Babysitting The Amnesiac Lycan King novel Chapter 96

Chapter 96

Chapter 96

The silence is the first thing that pisses me off.

No scratchy paper petals crumbling under my shoes. No sickly–sweet rot clinging to the base of my door. No reminder that someone out there has a death wish and thinks I’m dumb enough to play scared little Omega about it.

Huh.

I stare at the floor outside my quarters. Just polished marble. No bouquet of shriveled–up flowers this time.

Guess whoever’s been leaving them finally got bored. Or they’re cooking up something worse. Because that’s what silence is here–it’s not peace. It’s the inhale before the scream.

I rub my eyes and glance across the hallway. His doors are still closed, like the pompous Alpha King is too fucking royal to wake up before noon. Must be nice. I mutter, “Still sleeping off that bitchy little tantrum, huh?”

No response. Of course.

I drag myself into the bathroom, splash water on my face, stare into the mirror like I’m waiting for her–the version of me that’s supposed to be over this. Over him. Over the way his voice still cracks like thunder in my bones.

Yeah, she’s not showing up today either.

Whatever. I’ve got shit to do and coffee to drink.

The dining hall is halfway across the palace, but I’ve walked longer stretches with a twisted ankle and a leaking heart, so I put one foot in front of the other and try not to think about anything except how empty my stomach feels.

I’m almost at the hall when I hear them.

Maids. Whispering. Like they always do. But this time…

“Poor Lady Camille, I remember her.” one says, voice low but clear enough to knife through the air. “I really thought she’d be Queen by now.”

My body freezes mid–step.

Another maid scoffs, her tone heavy with regret. “They found her body in the-”

Footsteps. Heavy ones. Clean. Confident.

They all shut the fuck up at once.

I already know who it is.

Enoch enters from the far end of the dining hall, and it’s like every breath in the room gets sucked out of the ceiling.

The maids practically break their spines bowing, and one of them drops a tray.

Clatter. Awkward laughter. Silence again.

I step forward like nothing’s wrong, even though my brain’s glitching. Camille. Her name’s not a ghost anymore. It’s a

corpse.

And apparently… she’s a real one.

Enoch doesn’t look at me when I sit. He just stabs his eggs like they insulted his bloodline and chews like he’s punishing

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them for it.

Typical.

+50

I pick at my toast, but it’s like chewing ash. My mouth’s dry. My fingers won’t stop twitching. And the words are clawing their way up my throat before I can even stop them.

“What happened to Camille?”

I say it quietly. Too quietly.

His fork halts mid–air. His jaw ticks once.

“Eat your food.”

The way he says it–it’s not a suggestion. It’s an order.

I don’t move. “Last time I saw her was before the Maldives. I just thought… she was still… around.”

He slams his fork and knife down so hard the porcelain cracks.

“She’s dead.”

His voice is flat. Like he’s reading it off a fucking script. Like it doesn’t matter.

“Her body was found in this palace after we got back from that fucking island.”

Everything inside me goes cold.

I don’t even blink.

Because if I blink, I’ll fall apart. And I don’t fall apart for men who lie to me, fuck with me, and then act like I’m the problem. for not being loyal to their secrets.

Enoch stands. The chair drags back with a sound that makes my ears want to bleed.

He looks down at me like I’m the thing that ruined his entire life.

And maybe I did.

“Had I not wasted my time there–with you–while you wrote about my life like I was your next fucking exposé, I could’ve stopped it. I would’ve.”

Then he’s gone.

Just like that.

He walks out and leaves me at the table with nothing but cold toast, broken silence, and the worst fucking ache I’ve ever felt that doesn’t come from blood or bone.

I sit there for another full minute. Maybe two. Staring. Breathing. Not breathing. Thinking of her. Camille. The maybe- fiancée I never asked about. The girl I didn’t hate, but probably would’ve if I met her. Now she’s dead. Now it’s real.

I leave the food untouched and head to the Dowager’s wing before I can talk myself into crying again.

She’s in bed, eyes closed, skin pale against the cream–colored sheets. The room smells like lavender oil and lemon balm. I grab a bowl of cold water, dip the cloth, start wiping her arms gently.

“She’s stronger than she looks,” the healer told me last week. “She just likes pretending she’s dying. Says it gives her

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leverage.”

I believe it.

“Your grandson’s an ass,” I mutter as I wring the cloth.

The Dowager cracks one eye open. “My grandson thinks he’s clever. The poor idiot.”

A breath escapes me–part laugh, part disbelief. “You said it. Not me.”

“You make me laugh, girl. That’s rare in this cursed house.” She eyes me closely. “You’re hurting.”

“No shit.”

She doesn’t push. Just reaches out and squeezes my hand like she knows it’s the only thing holding me together right now. Then the air shifts. I feel it before I hear anything.

I turn, cloth still dripping in my hand, and there he is.

Enoch. In the doorway. Silent. Arms crossed. Watching.

No anger this time. No cruel smirk. Just that unreadable, unreadable face of his. Like he’s waiting for something he doesn’t even believe he deserves.

The Dowager pats the bed beside her.

“You. Come here.”

Enoch walks in. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t challenge her.

She grabs his hand and stares up at him. Her voice is clear. Firm.

“Stop being an idiot. Don’t hurt this girl.”

She smacks the back of his hand.

He glares at her like he’s five years old and just got scolded in front of the entire fucking court.

I snort. “Guess she’s on my side.”

His eyes snap to mine.

That classic Enoch glare. It’s meant to be scary. It’s meant to shut me up.

It doesn’t work this time.

I hold his stare, toss the cloth into the bowl, and sit back like I’m not dying inside.

I’m not the girl he left behind in the forest.

And I sure as hell won’t be the one he breaks without bleeding too.

A slow, smug grin pulls at my lips as I hover in the hallway, debating whether I should wait or just disappear into the nearest broom closet and hope no one notices me missing.

Then my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and sigh as I see Zoe’s name.

Zoe: “LET ME CRASH THERE FOR ONE NIGHT. I want to experience royal chaos. Please. I just found out my ex is

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marrying the girl he told me not to worry about 1 need this?

I groan, slapping, my head against the neared pillar.

Me: “Zoe, it’s not a sleepover. It’s a palace. With guards. And paychotic ex–girlfriends and brooding Lycans. You’ll get us murdered”

Zue “Murder is fine. Beuer than attending his wedding next week and smiling like I didust each him screwing her in my laundry room”

Me: “One night. No drama. No chaos. No lingerie, 1 mean it?

Zoe “No promises. Be there in an hour. Mwah,”

1 don’t even get a chance to argue before she hangs up,

Perfect, I’m already babysitting one emotionally stunted Alpha, Might as well add a chaos goblin to the mix.

1 shove the phone into my back pocket and turn–straight into a wall of muscle wrapped in a suit. “Ow, what the-”

“Watch it, Omega” Beta Jacob’s dry–as–dust voice cuts through the hallway. He doesn’t move. Just raises a brow like I’m the problem.

“Ever consider wearing a bell?” I mutter, stepping back and rubbing my nose. His stupid lapel pin poked me.

“You’re coming, with me,” he says without preamble,

“Where?”

“Council meeting, Alpha Blackwell can’t make it. You’re going in his place.”

I blink at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re a journalist, right? Take notes. Smile. Don’t say anything stupid.”

“Why me? There are dozens of other people here who’d gladly do it. Like, say, Brooke. I’m sure she’d love to be seen as the King’s representative.”

Jacob smirks, deadpan. “Exactly. You’re the only woman in this place who hasn’t tried to suck him off. You’re the safest option.”

My jaw drops. “Wow, Compliment of the year. Put that shit on a plaque.”

“Get dressed, your Majesty’s journalist. You’ve got ten minutes.

Ten minutes later, I’m shoved into the back of a sleek black SUV, still adjusting my damn shirt. My hair’s a mess, my boots don’t match, and I’m 90% sure there’s toothpaste on my collar.

Even worse? Enoch slides into the seat beside me without a word. Dressed in a matte black suit, cufflinks glinting like secrets, jaw tight like he’s chewing on glass.

He doesn’t look at me. Not once.

I side–eye the wall of broody rage beside me. “Why aren’t we just shifting? Wouldn’t that be faster?”

The driver answers instead. “It’s in the city, Miss.”

Chapter 96