Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 47

Lycanthar

Three centuries. The words echoed in my mind as I walked through the corridors of Lycandor Keep, my footsteps echoing against stone walls that seemed both familiar and foreign. Every warrior we passed dropped to one knee in reverence, their eyes bright with awe and disbelief. I acknowledged each with a slight nod, my body moving with the practiced grace of kingship that centuries of exile had not entirely erased.

"My king," Draven murmured beside me, his voice thick with emotion he struggled to contain. "The royal study awaits your inspection."

The study. I pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped inside, breathing in the scent of aged parchment and leather bindings. Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through tall windows, and I found myself drawn to the ancient scrolls and maps scattered across the massive desk. My fingers traced over territories I once knew by heart, boundaries that might have shifted, alliances that could have crumbled in my absence.

"Tell me," I said, settling into the high-backed chair that had once been my throne of contemplation. "What has become of our people in these three hundred years?"

Draven positioned himself respectfully before the desk, his posture rigid with military precision. "The three legions have maintained order, my king. Despite the difficulty of werewolf pregnancies, our population has steadily grown from fifty thousand to nearly seventy-five thousand over the past three hundred years. The First Legion controls the northern territories, the Second holds the eastern borders, and the Third maintains watch over the southern reaches where we border the orcish lands."

I leaned back, processing this information. "And our relations with neighboring species?"

"Complex, Your Majesty." Draven's expression grew more serious. "The humans remain... hostile. Regular skirmishes along our borders, though nothing approaching the scale of the great war. The elves have withdrawn deeper into their forest realms and maintain strict neutrality. But most significantly, the orcs of Grimstone Vale have extended multiple diplomatic overtures."

"The orcs seek alliance?" This surprised me. Three centuries ago, they had been fierce but unreliable allies at best.

"Under Chief Grimlock's leadership, they've unified the southern tribes and discovered rich mineral deposits in their mountain territories. They offer trade agreements and mutual defense pacts." Draven paused, studying my reaction. "Their ambassadors have visited monthly for the past year."

I steepled my fingers, considering this development. "And what has been our response?"

"We've maintained cautious neutrality, awaiting your return to make such momentous decisions."

Wise. I nodded slowly, then my expression hardened as darker thoughts surfaced. "Tell me about Garrick."

Draven's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Your Majesty, Commander Garrick has... grown ambitious during your absence. He's cultivated support among certain noble houses, questioning the legitimacy of maintaining the throne vacant. Yesterday's accusation against the Moon Bride was merely the latest in a series of calculated moves to position himself as protector of the realm."

A cold smile touched my lips. Garrick had always harbored ambitions, even three centuries ago. "He leads the Second Legion, does he not? What is his support base?"

"Substantial, my king. Perhaps a third of the nobility openly support his claim, and another third remain neutral out of fear. His legion is fiercely loyal to him personally." Draven's voice dropped lower. "A direct confrontation could trigger civil war."

I stood and moved to the window, gazing out over the grounds where my people moved about their daily lives. "And yet he cannot be allowed to continue unchecked. What do you recommend?"

"Patience, Your Majesty. Let him reveal his hand further while we consolidate your support. Meanwhile, we should consider the orcish alliance seriously. Their military backing could tip the balance if Garrick forces the issue."

"Agreed." I turned back to face him. "I will meet with their ambassadors personally. The orcs respect strength above all else, and they honor their word once given. Unlike..." I let the words hang in the air.

"Unlike humans," Draven finished quietly.

"Indeed." My voice carried the weight of old betrayals. "Speaking of which, I believe a ceremony announcing my return would serve multiple purposes. It will demonstrate our strength to potential enemies while rallying our people."

"An excellent suggestion, my king. Shall I arrange for representatives from all the noble houses?"

"Do so, but keep it dignified rather than ostentatious. Our people have endured much during my absence—they deserve our attention focused on substance, not spectacle."

Draven bowed his head in acknowledgment, then hesitated slightly. "My king, if I may... regarding the Moon Bride, Adelaide. Do you truly remember nothing of your time with her?"

I studied his face carefully, noting the subtle tension in his features. "Tell me, Draven—do you harbor feelings for this human woman?"

His reaction was immediate—a slight widening of the eyes, a quick shake of the head. "No, Your Majesty. I ask only out of concern for your recovery. During your feral state, she was the only being who could approach you without triggering violence. You showed her... unprecedented trust."

I moved to the bookshelf, running my fingers along the spine of an ancient tome detailing our bloodlines and history. The leather was worn smooth by countless hands, including my own from centuries past. "Perhaps what you witnessed was merely instinctual attraction to a Moon Bride's scent. Such responses are biological rather than emotional."

"Of course, my king."

But something in his tone made me pause. I turned to face him fully, and for a moment, I allowed the mask of authority to slip, revealing the raw pain beneath. "Draven, my brother Ragnar died screaming as human arrows found their mark. He bled out in my arms while their vampire allies drank the blood of our fallen warriors. That image is burned into my memory like a brand."

My voice grew harder, colder. "I may have lost three centuries to madness, but I have not forgotten who betrayed us when we needed them most. I will never—never—allow myself to love a human. No matter who she is, no matter what role she played in my recovery."

Draven's expression remained carefully neutral, but I caught a flicker of something—disappointment, perhaps, or concern. He bowed deeply. "Understood, Your Majesty. Shall I begin preparations for the ceremony?"

"Yes. And arrange a meeting with the orcish ambassadors for tomorrow. It's time Silverhowl reclaimed its proper place as the dominant power on this continent."

After he departed, I remained by the window as shadows lengthened across the courtyard. Three hundred years of lost time stretched behind me like a chasm, and ahead lay the complex task of reclaiming not just my throne, but my people's destiny. Whatever strange dreams or half-memories lingered from my feral state would have to be set aside.

I was the Wolf King. My duty was to my people, not to fleeting connections forged in madness.

Yet as moonlight began to filter through the glass, I found myself wondering why the scent of wildflowers seemed to linger in my memory, and why the sound of a woman's voice calling my name in desperate whispers felt more real than the stone walls surrounding me.

I shook my head sharply, dismissing such thoughts. The past was gone, and the future demanded my complete attention.

But deep in the shadows of my mind, golden eyes that shifted between fury and tenderness continued to haunt me, no matter how firmly I tried to forget.