Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 44

Adelaide

I was dragged forward by two hulking guards, their iron grip bruising my arms as they forced me into the council chamber where dozens of werewolf lords had already gathered.

The air was thick with tension and barely contained rage. Young lords paced restlessly while their elders sat with furrowed brows, all of them whispering urgently among themselves. I could feel their eyes boring into me like daggers, their confusion and unease palpable.

Garrick sat upon the high seat like a king already crowned, resplendent in his crimson and black armor, a cold smile playing at his lips. The sight of him filled me with dread—this was the moment he had been waiting for, the opportunity to seize power he had coveted for so long.

He raised his hand with theatrical flourish, and the chamber fell silent instantly. Every gaze turned toward him with the weight of expectation.

"Bring her forward," he commanded, his voice carrying barely concealed triumph.

The guards shoved me to the center of the hall, forcing me to my knees on the cold stone floor. My torn dress offered little dignity, and the bruises on my face throbbed with each heartbeat. Around me, the assembled lords studied me with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility.

Garrick rose slowly, his voice booming through the chamber like thunder. "My loyal lords, I have summoned you here today to deliver heartbreaking news—our beloved Wolf King Lycanthar has been murdered by this treacherous human!"

The words hit the assembly like a physical blow. The silence shattered into chaos as voices erupted in shock and disbelief.

"Impossible!"

"The Wolf King defeated in battle?"

"Three centuries of invincibility, ended by a mere human?"

An elderly lord with silver hair that gleamed in the firelight stood up, his voice cutting through the noise. "Three hundred years ago, even in our darkest hour against the vampire-human alliance, mighty Lycanthar was never defeated. How could he fall to one unarmed woman?"

Garrick's smile turned predatory. "This cunning creature claimed to be a Moon Bride, capable of restoring our king's sanity. She deceived us all, used the sacred ritual to gain access to our sovereign, then struck when he was most vulnerable!" His voice dripped with manufactured anguish. "Behind her stands the human kingdom—this is the continuation of the betrayal from three centuries past!"

The effect was immediate and devastating. The chamber erupted into roars of fury, centuries-old wounds torn open and bleeding fresh. Several older lords bowed their heads, wiping away tears for their fallen leader, while others' eyes blazed with renewed hatred for humanity. The scent of rage filled the air, thick and suffocating.

I struggled to my feet, my voice cracking but determined. "I did not kill the Wolf King! I love him—I came to help restore his sanity. Please, you must believe me, someone else must have—"

My words were cut short as a massive lord named Kalarak lunged forward, his hand connecting with my cheek in a vicious slap that sent stars exploding across my vision. Before I could recover, his powerful fingers wrapped around my throat, lifting me partially off the ground.

"Silence, filthy human!" he roared, his eyes already shifting to the golden hue of his wolf form, claws beginning to extend. "You and your ancestors are all the same—treacherous and vile! I'll tear out your throat myself and send you to accompany our king in death!"

My vision began to darken as his grip tightened. I clawed at his massive hands, but human strength was nothing against a werewolf's power. The world started to fade, and I felt my consciousness slipping away when—

CRASH!

The chamber doors exploded inward with tremendous force, the sound reverberating through the hall like thunder. Draven and Vespera strode in with their elite guards, their armor gleaming in the torchlight, faces set with grim determination.

"Release her, Kalarak!" Draven's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Any judgment must be based on evidence and justice, not blind hatred!"

The hall fell deathly silent except for the crackling of torches. Kalarak hesitated, his grip loosening slightly, and I collapsed to my knees, gasping desperately for air.

Draven approached me with measured steps, kneeling beside me with eyes that held both grief and questioning. "Tell me the truth, Adelaide. What happened?"

I looked up at him through tears, my voice hoarse but steady. "The Wolf King cannot simply be dead, Draven. In our final moments together, I could feel his sanity returning bit by bit. His eyes were beginning to change back to gold, he was starting to recognize me..."

Suddenly, a thought struck me like lightning. My eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. "Wait, Draven!" My voice trembled with sudden excitement. "If the Wolf King's sanity was truly returning, then his body would be undergoing changes too... is it possible he's not dead, but rather in some kind of... suspended state during the recovery process?"

Hope flickered in my chest like a candle flame. "Like a snake shedding its skin, or a butterfly emerging from its cocoon—sometimes death's appearance precedes rebirth!"

Draven's brow furrowed, his expression showing cautious consideration. "This... this is worth pondering," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "In three centuries, we've never witnessed any feral werewolf recover their sanity. If Lycanthar truly is undergoing such an unprecedented transformation..."

Vespera stepped forward, his scholarly mind engaging with the possibility. "From a magical perspective, such a thing could indeed be possible. The Moon Bride's power has always been mysterious and potent." He turned to address the assembly, his voice calm but compelling. "Seraphina's examination showed no fatal wounds or toxins in the king's body. This itself is a mystery. If Adelaide's theory holds merit, then we should wait patiently rather than act in haste."

Garrick's face darkened as he strode toward us, his voice dripping with mockery. "What a beautifully fabricated tale!" He spun to face the lords, his voice rising dramatically. "Open your eyes and see the truth, my lords! The king has no heartbeat, no breath—this is death!" He pointed an accusing finger at me, his eyes blazing with hatred. "And this human girl, along with her werewolf conspirators, seeks to deceive you all and cover their tracks!"

His voice grew more venomous. "Think about it—who allowed this human near our king? Who has been protecting her all along? Draven and Vespera have been in league with this human from the beginning, plotting together to eliminate our king and seize control of Silverhowl!" His eyes gleamed with fanatic fervor. "Perhaps their goal was always to remove Lycanthar and claim the throne for themselves!"

The chamber erupted in fresh waves of angry discussion. I watched as doubt and suspicion spread through the assembled lords like wildfire. Draven's face darkened with fury, knowing Garrick was successfully deflecting blame and turning suspicion toward him and Vespera.

Garrick raised his voice again, his tone filled with theatrical grief and rage. "For the future of Silverhowl, for vengeance upon our great king's murderer, I propose immediate execution of this criminal! According to our ancient traditions, let fire purify her soul as the highest tribute to our king!" He raised his hand high. "Who supports my proposal?"

Almost every hand in the chamber rose, their owners' eyes blazing with righteous hatred. Draven and Vespera exchanged a helpless glance—in this atmosphere of mob fury, their opposition would only be seen as proof of their complicity.

I knelt on the cold stone, watching the sea of hostile faces around me, feeling hope drain away like water through my fingers. Yet I found I wasn't afraid for myself—instead, I ached at the thought of never seeing Lycanthar again, never knowing if he would truly awaken.

My gaze drifted upward, as if I could see through stone and timber to the moon beyond. "If you truly are sleeping," I whispered, so softly only I could hear, "please forgive me for not being able to wait for your awakening... my love."

The tears came then, falling silently to form small puddles on the floor—like my shattered hopes, they seemed so small and insignificant in this vast hall of judgment.