Lucien walked through the woods the entire night, his steps relentless, his senses stretched to their limit, yet he still could not find the king. The deeper he went, the thicker the silence became, as though the forest itself was hiding something from him.
Frustration gnawed at him. At some point, he partially shifted into his Lycan form, his muscles tightening, his senses sharpening as his instincts took over. It would help him cover more ground and perhaps, just perhaps, catch the king's scent.
But even then, he found nothing.
No trace of the king. No lingering aura. Nothing.
Lucien slowed, his claws flexing before he forced himself back toward control. He knew this was futile. If the king did not want to be found, then no one would find him. Not even him.
Still, that realization did nothing to calm the unease clawing at his chest.
