Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 137

Carl

I hurried through the stone corridors of Lycandor Keep, making my way to the council chamber. The Wolf King’s condition had to be reported promptly, and a solution needed to be found. From the grand hall ahead, bursts of applause echoed—a rare and ominous sound in a place usually filled with heated debate.

I pushed open the heavy doors and froze. Garrick sat at the center of the circular table, no longer relegated to side seats but occupying the position of honor. Pack leaders and regional alphas nodded with genuine respect as he outlined plans for expanded border patrols.

*Three years ago, this man was imprisoned for treason. Now he sits where our most trusted advisors once held counsel.*

"Master Carl," Elder Rothesgard acknowledged my arrival. "We were discussing Commander Garrick's security improvements."

I stepped forward with my scrolls. "Honored council members, I must report urgent concerns regarding His Majesty's condition. He's—"

"A regrettable but manageable situation," Garrick interrupted smoothly, his voice carrying unquestionable authority. "I've already ordered reinforcements to the lower levels."

"Commander, this wasn't merely a containment breach. The king showed signs of supernatural corruption—"

"Master Carl," Garrick's tone remained pleasant, but his eyes—those strange eyes that flickered with unnatural light—fixed on me. "Your dedication is commendable. However, the council's time is better spent on immediate governance matters."

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table. "Where is Commander Draven?" I asked.

"Indisposed," Garrick replied with a slight smile. "His grief continues to affect his judgment. I've temporarily assumed First Legion coordination."

*Temporarily.*

"And Commander Vespera?"

"Occupied with wedding preparations," Elder Frostmane chimed in. "Commander Garrick has been instrumental in facilitating the orc alliance."

Every attempt to voice my concerns was met with polite redirection. When I tried once more to discuss the technical aspects of the king's condition, Garrick assured me, "The Wolf King's situation will be... properly handled."

Not treated or healed—handled. Like a problem to be solved rather than a sovereign to be saved.

As the council dispersed, members approached Garrick with individual concerns, their voices filled with reverence usually reserved for rulers. I gathered my unused scrolls with shaking hands.

At the threshold, I turned back. Garrick stood at the chamber's center, bathed in sunlight, looking every inch a king holding court.

*Lycandor Keep isn't the place I once knew. And I fear it may never be again.*

---

Garrick

The great hall fell silent as the last council member departed. I remained seated, savoring the sweet taste of acknowledged power. Three years since that night when killing Morgana had become my path to redemption in their eyes.

I rose, walking to the windows overlooking the courtyard. Below, werewolves went about their business with efficiency that spoke to stable leadership. My leadership.

My fingers traced the Silver Fang of Valor hanging from my chest—awarded for "heroically defending the realm against vampire treachery." *From prisoner to actual ruler in three years. And they handed it to me themselves.*

Draven, consumed by pining for that human priestess, had withdrawn from active leadership. His heart had fled with Thalia Blackwood, leaving him a shadow drowning in bottles. Vespera remained focused on diplomacy and his upcoming marriage, too distracted to notice the throne slipping away.

And Lycanthar... poor, mad Lycanthar.

Morgana's final gift kept working perfectly. Every feeding session with Cressida introduced more corruption. Every bestial episode pushed him further from lucidity. Every broken chain proved to the council that their king was beyond salvation.

*Soon, they'll beg me to put him out of his misery.*

Sharp pain lanced through my arm. Black veins spread beneath my skin like living tattoos—the Shadow's Blood demanding its price. I gritted my teeth, riding out the agony. Each episode brought new strength, new speed, new clarity.

*Everything has a price. And I'm willing to pay it.*

Wings drew my attention to the window. A black raven perched on the sill, a scroll tied to its leg. The elegant script was unmistakable:

"My dear Garrick, the darkness is returning as promised. Prepare yourself for the storm you've long awaited. The time for pretense draws to a close. —M"

I stared at the words, shock giving way to cold amusement. Did she truly believe I remained the same desperate prisoner who'd drunk her poison? The Shadow's Blood had opened my mind to possibilities beyond her limited vision.

I dropped the parchment into the fireplace flames. "You think I'm still your pawn," I murmured. "But you don't understand what your gift has shown me."

Let Morgana return with whatever schemes she'd hatched. I would use her plans, twist her machinations, and when the dust settled, I would stand as king of more than just werewolves.

The moon rose over Lycandor Keep, its silver light casting shadows across the courtyard. I smiled, pressing my palm against the cool stone. The black veins were permanent now, mapping up my arms like rivers of shadow. Soon, I wouldn't need to hide them.

*Morgana,* I thought, gazing at the moon. *When we meet again, you'll discover that your greatest creation has outgrown its creator.*

The raven disappeared into the darkness. I remained at the window, planning for a tomorrow where every creature on this continent would acknowledge my supremacy.

The game of power had new rules now. And I intended to win.