Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 24

Draven

I sat in the ancient council chamber of Lycandor Keep, my fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished surface of the moon-stone table. Before me lay scattered parchments bearing reports from the borderlands, each one a reminder of the delicate balance we struggled to maintain in this fractured realm.

Vespera had arrived punctually, as always, his green robes rustling softly as he settled into his seat across from me. We exchanged a wordless nod of acknowledgment, both of us well aware of the empty chair that remained conspicuously vacant. The appointed hour had come and gone, yet still we waited.

My jaw tightened as minutes stretched into half an hour. Garrick's habitual tardiness had long since ceased to be merely discourteous—it had become a deliberate insult to the very institution we were sworn to uphold.

The heavy oak doors finally burst open with theatrical force, and Garrick sauntered in with that insufferable smirk I had come to loathe. His boots struck the stone floor with deliberate loudness, each step calculated to demonstrate his disdain for our proceedings. He threw himself into his chair with practiced arrogance, propping his boots on the edge of our sacred table and causing the nearby documents to flutter.

"The council began half an hour ago, Garrick." My voice emerged cold as winter steel, each word carefully measured. "Your tardiness has become habitual. It shows disrespect to this assembly."

He let out a derisive laugh, reaching for a silver goblet and filling it with crimson wine. "Why such solemnity, Draven? My legion's strength could crush any challenger that dares approach our borders. What value do these tedious meetings serve beyond wasting precious time?" He took a long, deliberate sip, savoring both the wine and his defiance.

Vespera's gentle but firm voice cut through the tension. "The council tradition was personally established by King Lycanthar himself. Regardless of his current... condition, we owe him our respect."

"Rules set by a caged beast?" Garrick waved dismissively. "Perhaps it's time we reconsidered these outdated customs."

I shot to my feet, my hands slamming against the table as I leaned forward, allowing the full weight of my authority to fill my voice. "Mind your tongue, Garrick. Whatever his state, he remains our king."

The air crackled with barely contained violence, but Vespera smoothly intervened, clearing his throat to redirect our attention. "We've received correspondence from Grimlock, the chieftain of the orcish tribes in Grimstone Vale." He carefully unrolled a parchment that bore the earthy scent of distant mountains. "They propose strengthening trade relations with Silverhowl—their medicinal herbs, premium furs, and specialized timber in exchange for our minerals and gemstones."

"Absolutely not." Garrick slammed his goblet down with such force that wine splashed across the ancient parchment like drops of blood. "Those gemstones and minerals can be forged into powerful weapons and magical artifacts. Would you have us strengthen the orcs until they eventually challenge us for territory?" His eyes glittered with paranoid suspicion.

I drew a measured breath, forcing calm into my voice despite the frustration building in my chest. "We need allies now, Garrick. Border patrol reports indicate increasing human activity to the north. The orcish herbs could aid in healing our warriors who still recover from past conflicts."

"Allies?" His laugh was venomous, serpentine. "Like those human 'allies' who betrayed us three centuries ago? They stabbed us in the back at our most vulnerable moment?"

The chamber fell into oppressive silence. Even the crackling of torch flames seemed too loud in the sudden stillness. I felt the familiar ache in my chest, the old wound torn open anew. Vespera's expression darkened, his usual composure cracking as painful memories surfaced. The betrayal remained fresh despite the passage of centuries—a scar that refused to heal.

I finally broke the silence, my voice carrying ice-cold determination. "The matter of orcish trade can be revisited. But there is one thing that must be made absolutely clear." I fixed Garrick with a stare that could freeze blood. "You will not harm Adelaide or Thalia again. Vespera has informed me that Adelaide is a Moon Bride, and she has already been marked by King Lycanthar himself. She is not some common slave, and certainly not a tool for your bestial appetites."

Garrick's smile twisted into something predatory and dangerous. "Oh? Those two filthy human girls?" He slowly ran his tongue across his sharpened canines. "They're nothing but insignificant insects, not worth the air they breathe. Moon Bride? I suspect that's merely a convenient fiction you've concocted to protect the spawn of betrayers."

"You're wrong, Garrick." Vespera's calm voice carried an edge of steel I rarely heard from him. "I witnessed Adelaide awaken the aura of the Moon Bride right before my eyes. This is no coincidence—it is the will of Moon Goddess." He paused, his next words sharp as a blade. "Your eagerness to eliminate Adelaide—isn't it because you fear that if the king regains his mind, your wolfish ambitions will have nowhere to hide?"

Garrick erupted from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor with a sound like breaking bones. His eyes blazed with dangerous crimson light, his breathing heavy with barely controlled rage. "You dare threaten me?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder as his fingers began to elongate into claws, leaving deep gouges in the table's surface. "I advise you both to guard those two pathetic women well." He leaned forward, his transformed hands leaving scratches in the ancient wood. "After all, accidents happen frequently in this castle. Delicate human flesh tears so easily under werewolf claws."

With that naked threat hanging in the air, Garrick straightened to his full height and cast one last contemptuous look around the chamber. His every step toward the door carried the promise of violence as the heavy oak portal slammed shut behind him, the impact causing the torches to flicker and dance.

Vespera and I exchanged a look weighted with shared concern. The silence that followed spoke louder than any words could have. The battle lines had been drawn, and we both understood that this conflict would not end with mere political maneuvering.

"We need to increase protection for Adelaide and Thalia," Vespera said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Garrick won't abandon his plans easily."

I nodded grimly, feeling the familiar burden of responsibility settle across my shoulders like a lead cloak. "Indeed. The war has already begun—we simply haven't declared it yet."

As I gathered the scattered parchments from the table, my thoughts turned to the two human women whose fates had become so intertwined with our own. Adelaide, with her violet eyes and hidden strength, represented something I had not dared hope for in three centuries—the possibility of Lycanthar's redemption. And Thalia, brave enough to face a beast king to protect her friend, had somehow found a place in my own scarred heart.

The irony was not lost on me. After three hundred years of hatred toward the human race, here I sat plotting to protect two of their kind from one of my own. Perhaps Vespera was right—perhaps the Moon Goddess did have a hand in these strange turns of fate.