Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 101

Edmund

The heavy silence in the Great Hall of Eldoria Castle pressed down upon every person present like a suffocating shroud. I sat upon the throne that had belonged to my forefathers for eight generations, feeling the weight of the crown upon my brow more acutely than ever before.

My face, I knew, bore the marks of sleepless nights and endless worry—the deep lines around my eyes had grown more pronounced in recent months, and my hair had gained streaks of silver that hadn't been there when Adelaide left on her desperate mission.

To my left stood Alexander, my eldest son and heir to the throne. His silver-blue armor gleamed in the firelight, and his hand rested on the pommel of his sword with the easy confidence of a born warrior. To my right, Leonard maintained his scholarly composure, dressed in the deep blue robes of court, a scroll of parchment held carefully in his hands. Where Alexander embodied the sword of Eldoria, Leonard was its mind.

"My lords," I began, my voice cutting through the oppressive quiet, "we gather today to address a threat that can no longer be ignored. Three days past, our scouts brought word that three settlements—Greymill, Thornwick, and Riverside—have been utterly destroyed."

I gestured to General Marcus, who stepped forward with military precision. His weathered face was grim as he unrolled a blood-stained report. "Your Majesty," his voice trembled with barely contained rage, "our investigation confirms that these villages were attacked in a single night. These were not military targets—just farmers, craftsmen, and their families. The bodies show clear signs of werewolf savagery."

Angry murmurs rippled through the assembled nobles like thunder before a storm.

Alexander stepped forward, his armor catching the light as he moved. "This is not the first such atrocity!" His voice rang with authority and righteous fury. "For too long, we have endured the wolves' predations in silence! They steal our grain, they take our people, and we cower in fear of their strength!"

He struck the stone pillar beside him with his gauntleted fist, the sound echoing through the hall. "But now they dare to butcher innocents! This is an insult to Eldoria's honor—a declaration of war against humanity itself!"

The hall erupted in shouts of agreement, voices calling for vengeance and justice.

Alexander turned to face me, his eyes blazing with martial fire. "Father, I request your permission to mobilize the kingdom's forces immediately! We must make them pay for this barbarity!"

"Enough, Alexander." Leonard's voice, though quieter than his brother's, carried equal conviction. He approached the council table and spread out the maps he carried. "We cannot let anger alone guide our actions. The werewolves possess strength far exceeding our own. We need—"

"Caution? Strategy? Diplomacy?" Alexander's voice dripped with disdain as he interrupted. "What have these accomplished in the past three centuries? We offer tribute—they demand more. We show restraint—they grow bolder. Now they massacre our civilians openly! Humanity cannot remain passive any longer!"

Leonard met his brother's gaze with calm determination. "I do not oppose war, brother. I simply believe we require comprehensive preparation." He pointed to several marked positions on his maps. "We need allies, resources, and careful planning. Otherwise, this becomes not war, but suicide."

I raised my hand for silence, feeling the familiar ache in my chest whenever my sons clashed. Three children I had raised, and now only two stood before me. Adelaide—my youngest, my most precious child—remained lost in enemy territory, her fate unknown.

"High Priest Cedric," I addressed the elderly man in white robes who stood near the throne. "Share with us your counsel."

Cedric shuffled forward, his aged form moving slowly but with dignity. His eyes, clouded with years, still held sharp intelligence. "Your Majesty, three moons ago, I received a vision within the sacred chamber. I witnessed werewolf armies crossing our borders, marching toward Eldoria's very heart. I saw blood and flame, heard cries of anguish mixing with the howls of beasts." His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the hall. "I fear that prophetic moment has arrived."

My fingers gripped the throne's armrests until my knuckles turned white. Adelaide's face haunted my thoughts—her determined smile as she volunteered for this impossible mission, her promise to find a way to save our kingdom. My little girl, who should have been planning her wedding to some worthy lord, instead risked everything in the wolves' domain.

"Then we have no alternative," I declared, rising from my throne. "Eldoria shall bow to fear no longer. We will arm ourselves and defend our homeland, protect our people."

Leonard nodded his agreement, then added, "Father, we must not underestimate werewolf capabilities. I recommend dispatching envoys immediately to the Elvish Kingdoms and the Orc Clans. Despite rumors that the orcs have already made contact with the werewolves, their alliance is not yet solid. We can offer them an even more irresistible deal; it's worth a try."

"I concur with Leonard's proposal," Alexander said, surprisingly aligning with his brother. "However, I simultaneously request authorization to begin immediate troop mobilization and training. Time works against us."

I considered their words carefully. Both sons offered wisdom—Alexander's urgency and Leonard's foresight. "Very well. Alexander, oversee military preparations. Gather every available soldier, train the militia, reinforce our fortifications. Leonard, handle diplomatic relations. Draft proposals for our potential allies, ensure we can guarantee adequate support."

I turned to Cedric. "High Priest, prepare your temples. We will need every protective ward and healing potion your order can provide."

Both princes bowed in acknowledgment. Alexander's eyes gleamed with a warrior's resolve, while Leonard's expression showed a scholar's careful calculation.

After dismissing the assembly, I gestured for High Priest Cedric to remain. The elderly cleric approached my throne with careful steps, his white robes rustling softly in the now-quiet hall.

"Cedric," I asked, my voice heavy with hope and dread, "have you still been unable to contact Adelaide and Thalia?"

The old priest shook his head slowly, his weathered face etched with sorrow. "I regret, Your Majesty, that the werewolf borders are protected by powerful magical barriers. Our communication crystals cannot penetrate their defenses."

My heart sank at his words, though I had expected this answer. For months now, we had tried every magical means at our disposal to reach my daughter and his, only to be met with silence.

I walked to the great window, gazing toward the distant mountains that marked werewolf territory. Somewhere beyond those peaks lay my daughter—if she lived.

"Adelaide," I whispered to the gathering dusk, "I pray for your safety. If you survive, forgive what your father must now do."

Throughout the castle, the sounds of war preparation echoed: smiths hammering weapons, sergeants drilling soldiers, priests chanting protective prayers. Eldoria was marshaling for a conflict that might determine its very survival, unaware that this war's true architects worked from shadows, manipulating both sides toward mutual destruction.