His Lost Lycan Luna (Kyson and Ivy)

Chapter 74

Ivy POV

It was early in the morning when I slipped out without the King waking; I had shut off his alarm when I woke before deciding to help Clarice in the kitchens; I looked over at Peter, the stable hand boy, as he came in. He stopped by the counter and leaned on it. Peter was only young, with a mop of curly hair. He kept shoving his fringe out of his eyes.

“Clarice, is Gannon or Dustin around? I need help to move the barrels from the shed into the barn.” Peter asked.

“Barrels?” Clarice asked questionably, and Peter sighed.

“Yeah, the empty wine barrels. Jamie wants me to cut them in half so he can make garden beds out of them, but I need to cut them and paint them for him,” he said with a huff, clearly not enjoying being given extra chores by the gardener.

“Do it in the shed,” Clarice tells him with a shrug.

“Can’t, there is not enough room; it’s full with the furniture from the east wing,” he whined.

for them. I do not know where either of

help,” I offered. Being outside sounded great, and Clarice hardly let me do anything to help besides peel potatoes, saying I shouldn’t even be helping. However, with Abbie gone, I was constantly bored and still hadn’t forgiven the King for marking me or healing me while I slept. I also hated that he used the calling on

will pitch a fit if he finds

am helping Peter,” I tell her, and Peter’s eyes lit

you

the b****y King if needed,” I growled

sure, my Queen? I don’t want to get in trouble” Peter

him through the castle. I knew the King was asleep still, so I didn’t have to worry about him sending someone to look

re-stacked the shed, making it more accessible in the future. I watched as Peter cut the wine barrels with a chainsaw. Peter wouldn’t let me try because he was too

saw moving was something flapping, so l suspected it was a bird. Stepping cautiously onto the wooden dock I crept to the end, wary of the

held onto the wooden pier as I tried to grab the swan by its long neck, so I could pull it closer. The bird seemed to be caught in some netting or something. When the creature shrieked and flapped its wings as it tried to free itself, my fingertips grazed the surface of its face. As its wing became stuck, I leaned over a little, attempting to save it as the swan began getting dragged under. “Stop flapping,” I growled at the silly

blackened water. While I kicked and flailed, trying to reach the surface and

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