Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 114

Morgana

The pale moonlight filtered through the narrow ventilation window of the dungeon, casting sickly white patches on the damp stone floor. I moved through the long corridor with deliberate grace, my deep purple robes flowing behind me like liquid shadow.

Two towering werewolf guards stood sentinel outside Garrick's cell, their posture rigid and alert. As I approached, the larger of the two stepped forward, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

"Halt," he commanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Unauthorized persons are forbidden from entering the dungeons without express permission from the Legion Commander."

I smiled softly, my eyes meeting theirs with practiced ease. "Of course, brave guardians. I understand your diligence." My voice took on a melodic quality as I began to weave the ancient words under my breath, my slender fingers tracing an intricate arc through the air. The syllables rolled off my tongue like honey laced with poison.

The guards' alert expressions began to soften, their eyes growing distant and unfocused. Within moments, they stood as still as statues, their minds completely under my control.

"How pathetic," I murmured to myself, letting my fingertips brush against the lock on the cell door. "The vaunted willpower of the werewolves crumbles so easily before true power." The lock clicked open at my touch, and I pushed the heavy door inward.

Garrick sat with his back to the entrance on a crude stone bed, his broad shoulders bearing fresh welts from the lash. Forty strokes—even for a werewolf's robust constitution, it was no small ordeal. Scabs had begun forming over most wounds, though several still wept dark red blood. Yet his posture remained straight and proud, as if he still occupied his commander's throne rather than a dungeon cell.

"I thought you wouldn't come," he said without turning, his voice dripping with cold mockery. "After your plan failed so spectacularly."

I laughed softly, closing the door behind me. "When have I ever disappointed you, Commander? Or perhaps I should say... prisoner?"

Garrick spun around with lightning speed, fury blazing in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward and seized my throat, pressing me against the icy stone wall. His fingers dug deep into my pale flesh with enough force to crush an ordinary human's windpipe.

"You damned bitch!" he roared, veins bulging and body trembling with rage. "You used me! You deceived me! You made me a laughingstock!"

Despite his crushing grip on my throat, my expression remained perfectly composed. My red lips curved in that same elegant smile. "I never told you a single lie, Garrick," I said, my voice hoarse but steady. "I promised to help you claim the throne, and everything I've done has been toward that end. The plan simply... requires adjustment."

My hand rose to caress his fingers where they gripped my throat, the delicate touch contrasting sharply with his brutish strength. The contact was almost tender, yet my eyes held a dangerous glint that warned of the threat lurking beneath my surface.

Garrick released me with disgust, stepping back as if my touch burned him. "You're a vampire," he spat. "Everything you do serves vampire interests. Your kind has always sought our destruction."

I smoothed my collar with practiced grace, dark bruises already blooming on my pale neck—marks I wore like jewelry. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Commander. Now you've been stripped of rank, humiliated, imprisoned, while I still stand by your side. Only I can help you rise again."

"Friends?" Garrick's laugh was bitter as he sat back on the bed's edge. "I won't be anyone's lapdog."

I moved to the cell's only chair, settling into it with the fluid elegance of nobility, arranging my robes as if this were a palace receiving room rather than a dank prison. "I prefer to call it... mutual benefit."

Garrick crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "I want the Wolf King's throne—to lead my people to strength. Your vampires want our extinction. How does that serve us both?"

My laughter turned low and cold, echoing in the confined space. "Don't pretend to such nobility, Garrick. You betrayed your own people three hundred years ago, selling out your bloodline for personal ambition."

Every muscle in Garrick's body went rigid, a flicker of unmistakable fear crossing his features. "What are you talking about?"

I rose from the chair, my fingers trailing along the damp stone wall as I approached him. "In that decisive battle three hundred years ago, it wasn't humans or vampires who killed Lycanthar's brother Ragnar."

Each step brought me closer, my movements carrying a predator's fluid grace. "It was you, Garrick. You entered his tent while he still lived. He recognized you—called out to his own kinsman for aid. And you..." my voice dropped to a whisper, "saw a perfect opportunity to eliminate a potential rival. So you drove that human dagger deep into his already wounded heart."

Garrick's breathing became labored, his pupils contracting. "How could you possibly know that? No one knows! No one!"

A triumphant smile played at my lips. "The vampire in that tent... didn't die immediately. He witnessed everything and magically conveyed this secret back to his kin. That's why I chose you, Garrick. Because I knew we were the same—people who would do anything to achieve our goals."

Garrick lunged for my throat again. "Anyone who knows that secret must die."

My eyes suddenly blazed with unnatural red light, black veins appearing beneath my pale skin. "Your powers have been sealed. Do you really think... you could kill me?"

My body dissolved into black mist in his grasp, slipping through his fingers like smoke before reforming at the opposite end of the cell. This display of high-level vampiric ability made Garrick step back, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

"I can still give you everything you want, Garrick," my voice returned to its normal tone, though it carried an otherworldly resonance. "The throne, power, revenge... if we continue working together."

Garrick's expression shifted between conflicting emotions—rage, suspicion, fear, and undeniable ambition. "Vampires seek to destroy the wolf clans," he said quietly, though his voice lacked its earlier conviction. "I won't betray my people..."

I moved toward the cell door, the misty energy dissipating from my fingertips. "You already betrayed them once, Commander. And you know what wolves do to traitors when the truth comes to light." I paused at the threshold. "Consider carefully. Do you want to be the Wolf King, or a forgotten and despised weakling spurned by his own kind?

Garrick remained silent, his face dark with brooding calculation, his eyes glinting with complex schemes.

"When the time is right, I'll return," I said, glancing back with a confident smile curving my red lips. "I think we both know what choice you'll make." I glided from the cell with practiced elegance, the guards still frozen in their hypnotic trance.

Garrick clenched his fists, his nails drawing blood from his palms. He stared at the shadows where I had disappeared, the rage in his eyes slowly transforming into cold calculation. His hand traced over the whip marks on his back, feeling the searing pain of flesh and the deeper agony of humiliation and fury writhing like serpents in his heart.

"She's right," he whispered to himself, his voice filled with icy resolve. "I've never been one to accept defeat."

Outside the dungeon, a genuine smile crossed my lips. I didn't need to hear his words to know what choice he would make. For werewolves like Garrick, ambition was always more predictable than loyalty.