Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 142

Garrick

I stood in the spacious royal command chamber, the night view of Silverhowl spreading before me through the tall windows. Moonlight illuminated the forests and mountains of our werewolf territory, painting a magnificent tableau.

"Four years of patience," I whispered, watching the view below. "At last, the time to reap has arrived. Lycansa has lost her sanity, Draven is under control, and the throne is now within reach."

"What a beautiful night, wouldn't you say, Commander Garrick?" A familiar female voice cut through the air behind me, cold as ice scraping against glass.

I didn't turn. That frigid presence was unmistakable—I had sensed her approach long before she spoke. "I assume you've finally grown tired of lurking in shadows and watching from afar, Morgana."

When I did turn, there she stood in the center of my chamber, draped in a deep crimson robe. Her skin was pale as freshly fallen snow, as if bathed in moonlight. Four years had passed, yet her face remained unchanged—as if even time itself dared not touch her.

"I must confess, your performance has been... impressive." Morgana glided closer, her red lips curving into an appreciative smile. "Such remarkable restraint before the council—so measured, so rational. Who would have imagined that the fierce commander of the Second Legion could transform into such an accomplished politician?"

I laughed coldly. "Times change. Sometimes power flows from patience and strategy rather than claws and fangs alone."

"Indeed it does." Her finger traced across the map on my table. "But now, the time for patience has ended. It's time to fulfill our agreement, Garrick. Rally your forces, stage your coup, kill that caged beast, and formally claim the Wolf King's throne. Then, as we agreed, you will open Silverhowl's gates and welcome my people."

I regarded her with barely concealed contempt. "Why should I honor that agreement? Look at my position now—the throne is within reach. Why would I still need to share power with vampires?"

A dangerous glint flashed in Morgana's eyes. "Are you telling me you intend to break our pact, Commander Garrick?"

"No," I replied with a predatory grin, gesturing casually with my hand. "I'm simply... reassessing our terms of cooperation."

Immediately, six fully armed elite werewolf warriors emerged from the chamber's shadows, their silver weapons trained directly on Morgana.

"Did you truly believe I would be foolish enough to meet with a vampire alone?" I said smugly. "Your death will be real this time. And then I shall use your elimination as proof of my dedication to protecting our people from vampire threats, cementing my rule permanently."

Morgana observed the surrounding warriors with perfect composure, then laughed. "Oh, Garrick... did you really think I would walk so easily into such an obvious trap?"

She moved her fingers in a subtle gesture, and a wave of black energy rippled through the room. The warriors collapsed in agony, choking sounds escaping their throats as black veins spread across their skin like poison. Within moments, their struggles ceased entirely.

I stared in shock, then drew my battle axe, eyes blazing with rage. "Your little tricks won't work on me, Morgana. Vampire enchantments cannot control a werewolf of my strength."

Morgana laughed softly, extending her hand with elegant grace. "My dear Garrick, who said anything about enchantments?"

Her finger crooked as if pulling an invisible string.

Suddenly, excruciating pain shot through my arm and spread throughout my entire body. Looking down in horror, I watched black veins writhe like living creatures under my skin, spreading from my arm to my chest, neck, and finally crawling across my face.

"What... what is this?" I roared in agony, fighting against the force that was slowly eroding my will. My battle axe slipped from my grip, clattering against the stone floor.

"The Shadow's Blood, remember?" Morgana approached slowly. "The power you so desperately craved four years ago has finally matured. It didn't just grant you strength—it left my mark within you, making you my perfect puppet."

I tried to swing my arms, but my body no longer obeyed my commands. My muscles stiffened, black veins obscured my vision, and my consciousness began to blur. I could feel my will being devoured by some dark force, yet I was powerless to resist.

"Im...possible..." I managed to force out those syllables.

"Such a delightful illusion—independence and freedom." Morgana sneered. "You always believed you were playing chess, never realizing you were merely a piece on the board." She leaned close to my ear, whispering, "Now you will act according to my commands. Stage your rebellion, eliminate all opposition, and remove Silverhowl's magical barriers and border guards."

The last spark of resistance in my eyes died, replaced by hollow emptiness. I nodded stiffly. "As you command, Master."

Morgana watched with satisfaction as I picked up the communication crystal and began issuing orders. My voice remained calm and authoritative—no one would question the authenticity of these commands.

"Complete, Master." I reported mechanically.

"Excellent." Morgana smiled, moving to the window to admire Silverhowl under the moonlight—soon to become vampire territory. She turned back to me, pleased to see this once-proud werewolf commander now her obedient puppet.

"My dear Garrick, you cannot imagine how long I have waited for this moment. Come, take me to the confinement chamber. Tonight, the Wolf King dies, and you... you shall become the first blade in my hand."

---

Vespera

I had just returned from diplomatic missions in Grimstone Vale, looking forward to peaceful time with my fiancée, Princess Zaroka. But now, an unusual tension permeated the air in Lycandor Keep.

The normally vibrant fortress corridors were nearly deserted, and the few guards I encountered seemed nervous, avoiding my gaze.

"What's happening?" I intercepted a young werewolf warrior hurrying past.

He hesitated, fear flickering in his eyes. "Lord Commander, you should find Lieutenant Thorin. He has... urgent matters to report."

My brow furrowed as I strode quickly toward the First Legion's command center. The chamber door stood half-open. Lieutenant Thorin—Draven's most trusted deputy—stood beside the strategy table, his face ashen and eyes filled with worry.

"Thorin, what's happened? Where is Draven?" I asked urgently.

Thorin looked up, his expression mixing anger and helplessness. "Several days ago, Commander Garrick arrived with Second Legion elite warriors, claiming orders from the Wolf King to escort Commander Draven to an emergency meeting."

A chill ran down my spine. "Garrick has no authority to do that."

"We all know that." Thorin's voice dropped, his knuckles white as he gripped the table edge. "But Commander Draven hasn't been... well lately. He didn't resist. When I tried to intervene, Garrick threatened that if the First Legion didn't comply with his orders, Draven would be executed as a traitor."

Rage flashed in my eyes. "He wouldn't dare! The Wolf King still lives—Garrick has no right to issue such commands."

"It gets worse." Thorin retrieved a sealed document from the table. "Fresh orders arrived—Garrick, acting as regent, has commanded all legions to withdraw border patrols and dismantle Silverhowl's magical barriers. Second Legion warriors have already begun implementation, claiming it's for 'defensive reorganization.'"

I snatched the document, scanning its contents rapidly, my expression growing grimmer by the moment. "Withdraw border guards? Dismantle barriers? This isn't reorganization—this is opening our gates to enemies." Understanding struck me instantly. "This is a coup. Garrick means to seize power."

I asked urgently, "What about Seraphina? Where is my sister?"

"She went to collect herbs in the forests near the human border and hasn't returned yet." Thorin's voice carried worry. "But I've sent people to find her."

I took a deep breath, rapidly considering our next moves. "If Garrick truly intends to seize power, who would he target first?"

Thorin and I reached the same conclusion simultaneously: "The Wolf King."

"Though Lycanthar is imprisoned, as long as he lives, Garrick cannot truly claim kingship." I spoke quickly, moving toward the door. "I must reach the confinement chamber immediately. Thorin, gather warriors you trust, but don't openly resist yet. We need time."

Thorin nodded. "The First Legion's core members remain loyal to Draven—they won't easily submit to Garrick. But we need proof of his treachery."

I was already at the doorway. "I'll find that proof. Meanwhile, try to contact Seraphina and any other potential allies. If Garrick has truly betrayed us, Silverhowl faces civil war."

I grabbed weapons from the wall and raced through Fenriswood Bastion's corridors toward Lycandor Keep. My mind calculated distances and time—at maximum speed, reaching the Wolf King's confinement chamber would take at least thirty minutes.

An unprecedented sense of urgency gripped me. If Garrick truly intended to murder the Wolf King, the entire werewolf kingdom would face its greatest crisis in centuries. And if vampires were involved, the consequences would be catastrophic beyond imagination.