Imara Diversifies The Beastmen World

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty Eight: Too Much to Cover

Rosa's POV

My heart thundered in my chest as the castle doors opened before me, the guards stepping aside at the sight of me. My tribe. My land. My legacy. I had returned. Bruised, bloodied, but victorious.

The moment we crossed into the grand courtyard, my body slumped forward, the adrenaline that had carried me finally beginning to wear off. My laughter faded into ragged breath, and I looked down at my hands—mud-caked, trembling, scratched. The sting in my cheek reminded me of Imara's slaps, and that made me snarl. She would regret ever laying her hands on me.

As I was helped down, familiar faces rushed forward. Servants. Clan warriors. My people. I stood tall, refusing to look weak. Let them see me wounded—they'd see it as proof of my struggle. My power.

Once I made it inside the castle, I immediately headed up the stairs toward my father's den. My mate, Lucas, morphed back and was on my heels.

"Father! Father, where are you?!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the halls. "I demand justice! I have been humiliated, beaten, threatened—I will not let this go! I demand a meeting before the Four Kings, and that damn female must be banished from here forever!"

Then I saw him.

My father.

He stood at the top of the stone stairs, eyes sharp, presence overwhelming. He rushed toward me, his blue-furred cape billowing behind him.

"Rosa, my daughter—what is it you've said? Beaten? Humiliated? Threatened?" His voice boomed as he approached, his eyes scanning every detail of my condition—my disheveled hair, the blood on my lip, the bruising on my cheek.

His hands hovered near my face, hesitant to touch me, as if contact might cause me more pain. The look in his eyes soothed me more than I expected. He cared. He was ready to make someone pay.

But before I could get a word out, his hands dropped to my shoulders and his voice dropped lower, more dangerous.

"Who dares touch my daughter?" His tone sent chills down my spine.

"How could this happen?" he growled. Then, his gaze snapped to Lucas. "You. How could you let this happen?! You were supposed to protect your female—my daughter the princess—no matter what!"

The fury rolling off him was unlike anything I had ever seen. I had known my father to be stern. Absolute. But this—this was a wrath I had only heard stories about in his past. And now I was watching it, unleashed, right in front of me.

Lucas visibly shook as my father descended on him. Without hesitation, he grabbed Lucas by the neck, lifted him with ease, and threw him—ruthlessly—down the stairs.

His growls echoed through the grand halls, shaking the very air around us.

"Gahh!"

Lucas hit the ground hard, the air knocked clean out of him. He clutched his ribs, wincing as he tried to get up.

"Get things prepared to have her cleaned and her wounds tended to—now—before I take your head from your shoulders!" my father roared.

Lucas scrambled upright, gripping his arm as he bowed his head. "Yes, my King," he muttered quickly before limping off.

My father turned back to me without hesitation, scooping me up like I weighed nothing. He carried me deeper into the castle and into a familiar room, placing me gently onto a spread of soft furs..

I heard the rapid thud of feet against stone.

My mother.

She must've been in her favorite sitting room—the one where she kept all the trinkets and rare gifts she'd been given over the years. I knew that room well. She called it her "peace."