Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 18

Draven

The corridors of Lycandor Keep blurred past me as I ran, my boots striking stone with thunderous echoes that matched the rage pounding in my chest. Guards scrambled to follow, their armor clanking as they struggled to keep pace with my fury-driven stride.

The scene that greeted me when I rounded the final corner made my blood freeze in my veins. Thalia lay crumpled against the stone wall, her golden hair matted with crimson, her pale skin crisscrossed with angry welts.

"Enough!" The word tore from my throat like a battle cry, reverberating off the stone walls with such force. I crossed the distance between us in three long strides, my hand shooting out to rip the whip from Liliana's grasp. The metal studs embedded in the leather clinked against the stone as I cast it aside.

Liliana didn't even flinch. Instead, she tilted her head with that maddening composure of hers, red lips curving in what might have been amusement. "Commander Draven. How... timely."

I dropped to one knee beside Thalia, my hands hovering over her trembling form as I assessed the damage. Deep lashes marked her shoulders and back, some still bleeding freely. Her breathing was shallow, pained, but her eyes—those deep blue eyes that had begun to haunt my thoughts—met mine with stubborn defiance that sent an unexpected surge of admiration through my chest.

"Explain. Now." I didn't look at Liliana as I spoke, my voice carrying the arctic chill of barely leashed violence.

"Of course, honored Commander." Liliana's voice was honey over poison, sickeningly sweet. "This human slave has grown quite above herself since her little... encounter... with our king. She accosted me in the corridor, making demands about visiting the other human, speaking of you with disrespect."

The lie fell from her lips with practiced ease, but I caught the slight tightening around her eyes, the microscopic hesitation before she continued.

"As His Majesty's blood thrall, I have a duty to maintain proper order among the lesser slaves. She required... correction."

"She... lies..." Thalia's voice was barely a whisper, each word clearly costing her tremendous effort. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she struggled to speak. "I only wanted... to see... Adelaide..."

The rage that had been simmering in my chest erupted into white-hot fury. I rose slowly, my full height casting Liliana in shadow as I stepped closer.

"Liliana." Her name left my lips like a curse. "Regardless of your... special position... Thalia is now under my protection. Any future harm to her will be considered a direct challenge to my authority." I leaned closer, letting her see the predatory gleam in my eyes. "This is your final warning."

For just a moment, Liliana's mask slipped. I saw the flash of genuine hatred in her crimson gaze, the way her fingers curled into claws before she forced them to relax. But when she spoke, her voice remained silky smooth.

"Of course, Commander. I live to serve the greater good of our people."

I ignored her false submission, turning back to Thalia. She tried to sit up straighter as I approached, wincing at the movement but determined not to show weakness. The fierce pride in her battered form reminded me painfully of another blonde woman who had refused to bow to adversity.

"Can you stand?" I asked softly, crouching beside her again.

"I... I think so..." But when she tried to rise, her legs buckled. Without hesitation, I slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her against my chest. She was lighter than I'd expected, her body trembling with pain and exhaustion.

As I turned to leave, Thalia's head fell against my shoulder, her golden hair spilling across my armor. Behind us, I heard Liliana's sharp intake of breath, but I didn't look back. Whatever game she was playing, whatever scheme this was part of, it would wait.

The welfare of the woman in my arms took precedence over everything else.

Thalia

As Draven carried me towards Moonclaw Citadel, the world before my eyes swayed and blurred. Each step jarred my wounds, sending fresh waves of agony through my back and shoulders, but I bit my lip to keep from crying out. I would not show weakness—not after everything I'd endured.

Draven's chest was solid beneath my cheek, his heartbeat strong and steady against my ear. The scent of leather and steel surrounded me, mixed with something uniquely him—pine and winter air. Despite the pain clouding my thoughts, I felt safe for the first time since entering this fortress of nightmares.

The heavy oak door of his chambers opened with a creak, and warm light spilled over us. Draven moved with surprising gentleness, settling me onto the massive bed that dominated the room.

"Be still," he murmured, moving to light several silver lamps. The flames danced to life, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls hung with weapons and military banners. "Let me tend to your wounds."

I watched him gather supplies from a cabinet—clean cloth, healing salves, a basin of water. His movements were efficient, practiced, those of a man who had treated many battlefield injuries.

"This will hurt," he said softly, carefully lifting the torn fabric of my shirt to expose the worst of the damage.

I nodded, gripping the silk coverlet as he began to clean the wounds. The antiseptic burned like liquid fire, but I focused on his face instead of the pain. There was something mesmerizing about his concentration, the way his dark brows drew together as he worked, the almost reverent care in his touch.

But as he continued his ministrations, something changed. His breathing grew heavier, his movements slower. I felt his fingers tremble slightly as they traced the edge of a particularly deep cut, and when I looked up, his eyes had darkened to the color of storm clouds.

"Draven?" My voice came out softer than intended, barely more than a whisper. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, and I heard him inhale deeply near my neck. The sound sent an unexpected shiver through me that had nothing to do with pain.

"Your blood," he said, his voice rough and strained. "The scent... it's..."

I saw the moment his control began to slip. His pupils dilated, swallowing the blue of his irises until only dark hunger remained. His hands stilled on my skin, and I could feel the tension radiating from his body like heat from a forge.

"Draven," I said again, more urgently this time. Something primal was awakening in the air between us, something that made my pulse quicken and my skin flush despite my injuries.

He lowered his head until his breath ghosted across the wound on my shoulder. "I should stop," he whispered, but even as he spoke, his tongue darted out to taste the blood trickling down my arm.

The sensation was like lightning striking through my body. Pain and pleasure merged into something I'd never experienced before, something that made me arch against him with a soft gasp that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the room.

"Sweet goddess," he breathed against my skin, and I felt the last of his restraint crumble like autumn leaves.

His mouth moved to another wound, his tongue following the trail of blood with deliberate, sensual strokes. Each touch sent waves of sensation through me that made my previous pain seem distant and unimportant. My hands moved of their own accord to tangle in his dark hair, holding him closer instead of pushing him away.

"Thalia..." My name was a growl against my throat as he moved higher, his lips finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. "I can't... I can't stop..."

"Then don't," I whispered, surprising myself with the boldness of my words. But the truth was, I didn't want him to stop. Whatever this was—this fire building between us—I wanted to be consumed by it.