Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 43

Draven

The ride to Lycandor Keep felt like a descent into hell itself. Each thundering hoofbeat seemed to echo the dread pounding in my chest, and the cold morning air cut through my lungs like shards of ice. Beside me, Thalia rode with grim determination, her usually serene face pale with worry. Neither of us spoke—what words could possibly encompass the magnitude of what we might find?

Three centuries. Three hundred years of searching, hoping, believing that somehow we could restore our king's sanity. And now...

I forced the thought away. Until I saw Lycanthar's body with my own eyes, I refused to accept the worst.

The massive gates of Lycandor Keep loomed before us, and I could see Vespera and Seraphina already dismounting near the Iron Maw entrance. Their faces were drawn tight with the same mixture of dread and disbelief that gnawed at my insides.

"Any word from inside?" I called out as we approached.

Vespera shook his head grimly. "Garrick's men barred everyone from entering until we arrived. But Draven..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The guards say they haven't heard a sound from within for hours. Not even breathing."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Lycanthar's breathing had been the one constant throughout his imprisonment—deep, steady, sometimes labored when the beast within grew agitated. But always present. Always proof that somewhere beneath the feral madness, our king endured.

"Let's go," I said, dismounting with hands that trembled despite my efforts to control them.

The heavy iron door to the Iron Maw stood partially ajar, and the familiar scent of blood and musk that had permeated this place for centuries seemed different somehow—stagnant, wrong. As we stepped into the dim chamber, our footsteps echoed hollowly in the oppressive silence.

And there, in the corner where he had lain for three hundred years, was Lycanthar.

The sight stopped me cold. The massive silver wolf that had once been our greatest king lay motionless on the thick bearskins, his powerful form eerily still. No rise and fall of his chest, no twitch of an ear at our approach. He looked like a mountain that had lost its soul.

"No," I breathed, staggering backward. The torch in my hand wavered as my grip went slack, casting dancing shadows across the scene. "This can't be happening."

Vespera gripped the doorframe for support, his usual composure shattered. Seraphina, who had come with him, was equally shocked, but she retained her healer's professionalism. "Please, let me examine him."

I watched as she approached the still form, her hands glowing with that familiar purple light. The magic flowed over Lycanthar's body like water, and with each passing second, Seraphina's expression grew more grave. Every person in that chamber held their breath, as if our very breathing might disturb whatever truth the magic would reveal.

In that suffocating silence, every second hammered at my nerves, stretching ten minutes into an eternity of torment. When Seraphina finally withdrew her hands and turned to face us, tears gleamed in her beautiful eyes.

"His heart has stopped," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The Wolf King is indeed dead." She paused, confusion clouding her features. "But there are no wounds, no signs of poison or trauma. It's as if... as if his life force simply ceased."

The words hung in the air like a death knell. Three centuries of hope, three centuries of loyalty and sacrifice, all ending in this cold, silent chamber.

All eyes turned to Thalia, and I felt a familiar conflict tear at my chest. Adelaide had been the last person to see Lycanthar alive. She'd had access, opportunity...

"Thalia," I said, my voice rougher than I intended. "Adelaide was alone with him for three days. She had every chance to—"

"No." Thalia's voice cut through my words like a blade. "I know Adelaide's heart, Draven. She would never harm him. Never." Her blue eyes blazed with fierce conviction. "She risked everything to save him. Whatever happened here, it wasn't murder."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to believe her. But the evidence was damning, and the pain in my chest made it hard to think clearly.

"Arrange for the king's body to be moved to the Memorial Hall," I commanded the guards, forcing authority back into my voice. "Full ceremonial honors. He will be laid to rest as befits his station."

"Sir," Vespera said quietly, "we need to find Adelaide immediately. Only she knows what truly happened in those final moments."

Before I could respond, one of my scouts burst into the chamber, sweat gleaming on his brow as he dropped to one knee.

"Commander," he gasped, "Garrick has summoned all regional lords to the council chamber. He... he's announced his intention to publicly execute the human girl for regicide!"

The blood in my veins turned to ice. Of course. Of course Garrick would seize this moment, use Lycanthar's death to justify eliminating the one person who might have been able to restore our king. Whether Adelaide was guilty or innocent, she was now the perfect scapegoat for his ambitions.

I exchanged a sharp look with Vespera. Both of us understood immediately—this wasn't just about justice. This was about power, about Garrick finally making his move for the throne he'd coveted for so long.

"We have to stop this," I said, my voice cutting through the air like steel. "Whatever the truth about Lycanthar's death, Garrick doesn't get to decide Adelaide's fate. Not like this."

Thalia stepped closer to me, her hand briefly touching my arm. The contact sent an unexpected warmth through me, even in this moment of crisis.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For believing in her innocence."

I caught her gaze, seeing the trust and gratitude there, and felt something shift in my chest. "I believe in you," I said quietly. "And if you say she's innocent, then we'll prove it."

"Move out," I ordered, striding toward the exit. "We ride for the council chamber immediately. And prepare for a fight—Garrick won't give up his prize easily."

As we left the Iron Maw behind, I couldn't shake the image of Lycanthar's still form from my mind. My king, my friend, reduced to cold flesh and fur. Whatever had truly happened in those final hours, I would find the truth.