Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 41

Garrick

Dawn's first light filtered through the tall windows of my private chambers in Nightfang Fortress, casting long shadows across the opulent room. I sat in my carved oak chair, savoring the moment of absolute control as my fingers traced lazy patterns across the young serving girl's trembling thighs. Her naked form knelt between my spread legs, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes while she struggled to maintain the submissive pose I demanded.

"Such delicate skin," I murmured, my voice carrying the dangerous edge that made even seasoned warriors flinch. My fingertips found their way to her most intimate places, stroking and teasing with deliberate slowness. The girl's breathing hitched, her body shuddering as she fought to remain still. Fear radiated from her in waves—exactly as I preferred.

I leaned back, enjoying the power I wielded over this fragile creature. Her attempts to stifle her whimpers only heightened my pleasure. In three centuries of existence, I had learned that fear was the most intoxicating aphrodisiac of all.

The moment was shattered by urgent pounding on my chamber door. My hand stilled, irritation flashing through me like lightning. "Enter," I snarled, not bothering to remove my fingers from their intimate exploration.

One of my lieutenants burst through the door, his face flushed with exertion and panic. Upon seeing the scene before him, he immediately averted his gaze, dropping to one knee. "Forgive the intrusion, Commander, but—"

"You dare disturb me at this hour?" My voice dropped to a lethal whisper, each word sharp as a blade. I could smell his terror—a scent almost as sweet as the girl's submission. "You must be eager to meet your ancestors."

The man trembled, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Commander, urgent news from Lycandor Keep! The human girl—Adelaide—she has completed the Moon Bride awakening ritual with the Wolf King. The guards said Lycanthar will emerge from his bestial state!"

"What?" The word exploded from my lips like a thunderclap. In my shock, my fingers clenched involuntarily, my nails digging deep into the girl's tender flesh. She bit down hard on her fist, desperate to muffle her cry of pain, sweat beading on her brow as she endured the sudden assault.

My mind reeled. Three hundred years I had waited. Three hundred years of careful planning and positioning myself for the moment when the mad wolf's reign would finally end. And now this—a human girl, of all things, threatening to undo everything.

I withdrew my hand abruptly, wiping my fingers clean on a silk cloth while my thoughts raced. The implications crashed over me like a tidal wave. If Lycanthar truly regained his sanity, if he returned to his former power and clarity...

Rising from my chair with predatory grace, I kicked over a crystal goblet, sending it crashing against the stone wall. The girl flinched but remained motionless, well-trained in the art of invisibility when I was displeased.

"Summon my elite guard," I commanded, my voice carrying the steel of absolute authority. "Full battle gear. It's time we... welcomed our king's awakening properly."

The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but the plan forming in my mind was sweeter than honey. If the wolf was vulnerable during his transition, if he was emerging from centuries of madness into temporary weakness...

Twenty of my finest warriors assembled in the courtyard within minutes, their armor gleaming in the morning sun, weapons sharp and ready. These were men who had sworn blood oaths to me, who understood that loyalty was rewarded and betrayal met with a death so horrible it would make the damned weep.

We moved through Lycandor Keep's winding corridors like a force of nature, our footsteps echoing with purpose. The sound of metal against metal sang a song of war that made my blood sing in response. As we approached the Iron Maw, I could feel destiny beckoning.

The guards at the entrance straightened as they saw us approaching. Their captain, a scarred veteran with the First Legion's insignia, stepped forward with obvious reluctance.

"Commander Garrick," he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty in his eyes. "I have orders from Commander Draven. No one enters without authorization."

I allowed a predatory smile to spread across my features. "Authorization?" I stepped closer, close enough that he could see the hunger in my eyes. "Three hundred years ago, warriors far stronger than you fell beneath my axe. Are you certain you wish to test my patience?"

The captain's jaw tightened, but he held his ground. "I follow my orders, regardless of the consequences."

"Then I'll grant you the honor of meeting those consequences."

My war axe cleared its sheath in a single fluid motion, the polished steel catching the torchlight. The blade sang through the air, opening a deep gash across the captain's chest before he could even reach for his sword. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as he staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock.

My warriors moved with practiced efficiency. Within moments, the remaining guards were either unconscious on the floor or held at sword point, their resistance crumbling like sand before a storm.

I approached the massive iron door, my heart pounding with anticipation. Behind that barrier lay either my greatest triumph or my ultimate downfall. The scent that emanated from within was thick with animal musk and something else—something that spoke of power and wildness barely contained.

Drawing closer to the sleeping form in the corner, I felt every instinct screaming warnings. Lycanthar lay curled upon thick furs, his massive silver-gray form rising and falling with what should have been the rhythm of deep sleep.

But something was wrong.

My warrior's instincts, honed by centuries of battle, detected the absence immediately. There was no life-scent, no warmth of breath, no subtle movements that marked a living creature. The great chest that should have been rising and falling lay perfectly still.

A wild surge of elation shot through me, though I forced my expression to remain carefully neutral. The gods themselves had smiled upon my ambitions.

Turning to one of the captured guards, I gestured toward the motionless form. "Approach your precious king. Check his condition."

The guard stumbled forward on trembling legs, his face pale with terror. He knelt beside Lycanthar's massive form, his hand hovering over the great muzzle. When he finally made contact, his body went rigid with shock.

"He... he's..." The words died in his throat.

"Dead," I finished for him, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice entirely. "Your mighty Wolf King perished during his precious ritual. Killed by the very human girl you all believed would save him."

I savored the moment, rolling it around in my mind like fine wine. Three centuries of waiting, and fate had delivered the prize into my hands without requiring me to bloody my axe.

"Go," I commanded the terrified guard. "Tell Draven that his beloved king has fallen. Tell him that the human girl he protected so carefully has murdered the very creature she claimed to save." I paused, running my thumb along the keen edge of my weapon. "And tell him that I will personally see justice done."

As the man fled on unsteady legs, I allowed myself a moment of pure triumph. The throne of the werewolves would soon be mine, and no power in this realm could prevent my ascension.

The silver wolf's lifeless form lay before me like a symbol of all my enemies—powerful in life, but ultimately mortal. Soon, very soon, I would claim what had always been rightfully mine.

Three hundred years of patience had finally borne fruit, and the taste of victory was sweeter than I had ever imagined.