Imara Diversifies The Beastmen World

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty: Chains and Vows

Wilbard's POV

The bottom cages.

Stone pits of filth. That are cold, and damp. The air is thick with mildew. Darkness drips from the walls like rot.

Chains rattling against stone.

The kind of place where only vermin survived. Meant for beasts too wild to be kept among their own kind, where cries echoed until throats broke and silence was all that remained. Because justice must be upheld.

A place where the forgotten went to die.

But not tonight.

I stood there, watching the impossible unfold.

King Winfrey and Queen Rosetta, rulers of tigers, royalty themselves—on their knees. I watched them bring comfort into a place once meant for ruin. The walls were smooth and sealed, warmed by faint crystal-light. The air was cool, not damp.

A pallet bed laid with thick furs, folded cloths neatly stacked, a basin of water steaming faintly.

A cage still, yes—but no longer cruel. And yet, Rosa didn't see any of it....

Their movements carried both shame and love, as though by softening the cage, they could soften the sentence.

Her sentence.

The irony wasn't lost on me, royalty on their knees in the bottom cages. All my planning, all my designs to see kings and queens bend beneath me one day... and here they were already, groveling for someone who didn't deserve it.

At least when they kneel to me, it will come with benefits, resources, protection, and guidance.

She fought them every step of the way, her voice raw with rage, her pride still lashing like claws. "This isn't my life!" she screamed, thrashing as her father set her down. "I won't live in filth! I won't be treated like this!"

But it wasn't filth. Not anymore. Not even close.

Her voice rattled the bars, shrill and wild, but her mates only moved around her, weighed down with guilt. Bart bent close with a jar of cream, dabbing carefully at the sting of her mother's slap still burning her cheek.

"I'm not some animal to be locked away! Get me out of here! Bart! Will! Lucas! Ray! DO SOMETHING!"

Lucas and Ray steadied her thrashing while Will wiped her arms and face with a damp cloth. They worked gently, silently, jaws tight, eyes heavy.

They loved her. Even here. Even now, and still she spat venom back at them.

"Stop touching me!" she shrieked, wrenching her arms away. "You're all useless! You should be fighting for me!"

But they didn't fight. They just kept tending, their hearts in their eyes.

I said nothing, only watched. I'd seen cages like this swallow beastmen whole. I'd seen them broken down to dust. And here she was washed, dressed in clean robes, wrapped in furs, cared for by mates and parents alike yet still raging as though she'd been cast into the abyss.

When Winfrey finally approached, her fury spiked. "Rosa," he said, voice steady.

"I hate you!" she screamed, lunging like a feral cub. But he caught her easily, unshaken, holding her thrashing body against his chest. His beast pressure rolled out like a wave, drowning her fury, forcing her body to surrender where her mind refused.

"No!" she kicked, punched, screamed into his garments. "I'll never forgive you!"

Winfrey pressed his lips to her forehead, and his beast pressure deepened, rolling like a heavy tide. I felt it thrum in the air, commanding and absolute. Rosa's defiance crumbled beneath it—her limbs went slack, her body sagging as her screams broke into sobs.