Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 23

Adelaide

I watched Lycanthar's retreating figure, catching a fleeting glimpse of panic in Draven's eyes. He quickly issued defensive orders to Vespera, then followed his king into the shadows, while my consciousness drifted away.

Draven entered a secluded tent where Lycanthar knelt before an ancient stone disc carved with mysterious runes, a blood-red gemstone pulsing at its center.

"Your Majesty, no!" Draven burst into the tent, horror etched across his features. "The forbidden arts must not be used! You will lose your sanity, never to regain human form again!"

Lycanthar did not turn, his voice steady and resolute: "I know the price, old friend. But if I do not do this tonight, our entire race will perish." He finally faced Draven, those azure eyes holding heartbreaking calm. "I would rather sacrifice myself than watch my people be destroyed."

Draven collapsed to his knees before him, voice trembling: "Your Majesty... Lycanthar... we could retreat, regroup..."

"There is no retreat left, Draven." Lycanthar's words came softly, his hand settling on his friend's shoulder. "You know this—they want our complete extinction." He rose, walking back to the stone disc with unwavering determination. "Promise me one thing—if I lose complete control, if I begin harming my own people... you must stop me."

"I swear it." Draven's voice carried both anguish and loyalty.

Lycanthar placed both hands upon the ruby, beginning to chant an ancient incantation. The runes on the disc blazed to life, the gemstone levitating as blood-red light enveloped him. I watched in fascination and terror as Lycanthar's body began to twist and reshape, muscles expanding, bones reconstructing, his agonized cries gradually transforming into bestial roars.

His eyes shifted from brilliant blue to crimson, his noble features extending into a fearsome lupine muzzle, silver-white fur sprouting across his form. Finally, a massive wolf-like creature replaced the human Lycanthar—three times the size of ordinary werewolves, radiating suffocating power.

Draven remained kneeling, shock and sorrow warring in his expression as he gazed upon this transformation: "Your Majesty... do you still recognize me?"

The beast turned toward him, red eyes flickering with brief recognition before charging from the tent toward the battlefield.

The battle that followed was a nightmare of blood and chaos. The transformed Lycanthar became an unstoppable force, cutting through vampires like wheat before a scythe. His claws tore enemy bodies apart, blood staining his fur yet failing to slow his rampage. The vampire army crumbled under his assault, soon scattering in retreat as Lazarus fled under heavy guard.

But Lycanthar's fury was far from spent. His burning gaze fell upon the human forces that had turned coat, the very soldiers who had once sworn alliance with the werewolves now standing with vampire banners. I watched in horrified fascination as he descended upon them with equal savagery. Their screams pierced the night as his massive jaws crushed armor and bone alike, his claws ripping through their ranks.

With the last vampire slain and every human traitor dead, silence fell over the battlefield. Werewolf warriors began cheering victory, but their celebration turned to horror—Lycanthar had not stopped. He turned upon his own people, red eyes holding only bloodlust. The first to fall was a young werewolf warrior, then a second, a third... Cheers became screams as wolves scattered in terror.

"Lycanthar is completely lost!" Draven shouted desperately. "He no longer recognizes us!" He quickly summoned Vespera and Garrick, the three commanders combining ancient binding magic to subdue their maddened king. Even their united strength barely contained Lycanthar's fury, nearly falling to his claws multiple times.

After a prolonged and agonizing battle, the three commanders finally restrained Lycanthar with specially forged magical chains. Draven knelt before the bound wolf king, tears streaming down his face: "Your Majesty... we have no choice. You will be imprisoned until we find a way to break this curse..."

The transformed Lycanthar struggled and roared, his eyes burning ever redder, all trace of the former king vanished. He was taken from the battlefield and confined in the specially prepared Iron Maw, losing his freedom to become a creature without reason.

My consciousness began withdrawing from the memory, the last image being Draven standing outside the cage, promising to find a way to save his king and friend... Then everything spun and twisted again as I felt myself pulled back to reality, returning to Lycanthar's side, back to the dungeon three centuries later.

---

Emerging from the Wolf King's memory, I trembled violently, tears flowing beyond my control. Looking into Lycanthar's crimson eyes—once filled with bloody killing intent, now somehow peaceful—my heart filled with unprecedented grief. My shaking fingers traced through his silver fur, my voice breaking with sobs: "I'm sorry... I didn't know what you endured, didn't know it was humans who betrayed you."

My fingers found the deep scar on his chest, understanding now that the pain and betrayal behind this wound was no longer distant history to me, but trauma I had witnessed and felt.

The Wolf King gazed at me quietly, something stirring in those blood-red eyes like wind rippling across a lake's surface. He slowly lowered his massive head, his warm, wet tongue gently licking away the tears on my cheeks with surprising tenderness that contrasted sharply with his terrifying appearance. This simple gesture held no aggression, as if comforting me, forgiving me, despite my shared heritage with those who had betrayed him. I closed my eyes, feeling this unexpected gentleness, my heart aching even more from this wordless understanding.

In the darkness, I leaned against the Wolf King's warm body, feeling his strong heart's steady rhythm. This moment of peace cleared my thoughts, dispelling the fog of confusion and replacing it with firm resolve. I looked directly into Lycanthar's eyes, my voice soft but steady as a vow: "Lycanthar, I promise you—I will find a way to restore your sanity." My fingers stroked the sensitive fur behind his ears as I continued: "I will reunite humans and werewolves as the allies we once were, ending this three-hundred-year hatred."

Lycanthar seemed to truly understand my oath, releasing a low, prolonged rumble that vibrated from his broad chest through my body. This was not a threatening growl, but something almost like satisfaction. He carefully nuzzled my neck with his nose, his warm breath caressing my skin. In this brief tranquility, our connection seemed to transcend language, like two souls finding each other's light in darkness.

In the distance, the first rays of dawn began penetrating the Iron Maw's high windows, bringing faint illumination to the dark cell. Startled by time's passage, I quickly rose and gathered my scattered clothing. The Wolf King watched my movements quietly, showing no intention to stop me. "I must leave now," I explained softly, as if he could understand, "but I will return, I promise."

Before departing, I boldly pressed a gentle kiss to the Wolf King's muzzle, feeling his warm breath against my cheek. I took one last look at this imprisoned monarch, his gaze following me until my figure disappeared beyond the heavy iron door, melting into the shadows of dawn.