Betrayed By My Mate, Claimed By His Lycan King Uncle-Chapter 158: I’m a royal concubine for moon’s sake.

Kisha didn’t wait. She was already racing for the door, her heart pounding in her chest, screaming for help as she vanished into the woods in search of the nearest healer.

The healer, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and calloused hands, wasn’t particularly experienced, nor was he wealthy but he arrived soon enough. Without wasting a moment, he crouched beside Anaya and began his examination, his hands moving with measured care.

"Please, my lady must get better," Kisha pleaded, her voice trembling as tears streamed freely down her cheeks. "She can’t possibly be poisoned. The food was prepared by me and the young master himself."

"Just calm down, Kisha, and let the doctor do his work," Rhys said gently, though sadness weighed heavily in his tone. His gaze remained fixed on Anaya’s pale face.

Kisha bit her lower lip and nodded reluctantly, backing away to give the healer space.

After several minutes of careful inspection, the healer finally sat up straight and turned to face the pair. Both Kisha and Rhys wore anxious expressions, their curiosity and concern etched plainly on their faces.

"The young lady is not in danger," the healer announced, his voice calm but firm. "It’s just food nausea."

"Food nausea?" Kisha echoed, furrowing her brows. "How can that be? She’s not ill. And all the food prepared today were her favorites... meals she normally devours without hesitation. This doesn’t make any sense."

"There is a reason for it," the healer replied with a sigh, brushing dust off his tunic. "But I can’t be certain just yet. It would be better to return in a few days and examine her again. That way, I can confirm whether my suspicion is correct or not. I don’t want to give you the wrong news."

"Huh?" Kisha and Rhys exchanged a glance, both visibly perplexed before turning their attention back to the healer.

"Are you sure you know what you’re doing?" Kisha asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow and letting out a scoff.

"I may be a poor healer with no sophisticated tools," the man responded, his voice tinged with defensiveness, "but I’ve been practicing this profession for fifteen years. The lady has a weak constitution...always has. That’s why she can fall ill more easily than most. But this isn’t the result of sickness. Her body is simply exhausted. What she needs right now is rest...more than ever. When the time is right, I’ll return to examine her again. Only then will I be able to tell you what’s truly going on."

"When will she wake up, then?" Rhys asked, his brow slightly furrowed with concern.

"She should regain consciousness within the next fifteen minutes, young master," the healer assured him.

"I’ll prescribe some medicine for her," he continued. "They will help keep her strong in the meantime. Make sure she takes them daily, and most importantly....she must rest properly."

He stood up from the stool with effort and gestured toward the door. "Come with me to collect the medicine for the young lady."

"Sure," Kisha replied stiffly, though her expression betrayed her distrust. She didn’t voice it aloud; instead, she followed the healer out of the room in silence.

Once they were gone, Rhys settled himself at the edge of Anaya’s bed. With gentle fingers, he traced the outline of her delicate face, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her forehead.

"You have to be strong, okay?" he whispered, a soft smile playing on his lips. His eyes softened as he leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers. "I know you must be feeling weak after all the traveling we’ve done these past few days. Through the cold nights... the wilderness... your body’s not used to this. I understand your pain. But just like I said before...I’ll protect you."

He leaned in further, his lips closing the distance between them but before they could meet, Anaya suddenly jerked, and without warning, vomited right onto Rhys’s face.

"Arrrgh!" Rhys let out a panicked yell, stumbling backward with a look of horror. Disgust twisted his features as he tried to wipe the vomit off his cheeks and shirt.

But the moment his gaze returned to Anaya and saw her stirring uncomfortably, all irritation vanished. He quickly rushed to fetch a bowl of water, dipping a cloth into it and returning to sprinkle water on her face, trying to soothe her.

Just then, the door creaked open again.

"What’s going on?" Kisha asked the moment she walked in, her face pale with concern.

"Don’t ask stupid questions right now," Rhys snapped, though his tone was more urgency than anger. "Just start preparing the medicine."

Kisha didn’t argue. She nodded and hurried toward the kitchen, leaving Anaya in Rhys’s care once more.

*****

Meanwhile, back at Dimitri Mansion...

Even before the first rooster’s crow echoed through the palace, Sorayah was already in the royal kitchen. These past few days had been relentless and exhausting, yet she moved with quiet purpose, her golden hair tied back, her sleeves rolled up as she prepared for another long day.

Apart from handling the affairs of the harem and escaping the endless schemes of the concubines, Sorayah still had another task burdening her shoulders....cooking for the Empress Dowager.

She had been preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past few days, and honestly, she was starting to regret ever showing off her cooking skills in the first place. Out of all the talents she could have displayed, why did it have to be cooking? Surely, there were other skills she could have used to impress the Empress Dowager.. skills that didn’t involve exhausting herself in a hot kitchen every single day.

"Please begin the cooking now, Your Highness," came the voice of the head chef...a middle-aged man with a protruding pot belly, his apron tied loosely around his thick neck. A slightly crooked white chef’s hat sat awkwardly atop his round, sweat-beaded head.

"Her Highness, the Empress Dowager, will be waking up soon. It’s better to start the cooking now, so that by the time she wakes, you’ll be free to assist with her beauty regimen," added Eunuch Frank with a deep bow. His overly polite tone and exaggerated formality only added to Sorayah’s growing irritation.

"Why haven’t you learned how to prepare a single dish from me yet? Just why?" Sorayah snapped, turning her fiery gaze on the head chef. "You’ve been standing beside me for two whole weeks, and you mean to tell me you’ve learned nothing? Are you dumb or just pretending?"

The head chef flinched, lowering his gaze as he fumbled with the hem of his apron. "Well... Her Highness refuses to eat any meal prepared by anyone except you, Your Highness," he muttered.

He sighed before continuing, "The first time I tried cooking the chicken the way you did, she said I ruined it. She told me that if I dared to serve her such ’peasant food’ again, she’d have my head. She made it clear....I am not to appear before her again until I’ve mastered everything from you. Even if it takes a year... or longer."

"She said that?" Sorayah scoffed, tossing a cloth over her shoulder. "That sounds just like her."

The head chef nodded solemnly. "Her Highness the Empress Dowager has become addicted to the way you humans prepare your meals. As werewolves, our cooking is very different....milder, less refined in terms of spices. But humans..." He shook his head slowly, reverently. "You know how to bring out flavors. Spice your food to perfection. Add texture, depth, color. Her Highness craves that now. She doesn’t want our bland palace stews anymore....she wants your cuisine. And she wants it every day."

He heaved another sigh, eyes filled with worry. "If I show up in front of her with my mediocre skills, it’ll be like signing my own death warrant. Not just mine but my family’s too."

"I need sleep," Sorayah muttered under her breath, dragging her hand down her face. "I need to rest. I’m a royal concubine for moon’s sake, yet I’m working harder than even the palace maids. I cook every single meal. I serve it myself too! Meanwhile, all you do is stand and stare like a lost puppy."

Her voice rose with every word. "You need to learn this, and you need to learn it fast. If you keep standing there doing nothing, I might have your head first before the Empress Dowager even gets the chance!"

"Yes, Your Highness," the chef stammered, bowing deeply once again, clearly terrified now.

Sorayah exhaled sharply and turned her gaze toward the open kitchen window. A breeze swept in, offering little relief. Her thoughts drifted to the one person she hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

’I really need to see Dimitri,’ she thought, bitterness creeping into her expression. ’It’s been two whole weeks. Two weeks and not a single visit. Is he really that busy.’

She grabbed a pot and slammed it on the stove, fire crackling beneath it as though matching her mood. "Let’s get this over with," she muttered, tying her apron around her waist.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢