The Mind-Reading Mate: Why Is the Lycan King So Obsessed With Me? Chapter 10: The Lycan King’s Wrath

People rarely called Edmund by his na—or rather, no one dared to.

They treated his na like so kind of a bad jinx, as if saying it out loud would summon death itself.

Because of those ridiculous superstitions, Primrose had never spoken his na in her first life. But in the end, she still t her demise, even without calling his na.

The truth was, she had always wanted to say his na because she wanted to curse him along with his na, to be exact.

"EDMUND, YOU BASTARD! How the hell could you not reinforce the guards in the Queen's chamber?!"

Primrose kept screaming, her voice ringing through the room as she hurled whatever she could grab at the assassin standing before her.

A vase. A candle holder. A goddamn pillow.

It didn't matter what it was as long as it hit him, she was throwing it.

At this point, the assassin was starting to lose focus because of her relentless screaming.

"Shut up! Just shut up already!"

Like hell she would.

Primrose grabbed a heavy antique vase sitting by the fireplace, and hurled it at him with everything she had.

"AAAAAA!!! AAAAAAA!! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!"

The vase missed by an inch, shattering against the floor. The assassin flinched, not from fear, but from sheer frustration.

"EDMUND!! EDMUND OSBERT VARNHA!! ARE YOU DEAF OR WHAT?!!"

His fingers twitched. This was supposed to be a clean job. A quiet kill. The last thing he needed was for half the damn palace to wake up because of this woman's loud voice.

"Enough!"

In a second, he closed the distance between them, catching her wrist just as she reached for another object to throw. With a sharp shove, he slamd her against the wall.

Before she could scream again, his hand wrapped around her throat.

"Just give up, Your Majesty," he snarled, "I can snap your neck in seconds—"

Primrose's survival instincts kicked in. She moved wildly, her nails raking down his arm, her knee jerking upward to land a desperate hit. She even tried to bite him.

Useless. Her attempt to survive was completely useless.

It was like a rabbit trying to fight off a bear.

Tears spilled down her cheeks because the pain was unbearable. Her lungs burned, her vision darkened, and her body scread for air.

Maybe this is it.

Her second death.

How pathetic.

Her body slumped down against the wall. A choked sound—half a gasp, half a sob—escaped her lips as her mind flickered between past and present.

Just as her vision blurred into nothingness, sothing unexpected happened.

BOOM!

The door to her chamber didn't just open but it was obliterated. Wood splintered, tal groaned, and a powerful gust of wind howled through the space, sending things flying and curtains billowing like wings.

And then, before the assassin could react, the chilling voice echoed through the room.

"Who gave you permission to touch my wife?"

A blade sliced through the assassin's arm. His right limb was severed from his body, forcing him to release his grip on Primrose's throat.

She collapsed onto her knees, choking on air. Her lungs burned as she coughed violently, her trembling fingers clawing at her skin, only to freeze when she felt sothing cold and lifeless still clinging to her neck.

The severed hand.

What the hell ... the fingers were even still twitching on her neck?!

A wave of nausea rolled over her as she yanked it off, flinging it away with a horrified shudder.

She had seen dismbered limbs before. Bloodied corpses. The aftermath of a battlefield.

But holding a severed body part in her bare hands?

That was new.

And utterly disgusting.

Warm, sticky blood sprayed across the walls, pooling on the floor, drenching her nightgown, and worst of all, it splattered onto her face!

The thick, tallic scent filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.

The assassin's agonized scream finally registered in her ears, but Primrose barely heard it. Her mind was too busy processing the sheer horror of what had just happened.

"How dare you infiltrate the Queen's chamber."

The voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. It was cold, cutting through the air like a blade.

The heavy footsteps that followed were slow, deliberate. Not rushed. Not panicking. Just steady, like a predator closing in on its prey.

Then, he stepped into the room.

His icy-blue eyes glead in the dim light, cold and rciless. Blood dripped from the blade in his grip, pooling at his feet.

A suffocating darkness surrounding him, a heavy aura that made the room feel smaller. It wasn't just anger that radiated from him, it was sothing far more dangerous, like a predator that was ready to attacked its prey.

Primrose found herself frozen, her breath caught in her throat.

For the first ti in this life, she saw it.

The version of Edmund that made n tremble. The king who was able to crushed the weak by his re presence.

She almost forgot.

Almost forgot that the man before her wasn't just so pathetic, lovesick fool who couldn't talk properly around his wife.

No.

He was Edmund Osbert Varnha.

The King of Beasts.

A monster crowned in blood, whose hands had been stained red ever since he took the throne.

He was terrifying, his presence alone was enough to make the air feel heavier, suffocating.

And yet, despite the blood staining his hands, despite the cold fury in his eyes, Primrose felt sothing unexpected.

Relief.

Her body trembled, her throat burning, but she still forced the words out. "Ed ... Edmund."

Her voice cracked, because it hurt to speak, every syllable scraping against her throat like broken glass.

[My wife ... my wife called my na.]

Without realizing it, Primrose lifted her hand, reaching for him, only to grasp the very tips of his fingers.

[Is she ... trying to hold my hand?]

Without hesitation, Edmund dropped to one knee before her, his towering form lowering to et hers. He took her hand carefully, cradling it between his own. His large, calloused hands wrapped around her small, soft hand.

But he didn't squeeze and didn't apply even the slightest pressure.

He was too afraid of hurting her.

"What ... what took you so long?"

Primrose bit her trembling lip. She felt sothing wet trailing down her cheeks—tears.

"I scread so loud ... it was scary."

Oh, how she wished she were only acting.

But she wasn't.

The tears were real.

The tremor in her voice was real.

The fear clawing at her chest, suffocating her, was real.

She had been terrified, afraid that no one would co. That no one would save her. That she would die in misery, just like before.

She hadn't wanted to cry.

But her tears had betrayed her.

[My wife is crying.]

"Don't cry."

His voice was stiff and cold. If Primrose didn't know his true self, she would have thought he was ordering her to stop simply because he despised weaklings who did nothing but cry.

[She's crying. My wife is crying.]

[I MADE HER CRY!]

[No. The assassin made her cry.]

[But if I had co sooner—]

Edmund clenched his jaw, his grip on her trembling hands tightening just slightly before loosening again, afraid of hurting her even more.

His gaze flickered to the red marks around her neck, and sothing dark and violent stirred in his chest.

[Whoever who dare hurting my wife has to pay with their blood.]

His icy-blue eyes shifted to the assassin, who was still frozen in shock.

The man wanted to run to escape, but he could hear the heavy footsteps of soldiers gathering outside the Queen's chamber. So were even standing beneath the balcony, blocking every possible exit.

Worst of all, the Lycan King was in the sa room as his.

Primrose could hear the assassin's thoughts.

[Why does he want to save his wife?! Isn't he unhappy with his human mate?!]

"Y-Your Majesty, I only wanted to help you get rid of that useless human." The assassin still believed that Edmund didn't care for his mate. "Wouldn't it be better if she died? Maybe the Moon Goddess will grant you another mate, one who is stronger."

"Useless, you said?" Edmund wrapped Primrose in his mantle, shielding her trembling body. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "How dare you insult my wife with that filthy mouth of yours."