Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 137: Perfect Fit

Lorelai’s shoulders twitched as an unfamiliar chill rippled down her spine. It was a light yet unsettling sensation, as though a phantom had passed through her, momentarily blending its cold, lifeless presence with her own. The feeling lingered, fleeting yet profound, leaving her with an odd sense of unease.

At first, she thought it might have been a gust of cold air brushing over her still-damp skin, but as the moment faded, a bittersweet sense of nostalgia clung to her heart and mind, as though something long lost was tugging at the edges of her consciousness. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

"Is something the matter?" Naveen’s voice broke through the silence, her gaze sharp as she noticed the goosebumps prickling Lorelai’s skin.

The princess quickly shook her head, dismissing the question with a forced smile, attempting to quell the growing concern on the witch’s face.

Rhaegar had entrusted Naveen with assisting Lorelai in her wedding preparations, being the only other woman among their current entourage. Lorelai didn’t mind; although a quiet distance still existed between them, having another woman nearby on such an important day brought her a small, unexpected comfort.

"No, I just got a little chilly," the princess replied, her soft voice steady but unconvincing. The corners of her pink lips curved upward in a practiced smile, though she knew well it was futile to deceive a witch. Naveen, however, seemed to understand the reasons behind her reluctance to speak openly.

"I can feel it too," the witch admitted, her voice calm but laced with subtle tension as she expertly guided the hairbrush through the flowing waves of Lorelai’s blonde hair. The golden strands shimmered under the sunlight, their brilliance so radiant it seemed almost blinding. "There’s been a shift in the spell surrounding you... I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but rushing this ceremony was a wise decision."

The princess pressed her lips together uneasily, unsure of what to say. For her, this wedding—and the mating process itself—was a desperate attempt to have Rhaegar etched into her very being, body and soul, in case the spell truly erased her memories of him forever.

She clung to the belief that the lycan king would find a way to shatter Althea’s enchantment. Once the spell was broken, she imagined they could finally live a happy life together.

Still, despite the potency of Althea’s magic, Lorelai felt there should have been enough time to arrange a proper ceremony. Yet, she did not dare challenge Rhaegar’s decision to rush it. The whims of the mad queen were unpredictable, and there was no telling what chaos she might unleash if provoked.

"You’re nervous—it’s normal," Naveen remarked as she tied a crimson silk ribbon at the end of the loose braid she had meticulously arranged.

Reaching into the silk bag on the nearby table, she retrieved a handful of vibrant red roses and began carefully weaving them through the braid. The striking color stood out vividly against Lorelai’s pale, silvery hair.

"Fear not," the witch continued in a steady, measured tone, her fingers deftly securing each rose in place. "The wedding itself will be a rather joyous occasion. The mating night, though... well, that experience will depend entirely on how the king reacts to you under the light of the full moon."

Lorelai forced another awkward smile, her gaze drifting to her reflection in the ornate mirror before her. The sight of so much red against her pale, porcelain-like skin felt foreign. In Erelith, brides were strictly required to wear white—no exceptions, no deviations, no matter the circumstances.

Yet every time she donned white, Lorelai couldn’t help but feel miserable.

It was never her color. With her fair complexion already so pale and almost translucent, wearing white only amplified her ghostly appearance, leaving her feeling washed out and insubstantial.

Now, however, as she gazed at the vivid crimson roses woven through her soft blonde locks, Lorelai felt a strange transformation stir within her. It was as though her very body was beginning to awaken, filling with the color and vitality she had long craved but never thought attainable.

The witch caught the subtle, genuine smile forming on Lorelai’s lips, and her own bright blue eyes gleamed with a flicker of relief.

"Royal brides in the Beast Kingdom wear red," Naveen explained. "It’s the color of mating—of desire and passion. It stirs the primal instincts of the beast, enticing them even more. Once you move to the capital, you’ll notice no one else wears red there. It’s a color reserved for moments like this."

Lorelai’s eyebrows lifted as realization dawned on her. Indeed, during the beasts’ stay at the royal palace, not a single article of their clothing had been dyed red.

She herself had rarely worn the color, as it was Althea’s favorite, and her wardrobe had been curated to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. But now, seeing herself adorned in this shade, Lorelai couldn’t deny the allure.

There was a power to red—a boldness that commanded attention. For the first time, she understood why the queen had always coveted it.

"And now," Naveen said, breaking through Lorelai’s musings, "for the final piece of the ensemble."

The witch removed the lid from a large black box, revealing its contents to the princess with a flourish.

Lorelai couldn’t suppress the audible gasp that escaped her lips. She stared in awe, utterly captivated by the beauty before her.

Inside was a wedding dress unlike anything she had ever seen. The silk fabric shimmered in an intense, blood-red hue that seemed almost alive in its richness.

The design was stunning, with a fitted bodice that left her shoulders exposed, tapering elegantly at the waist before flowing into a long, graceful skirt. The fabric cascaded all the way to the floor, its folds swaying gently as a playful summer breeze teased the edges.

As Naveen assisted Lorelai in slipping into the dress, the princess was astonished by how perfectly it fit. The silk hugged her gentle curves with effortless grace, moving as though it had been crafted with her in mind.

Unlike the tight, suffocating gowns Althea had once forced her to endure, this wedding dress felt light, almost weightless, as if it were meant to complement the newfound vitality she could feel stirring within her.

It was, without question, the perfect dress. And in it, she felt like the perfect bride.

And soon—oh, so very soon!—she would meet her perfect groom.