Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 27

Giselle

The familiar whistle pierced through the twilight air—three short notes followed by one long, like a nightingale's call. My heart leaped in my chest as I recognized the signal Tristan and I had agreed upon months ago.

Wrapping my thin cloak tighter around my shoulders, I slipped through the servant quarters' side door, my bare feet silent against the cold stone. The evening chill bit at my exposed skin, but excitement and nervousness warmed me from within. It had been three days since I'd last seen Tristan, three long days of wondering if he was safe, if he was thinking of me as much as I thought of him.

"Tristan?" I whispered as I approached the secluded grove of bushes behind the keep where we often met. "What's so urgent? I just finished serving Lady Adelaide—"

Before I could finish my sentence, strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper into the shadows. I gasped as I felt Tristan's familiar warmth against my back, his rough hands already beginning to roam beneath my cloak.

"What's urgent?" His voice was thick with desire, his breath hot against my ear. "Missing you, of course. Three days without seeing you, without touching you... I've been going mad."

His fingers found the ties of my simple dress, working at them with an urgency that made my pulse quicken. But something felt different tonight—there was an edge to his touch, a roughness that hadn't been there before.

"Tristan, wait," I said, pushing gently against his hands. "We need to be careful. The guards—"

"Afraid of what?" He laughed, but it wasn't the warm sound I was used to. "This is a werewolf camp, Giselle. They mate openly in the great halls, take slaves publicly whenever they please. Who's going to care about us?"

Without waiting for my response, he spun me around and pressed me against the rough bark of a tree. His mouth crashed against mine, hungry and demanding, while his hands tore at my clothing with little regard for the delicate fabric.

"Tristan, please," I gasped between his kisses, "be gentle—"

But he wasn't listening. His eyes held a wild gleam I'd never seen before, and his movements were driven by something deeper than simple desire. He pushed me down onto the soft grass, his weight pinning me beneath him as he roughly squeezed my breasts, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.

I cried out softly at the pain, instinctively covering myself with my arms, but he brushed them aside with impatient force. The cold night air hit my exposed skin, making me shiver as much from fear as from the chill.

"Just like this," he growled, flipping me over with little ceremony. "On your hands and knees, like a good bitch."

The crude words stung worse than his rough handling. This wasn't the tender Tristan I thought I knew, the one who usually whispered sweet words and caressed me gently. His hands gripped my hips with bruising force as he positioned himself behind me, and I felt him push into me without any preparation, without any care for my comfort.

I bit my hand to muffle my cry of pain, tears springing to my eyes. "Please," I whimpered, "you're hurting me..."

But Tristan was lost in his own needs, driving into me with a violence that spoke of frustration and anger being worked out on my body. His nails dug into my skin as he gripped me tighter, his breathing harsh and ragged.

"This afternoon... that noble lady got me so worked up," he panted in my ear, his words broken by his exertion. "Now you get to take care of it all..."

I didn't understand what he meant, but I was too focused on enduring the pain to ask questions. I pressed my face into the earth, biting back sobs as he used my body for his relief. This wasn't making love—this was something else entirely, something that left me feeling dirty and used.

When he finally finished with a harsh groan, spilling himself inside me, I collapsed onto the grass, trembling. He pulled away immediately, already adjusting his clothes as if nothing had happened. I curled into myself, wiping away the tears that had escaped despite my efforts to be strong.

"Oh, right," Tristan said suddenly, as if remembering something important. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a small crystal vial filled with a pale, shimmering liquid. "I need you to spray this on Adelaide's clothes. All of them."

I sat up slowly, pulling my torn dress around myself as best I could. "What is it?" I asked, accepting the vial with shaking hands. "Why do you want me to spray it on Lady Adelaide's belongings?"

"Don't ask so many questions," he said impatiently, waving his hand dismissively. "Just do as I say."

Something in his tone made me more suspicious. I held the vial up to catch the moonlight, studying the strange substance within. "No," I said firmly, pushing it back toward him. "I won't do anything that might harm Lady Adelaide. She's been kind to me—"

Tristan's hand shot out, gripping my wrist hard enough to make me wince. "Kind to you?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Since when do you refuse to do what I ask? Who gave you the right to question me?"

I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, and I could feel bruises forming under his fingers. "You're hurting me," I whimpered.

Seeing the tears in my eyes, Tristan seemed to realize that threats would only make me more resistant. He sighed and released my wrist, his expression softening slightly.

"Listen to me, Giselle," he said, his voice taking on a coaxing tone. "I'm not trying to hurt your precious lady. This task was given to me by someone very important, someone with real power. If I complete it successfully, I'll be given a position in the royal court."

He reached out to stroke my cheek, his touch gentle now, almost loving. "Think about it—once I have a position in the court, our lives will be completely different. I could find a way to get you out of the servant quarters, maybe even get us our own little cottage somewhere..."

Despite everything that had just happened, I felt a flicker of hope at his words. The life he was describing sounded like a dream compared to my current existence as a servant in this frightening place.

"You promise it won't hurt her?" I asked hesitantly, looking down at the vial again.

"Of course," Tristan said, his voice full of conviction. "You and I, we're both human, both trying to survive in this werewolf territory. Why would I want to harm another human? We need to stick together, help each other." He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Trust me, Giselle. I'll take care of you. Once I'm established in the court, the first thing I'll do is improve your situation."

My resistance crumbled under his promises and gentle touch. After staring at the small vial for a long moment, I finally nodded. "All right... I trust you." I carefully hid the vial in my bodice, though doubt still gnawed at me.

Tristan smiled with satisfaction and pressed a light kiss to my forehead. "You won't regret this. Once this is done, our good days will finally begin."

There was something in his eyes, a gleam of ambition and calculation that I didn't recognize. But I was too desperate for hope, too eager to believe in a better future, to pay attention to the warning signs. As I made my way back to the servant quarters, clutching the mysterious vial against my chest, I told myself that everything would work out fine.

I just had to trust Tristan. After all, what choice did I have?