and its commanding master instilled a paralyzing fear that gripped the villagers' hearts, rendering them immobile in the face of their imminent doom. The dread hung heavy in the air, intertwining with the palpable tension that enveloped the scene.

The selection process unfolded with agonizing slowness, the woman meticulously singling out potential brides one by one. With each new selection, the chosen ladies rose from their seats, their bodies trembling with resignation.

The air was thick with unspoken desires for escape, for resistance, yet the suffocating fear forced them to accept their cruel fate without a fight. Their eyes betrayed a silent plea for salvation, a desperate longing to break free from the clutches of the Lycan's master, but their bodies remained obedient compliant, succumbing to the overwhelming power that loomed over them.

Some looked back at their people saying a silent goodbye while some couldn't even raise their head because of how much tears had now clouded their sight.

Althea's heart pounded in her chest, her carefully crafted rules of survival guiding her actions thus far. She found solace in the fact that, for the time being, she remained seated on the bench, spared from being chosen. With every fiber of her being, she made herself as inconspicuous as possible, shrinking into the smallest form she could muster. Every breath she took was a calculated exercise in caution, a silent reminder to tread lightly in the treacherous territory that surrounded her.

Her inner wolf, sensing the mounting tension, was on high alert, its presence an ever-present reminder of the danger that lurked. Althea fought to maintain her composure, willing her racing heart to slow, lest the beast within give away her inner turmoil.

She was keenly aware that any hint of fear, anticipation, or dread would not go unnoticed by those who held the power to select. Leslie's words echoed in her mind, a constant mantra that urged her to project an aura of calmness.

Althea struggled to find her center, to channel a facade of tranquility amidst the sea of heightened emotions. She understood that her survival depended on her ability to mask her true feelings, to become a master of disguise in this dangerous game.

With every ounce of her willpower, she fought against the rising tide of unease, attempting to cloak herself in an aura of composure that would shield her from unwanted attention.

She clung to the hope that if she adhered to the advice, if she became an enigma cloaked in serenity, she would evade the clutches of fate. She had drank the potion that would make her unnoticed. A witch terrible mix.

Althea desperately prayed that her efforts would be enough to ensure her continued presence on the bench, a place of temporary reprieve from the impending doom that loomed over those who were chosen.

She knew her family was watching her from the sidelines. Caleb was probably there with his new wife.

It was finally the time to choose the sixth and last potential bride. Althea couldn't wait for all these to be over so that she could just go back and lay down on her bed that's if her mother doesn't kill her first, while she thought about how quickly her fate had changed within these past few days and the next step to take.

The labyrinth of Althea's emotions remained a tangled mess, elusive and elusive, evading her attempts to unravel them. She longed for clarity, for the ability to decipher her own inner turmoil. If only she could understand the intricacies of her feelings, she believed she would find a way to navigate the treacherous path ahead and find solace amidst the chaos.

The constant whirlwind of emotions left her feeling adrift, as if she were floating in an ethereal realm, disconnected from the solid ground beneath her. The absence of solid footing, both metaphorically and literally, made her yearn for stability, for something to anchor her wavering soul. It was as if she existed in a state of perpetual limbo, caught between the currents of uncertainty and longing for a sense of purpose.

The rhythmic clicking of heels on the cold floor pierced through Althea's reverie, jolting her back to the present moment. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the sound was growing louder, drawing nearer. Panic surged within her like a tidal wave threatening to engulf her fragile composure. A shiver raced down her spine as she entertained the dreaded possibility that the woman was indeed approaching her.

Her body stiffened, muscles locking in place, as Althea fought against the instinct to flee. The gravity of the situation became all-encompassing, suffocating her senses.

The woman's impending arrival seemed to herald an ominous turn of events, a foreboding shift in the delicate balance that had thus far spared her from selection. The weight of apprehension settled heavily upon her shoulders, threatening to crush her under its oppressive burden.

Fear gripped her heart like a vice, squeezing tighter with each passing second. Images of the unknown, of potential consequences, raced through her mind, fueling her escalating panic. She was caught in a whirlwind of dread, desperately seeking an escape from the inevitable fate that seemed to inch closer with every approaching step.

"Oh, no!" Althea's inner voice cried out, a desperate plea for reprieve, for the cruel hand of destiny to spare her from what seemed to be an unavoidable collision with her darkest fears.

The woman seated by her right was starting to get a little shaky though. She reached out for Althea's hand and grasped it tightly. She instantly tried to pull away but the lady's grip was too tight.

She was holding her like her life depended on it.

What madness was this?

From the corner of her eyes, she stared daggers at the woman,questioning her insane action.

She didn't even know her. This could make her become noticeable. Althea didn't want that.

But she noticed something then, the lady's tightly shut eyes and her trembling lips. She was mumbling something really fast.

Althea made it out to be something along the line of "please" but she wasn't so sure.

The lady's mumbling suddenly ceased, her body still. Althea didn't understand why until she saw two slender fingers with long black polished nails slide under the lady's chin.

Althea wasted no time and quickly jerked her hand away but the lady's grip was still too tight.

She had been very distracted with finding out that she had stopped paying attention to the clicking heels of the woman choosing them earlier, which was very stupid.

But it seemed this lady really wanted to put her in trouble because she still wouldn't let her go!

What in the name of insanity was this?!

"Up."

"No" she heard the lady gasp lightly but she stood up anyways. She could see the way the lady gulped in fear.

The woman pointed towards where the other bride was and the woman even though in fear followed the direction that one pointed.

Althea took a deep breath and sighed in relief.

The potion was so helpful. Even though it will save her for this year. It was worth it.

"The King Brides have been chosen." The woman announced and started a speech that was usually given at the end of the selection.

Althea surely wasn't interested in it, no matter how interesting or not it was.

With a newfound sense of relief washing over her, Althea dared to steal a glance at the women who had been chosen. Despite her attempts to blend into the background, she maintained her hunched posture, her body contorted in an effort to shrink into obscurity within the sea of ethereal white.

The weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, threading its way through the room, tugging at the strings of Althea's frayed nerves.

Suddenly, an ear splitting roar reverberated through the chamber, jolting Althea's fragile sense of security. The Lycan, his towering figure now towering in anger, rose to his full height, his primal instincts kicking into overdrive. The very air crackled with the intensity of his fury, as he growled menacingly beneath his breath, nostrils flaring in search of a scent that had roused his ire.

The once composed king, seated regally before, now wore a frown etched deep upon his face. His head whipped towards the last woman chosen, his gaze seething with a wrath that mirrored the storm brewing within him. The atmosphere grew heavy with tension, as the collective breaths held in the room hitched in anticipation of the impending storm.

"Stop!" The king's voice thundered through the chamber, his words laced with a potent mixture of fury and disappointment. "It seems that one of them had decided to lie to me." His words hung in the air like a heavy fog, casting a pall of unease over the gathering. The once subdued room transformed into a pressure cooker of anxiety, each heartbeat pounding in rhythm with the rising stakes.

The king rose from his throne, his arms folded against his chest in a display of simmering rage. His eyes, dark as the depths of night itself, bore into the trembling crowd, their gaze piercing through the facade of innocence that had been presented to him.

The silence that followed was filled with the weight of the king's wrath, as every individual braced themselves for the storm that was about to break.

"Now... which one of you... is pregnant?" The king's voice, dripping with a menacing edge, sliced through the tension-laden atmosphere.

His question hung in the air like a guillotine blade, poised to sever the fragile threads of deceit. The room seemed to constrict, each individual trapped in a suffocating bubble of apprehension, their eyes darting nervously from one another, searching for a sign, a telltale glimpse of truth amidst the sea of terrified faces.