Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 35

Thalia

I approached Draven's chamber door with gentle knocks, my knuckles barely grazing the heavy oak. Silence answered me—complete, suffocating silence that made my heart tighten with concern. After a moment's hesitation, I knocked again, pressing my ear closer to the wood. Still nothing. Something deep in my chest told me he was there, waiting in the darkness like a wounded animal retreating to its den.

Carefully, I pushed the door open, wincing at the soft creak of ancient hinges. The chamber lay shrouded in near-complete darkness, save for the dying embers in the massive stone fireplace that cast dancing shadows across the furniture. There, silhouetted against the faint glow, sat Draven's motionless figure on the far sofa, his back turned to the door like a statue carved from shadow and sorrow.

My footsteps whispered across the stone floor as I closed the door behind me and made my way through the gloom. I stood beside the sofa for several heartbeats, watching the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his dark hair fell forward to veil his face. He gave no acknowledgment of my presence, lost somewhere in the depths of his own torment.

"Draven," I said softly, settling myself beside him with careful movements. The leather cushions barely shifted under my weight. "Are you all right?"

The silence stretched between us like a chasm, broken only by the soft hiss and pop of dying coals. When his voice finally came, it sounded like glass breaking in the darkness—sharp, jagged, full of pain.

"No," he whispered, the single word carrying the weight of centuries. "I am not all right." His hands clenched into fists on his knees, knuckles white with tension. "Three hundred years, Thalia... three hundred years of watching and waiting, and it feels as though it will never end."

I drew in a steadying breath, my heart racing with a mixture of hope and fear. Gently, I placed my hand on his rigid forearm, feeling the coiled strength beneath his dark shirt. "I found it," I said, allowing a note of excitement to color my voice. "I found a way to awaken the Wolf King."

His body went completely still beneath my touch, every muscle freezing as though my words had turned him to stone. Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned his head toward me, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes in the firelight—hollow, haunted, yet suddenly touched by the faintest spark of something that might have been hope.

"Adelaide," I continued, my voice gaining strength, "as a Moon Bride, during her complete awakening period, if she were to... unite with the Wolf King, there's a chance it could break through his bestial state and restore his sanity."

Draven's gaze sharpened, studying my face with an intensity that made me want to look away. "You're certain of this?" His voice carried both desperate longing and deep skepticism. "Where did you learn of such a thing?"

I felt my throat tighten. The truth—that the knowledge came from visions granted by my own prophetic abilities—burned on my tongue, but I couldn't reveal that secret. Not yet. Not when so much hung in the balance.

"Ancient texts," I said finally, hoping the darkness would conceal any uncertainty in my expression. "I discovered references in old manuscripts... writings about the sacred bond between Moon Brides and the werewolf royal bloodline."

A long sigh escaped him, and whatever fragile hope had kindled in his eyes seemed to dim. He leaned back against the sofa, running a weary hand over his face. "Three hundred years, Thalia. Three hundred years of searching every archive, consulting every scholar, trying every method known to our kind... I've found nothing but failure and false promises." His voice broke slightly. "Why should hope suddenly appear now, when I've all but given up?"

"Because it has been centuries since a true Moon Bride has awakened," I said with as much conviction as I could muster. "Adelaide is different. I've seen the signs—she's already beginning to awaken, and within days, her transformation will be complete. We need to increase the guard, ensure both her safety and the Wolf King's during this crucial time."

Draven studied me for what felt like an eternity, his dark eyes searching my face as though weighing whether to trust in hope once more. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible, filled with a pain so raw it made my chest ache.

"I have lost too much already, Thalia," he said, the words seeming to tear themselves from his throat. "I lost the one I loved most, and I cannot bear to lose my dearest friend as well... Lycanthar." His voice nearly broke on the Wolf King's name.

Something inside me cracked at the naked vulnerability in his tone. Without thinking, I reached out and placed my hand gently on his arm again, offering what comfort I could. "Tell me about her," I said softly. "The one you loved."

His hand moved unconsciously to the wolf fang pendant at his throat, fingers tracing its familiar shape as his gaze grew distant. "Mira," he breathed, and the name carried such tenderness and sorrow that I felt tears prick my eyes. "She wasn't my destined mate—just a warrior who fought alongside me for years. As time passed, we found comfort in each other, shared our burdens and joys..." He drew a shuddering breath. "Eventually, we became partners in more than just battle."

The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the deep lines of grief etched around his eyes. "During that final battle three centuries ago, she insisted on charging with me into the thick of the fighting. When the enemy struck at me from behind, she..." His voice caught, and for a moment he couldn't continue. "She threw herself between their blade and my heart. Mira died protecting me, and I... I felt more gratitude than love for her sacrifice. That knowledge has haunted me ever since."

My heart broke for him as he continued, his words tumbling out like a confession long held back. "My life feels cursed, Thalia. My parents died when I was young, then Mira sacrificed herself for me, and now even Lycanthar no longer recognizes the friend who once stood by his side. Everyone I care about eventually leaves me. Perhaps this is my punishment—to walk through eternity alone."

I couldn't bear the desolation in his voice another moment. Without conscious thought, I leaned forward and gathered him into my arms, feeling the way his powerful frame went rigid with surprise before slowly, tentatively, relaxing into my embrace.

"You have me," I whispered against his hair, breathing in his scent of cedar and steel. "No matter what happens, I will stand beside you until the very end."

For several heartbeats, he remained motionless as carved marble. Then, gradually, his arms came up to encircle my waist, pulling me closer with a desperate sort of reverence, as though I were an anchor in a storm-tossed sea. He buried his face in the curve of my neck, and I felt him inhale deeply, drawing in the scent of jasmine and morning dew that clung to my skin and hair.

That simple act seemed to unlock something within him. His breathing grew deeper, more even, and slowly the terrible tension began to leave his shoulders. In the darkness of his chamber, surrounded by the dying glow of embers, I felt him find a measure of peace he hadn't known in far too long.

And in that moment, holding this powerful, broken man in my arms, I knew with absolute certainty that whatever trials lay ahead, whatever sacrifices would be required, I would do anything to ease his suffering and help him find his way back to the light.