Lycan - Chapter 1

“Go inside.”

Margaret, the head maid who managed Count Belman’s estate, spoke with a cold and austere tone.

Callie shifted her gaze from Margaret’s stern face to the solidly closed door before her.

The door to the room of Count Belman’s daughter, Elisha Belman.

Taking a slow breath, Callie lifted her hand and pushed the heavy door open.

Creak.

As the door swung inward, a large room unfolded before her.

In the center of the room stood a four-poster bed, draped with white linen that cascaded softly down the sides. The ethereal fabric looked as if it had been placed to enhance the beauty of a blushing bride on her wedding night.

Callie’s eyes wandered, eventually landing on the fireplace opposite the bed.

Crackle, crackle.

The flames flickered quietly, casting lazy shadows that danced across the walls. The elaborate tapestry spread across the floor seemed to shimmer under the firelight, its golden embroidery glowing brightly like threads of sunlight.

“Take this.”

A voice from behind made Callie turn.

Margaret held out a small pouch.

“It’s Zikoi,” she said, referring to the herb known for its ability to change hair color.

Margaret’s eyes lingered on Callie’s hair.

“Quite the unusual color,” she remarked.

Callie instinctively touched her head. At some point, her scarf had slipped loose, hanging low and exposing her hair.

Margaret took a sudden step forward and, without warning, yanked the tie securing Callie’s braid.

With one sharp pull, the tightly woven braid unraveled, cascading down in a golden waterfall.

Her radiant golden locks tumbled over her shoulders, flowing down her back in soft, wavy curls. Even under the faint candlelight, the shimmering brilliance of her hair was enough to leave one breathless.

But to Margaret, with her other intentions, this beauty was nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle.

“Change that hair color immediately. Before anyone sees it,” Margaret ordered sharply, thrusting the pouch into Callie’s hands before turning on her heel.

Margaret headed for the door, but Callie spoke up quickly, her voice urgent.

“What about my bird?”

Margaret paused, frowning in annoyance.

Callie, sensing her hesitation, pressed on in a firmer tone.

“The count promised to return my bird.”

Margaret’s expression remained unreadable as she replied flatly.

“That noisy bird will be brought to you soon. Stay here. The Duke of Warren will be arriving shortly, and you are not to leave this room. Understood?”

With that, Margaret closed the door behind her, leaving Callie alone.

Callie let out a long, deep breath, her tension easing only slightly. She rubbed the soles of her worn leather shoes against the wooden floor. Stepping onto the pristine tapestry seemed like an act requiring at least that small gesture of courtesy.

Callie rubbed the soles of her worn shoes against the wooden floor a few more times until they were clean enough, then slowly surveyed the room.

Aside from the bed, there were two high-quality wooden chests, a small table with two chairs, and a large mirror standing in one corner.

As her gaze wandered, it froze on something near the window—a silver dress.

Callie inhaled sharply.

A wedding gown.

The dress, embroidered with gold thread along the neckline and sleeves, adorned with fine lace and tiny jewels, gleamed brightly even in the dimly lit room.

For the first time, the weight of her reality truly sank in.

Her eyes quivered as dread and disbelief washed over her.

Tomorrow morning, I will be a bride.

The fake bride of the Black Wolf, Duke Warren—the man they call a devil straight from hell.

***

About thirty minutes after Margaret had left, a knock sounded at the door.

Callie, who had been sitting on the round wooden chair, jumped to her feet and quickly opened the door.

Standing before her was a rough-looking soldier, holding a tightly wrapped cage in his hands. He shoved it toward her and growled in a threatening tone, “Keep it quiet. Or I’ll wring its neck.”

The exasperation on his face made it clear how much noise he must have endured. Callie nodded quickly, murmured her thanks, and took the cage from him.

Closing the door behind her, she placed the cage carefully on the small table and began unwrapping the cloth that covered it.

When she pulled away the final layer, her breath hitched.

“Oh no… Sheila.”

Inside the cage sat a small, disheveled bird, its usually vibrant feathers dulled, its body hunched over in exhaustion.

This wasn’t the Sheila she knew.

Sheila, who was timid but always bursting with energy and chattering endlessly, now looked defeated and frail.

Callie carefully opened the cage and gently reached in to take Sheila out.

The first thing she noticed was the string wrapped tightly around the bird’s beak. She immediately started working to untie it.

It had been wound so meticulously that it felt endless, but with patience, Callie continued to undo the bindings. Finally, the brightly colored orange beak was freed.

“Sheila,” she called softly.

But the bird didn’t respond. It simply sat limp in her hands, showing no signs of recognition.

“Sheila. Hey, say something.”

“…”

“Did you forget me?”

Suddenly, Sheila’s wings gave a faint flap, flap.

Her beak twitched slightly, opening a crack before closing again. Slowly, she repeated the motion, as if testing her ability to move.

Then, finally, in a voice loud enough to make Callie jump, Sheila squawked:

“Damn barbarians!”

Callie’s eyes widened in shock, and she immediately grabbed Sheila’s beak.

“Be quiet!”

But Sheila, in her renewed energy, snapped her beak down and bit Callie’s hand.

“Ow!”

Callie yelped and yanked her hand back, glaring at the bird.

“Do you want someone to find out you’re a talking bird? If they do, they’ll treat you worse than they already have!”

Her sharp tone seemed to get through. Sheila, who had been gearing up to shout again, clamped her beak shut and began sulking, her feathers puffing up indignantly.

Callie inspected the bite mark on her hand, now red and sore, gritting her teeth in frustration.

“Honestly, the soldier who brought you here might come back and wring your neck himself if you keep this up.”

Sheila’s eyes went wide with panic. She stepped back cautiously, her little body trembling, and muttered as she shook her head vigorously in protest.

“You wouldn’t send me back to that soldier.”

Callie sighed softly, watching Sheila’s usual skittishness return.

“That’s why you need to keep quiet if you want to stay alive. Or if you don’t want to go back and have your beak tied shut again.”

The mere thought of that seemed to horrify Sheila, who stretched her neck out and opened her beak. She took a deep breath before speaking, clearly trying to keep her voice low. The effort was almost comical.

“I’m never going back there. That place is filthy!”

Sheila then glanced around the room for the first time, taking in her surroundings, before turning her sharp gaze back to Callie.

“This room is amazing. Is this your room?”

Callie shook her head.

“No. It’s not my room… it’s a bit complicated.”

“Complicated? What do you mean?”

“…”

“So, you’ve been staying in a nice room like this while I was—”

“No, I haven’t,” Callie interrupted firmly.

“Do you even know what it was like where I was?” Sheila squawked, her tone brimming with indignation. “There was no difference between where we ate and where we… you know… went to the bathroom! And the birds there? They were awful! There was this aggressive hawk who wouldn’t stop threatening me, and this hideous bird who kept singing terrible songs all day long. Every single day was unbearable!”

Her words carried a clear undertone of accusation as if she were saying, While I suffered, you were living it up in luxury.

Callie sighed heavily.

“It wasn’t like that,” she said quietly. “Things were… complicated. I looked for you whenever I had the chance, but I couldn’t find you. The castle’s been in chaos lately—”

“Oh, chaos. Yeah, sure. Because of that wedding, right? Even I know about that. The whole castle’s been buzzing about how the count’s daughter is getting married tomorrow. I’ve heard it so much, my ears are sore!”

“Well, about that…”

Before Callie could finish, Sheila cut her off, launching into another stream of chatter without giving her a chance to explain.

“The servants can’t stop talking about it,” Sheila chirped, puffing herself up as if relaying a great secret. “The Black Wolf of Decons, Duke Warren, is marrying the daughter of Count Belman. They don’t have a clue that I can understand every word they say, so they just blab on and on. Honestly, I’m nothing like those other birds.”

Sheila tried to strike a proud, dignified pose, lifting her shoulders high. Unfortunately, being a bird, her efforts didn’t amount to much—her raised tail feathers were the most she could manage. Still, her confidence radiated unmistakably.

“They call it a marriage with a duke, but let’s be honest—it’s a bolt from the blue for Count Belman,” Sheila continued, her tone dripping with drama.

After Osphia, one of the most powerful kingdoms in the south, had been defeated in its war against Decons in the north, the southern kingdoms had been thrown into chaos. They scrambled to form an alliance, hoping to stop King Ar’s advance into their lands.

But they had all been wrong.

King Ar of Decons had accepted the Osphian king’s surrender and ended the war with a promise not to cross their borders again. As a symbol of this agreement, he decreed a marriage between a southern noblewoman and Decons’ greatest knight, the Black Wolf.

For the people of the South, the Black Wolf was a figure of terror.

Rumors about the Black Wolf were horrifying and spread across the continent. Children had nightmares after hearing tales about him, and even adults shuddered at the thought of his name.

“They say the Black Wolf drinks blood,” whispered voices would recount. “Whether it’s human or monster, he’ll kill on the spot, tear open the body, and drink the blood like ale.”

The rumors about Duke Warren were endless, but Callie had little interest in them.

She understood how easily stories became exaggerated. When it came to tales that preyed on fear, imagination piled upon imagination until the subject became a monster no one could have predicted.

Perhaps the duke’s reputation was simply another overblown legend.

Sheila, of course, wasn’t finished talking.

“The bards are already singing songs about the Count’s unfortunate daughter,” she said. “Peddlers are spreading the news outside the castle walls, saying this gloomy, dreadful marriage is doomed. They say she’ll die on the way to the duke’s estate or freeze to death the moment she gets there in that terrible cold.”

Callie’s face hardened, but Sheila, oblivious, continued to chatter.

“And you know what? I don’t feel sorry for the count’s daughter. When you lose a war, even nobles have to suffer. Honestly, freefolk like us might have it better. Don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Callie replied flatly.

“Of course we do. No question about it.”

Callie gave a faint smile, choosing not to argue further. Instead, she gently scooped Sheila up and held her close.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “So much.”

Sheila squirmed in her hands.

“Let me go. I haven’t forgiven you yet,” she squawked indignantly.

When Callie released her, Sheila hopped onto the table and glared at her with narrowed eyes.

“This is all your fault. If you hadn’t run away from the convent, I wouldn’t have gone through all that misery.”

“I didn’t run away. I just—”

“Right, you didn’t ‘run away,’” Sheila interrupted with a sarcastic huff. “It’s all because of your stupid obsession with Sorte. That’s what dragged me into this mess. Look at me! Look at my feathers! They used to shine! Now they’re dull and brittle!”

With an angry flutter, Sheila flew to the dusty mirror across the room. Perching on its edge, she let out a theatrical groan.

“Oh, my poor feathers!” she lamented in a dramatic, mournful tone.

“Even my once-glistening eyes are now dull, and look at my beak!” Sheila squawked dramatically, stretching her neck to show the faint lines left by the bindings. “Those brutes wrapped it so tightly that it left hideous marks!”

“They’ll fade soon,” Callie said soothingly, trying to calm her.

Sheila turned a venomous glare toward her.

“This is all your fault! If it weren’t for your stubbornness about meeting the Elf Queen, none of this would’ve happened. I wouldn’t have had to suffer like this!”

“I suffered too, you know,” Callie retorted, her tone defensive. “For the last three months, I’ve been doing menial work every single day. Cleaning stables, shoveling dung from the chickens and pigs, scrubbing endless piles of laundry from the inn….”

“Serves you right,” Sheila snapped, utterly unsympathetic.

Callie frowned at the harshness of the bird’s words.

“Even so, I never abandoned you,” she muttered pointedly.

Sheila, as if waiting for this moment, puffed out her chest and stretched her neck again.

“Exactly. So explain! How did you end up in this fancy room? And how did you manage to get them to bring me back to you without a fight?”

Sheila folded her wings across her chest in a manner eerily similar to a human crossing their arms.

Callie hesitated, unsure how to explain. Sheila tilted her head expectantly, then grew impatient.

“Well? Spill it! What did you do this time?”

“You’re going to be… a little mad,” Callie admitted nervously.

“So you did get yourself into trouble again. Fine. I’m ready. Go ahead, tell me what you’ve done. After all, I’m used to cleaning up after your disasters by now.”

“…”

Callie remained silent, biting her lip as she weighed her words.

“Just say it already!”