Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 59

Adelaide

The morning light filtered through the gauze curtains of my chambers, casting soft shadows across the leather bags I'd been meticulously packing since dawn. Herbs, bandages, healing salves—each item carefully sorted and secured for the journey ahead.

A gentle knock interrupted my preparations. "Adelaide?" Thalia's voice carried through the door, followed by the soft creak of hinges as she stepped inside.

I looked up to find my dearest friend approaching, her golden hair braided with unusual precision, her face etched with worry lines that seemed far too deep for someone so young. Her hands clasped nervously before her chest.

"I've searched through every archive, every ancient text," she said without preamble, her voice tight with frustration. "There's nothing—absolutely nothing—about these 'Hungry Ones' in any record. Those black beetles... they don't behave like any natural pest. They feel wrong, Adelaide. Like something born of dark magic."

I set down the bundle of medicinal roots I'd been securing and turned to face her fully. "Which is precisely why this investigation is necessary," I replied, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "If you're right, then we need to understand what we're truly facing."

As I spoke, my gaze caught on something that made my breath hitch—a glimpse of marked skin beneath the high collar of Thalia's dress. The unmistakable pattern of a mating bite.

"Thalia," I said softly, my voice catching slightly. "Is that... Draven's mark?"

Color flooded her cheeks instantly, and her fingers moved instinctively to touch the hidden mark through the fabric. A shy, almost luminous smile transformed her worried expression. "Yes," she whispered, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "He marked me. We're... we're truly mated now."

A complex swirl of emotions rose in my chest—joy for my friend's happiness, but also a sharp pang of something that might have been envy. I forced my smile to remain steady. "I'm so happy for you," I said, and meant it, even as my heart ached. "But Thalia... you know the difference in our lifespans. He'll outlive you by centuries."

Her expression sobered, but her resolve didn't waver. She moved closer, sitting on the edge of my bed. "I know exactly what I've chosen," she said quietly. "I'm not a Moon Bride—I can't share his immortality or form a soul bond with him. But Adelaide..." She reached for my hands, her grip warm and firm. "I would rather spend fifty human years loving him, being his companion, than let him endure another three centuries alone. Even if it's brief by werewolf standards, it's a lifetime by mine."

I studied her face, seeing the absolute certainty there, the love that transcended the boundaries of species and time. Slowly, I nodded. "I understand," I said, squeezing her hands. "True love isn't measured in years, is it?"

A flicker of something—perhaps recognition of my own complicated feelings—passed through her eyes. "Help me check if I've forgotten anything essential?" I asked, needing to redirect my thoughts before they wandered to territories I couldn't afford to explore.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, our expedition had assembled outside Silverhowl's great gates. Mist still clung to the ground as I surveyed the impressive gathering. Lycanthar stood at the forefront like a living monument, his silver-black armor gleaming in the pale light, his long silver hair catching the breeze. The sight of him still stole my breath, even as my heart ached with the distance between us. Beside him, Vespera maintained his alert posture, the green of his commander's attire vivid against the morning gray.

Behind them, one hundred elite warriors formed precise ranks, their armor creating a sea of reflected light. I found myself positioned in the middle of the formation, with Liliana an uncomfortably short distance away. While I wore practical traveling clothes and carried my herb pouches, she had chosen a flowing deep purple gown that displayed her shoulders and neck—a clear advertisement of her status as the king's blood thrall. Her satisfied smile never seemed to waver.

As we began our westward march, Liliana wasted no time in her campaign for attention. Every few minutes brought a new excuse to approach Lycanthar—questions about the route, complaints of fatigue, observations about the weather. Each interaction involved carefully calculated touches: her fingers brushing his arm, her shoulder pressing against his side. Her eyes held an unmistakable gleam of possession.

I maintained my silence, focusing instead on my duties. When soldiers complained of minor ailments, I provided remedies. When we paused for rest, I cataloged the changing vegetation and noted any signs of the blight we'd been sent to investigate. If Lycanthar noticed my reserve, he gave no indication.

It was Vespera who eventually fell into step beside me, his presence a welcome respite from the tension. "Your observations are quite astute," he said in his gentle manner. "Sometimes an outsider's perspective reveals what we've grown too accustomed to see."

"Thank you, Commander," I replied, grateful for his kindness. "I hope my insights prove useful."

"They already have," he assured me. Our brief conversation became a bright spot in an otherwise strained journey.

As we pressed deeper into the western territories, the landscape began to tell its own dark story. Fertile fields gave way to cracked, barren earth. Trees stood twisted and leafless, their branches reaching toward the sky like accusatory fingers. The very air seemed to carry a weight that pressed against my lungs.

Then we saw them—the Hungry Ones. Black beetles the size of small birds scuttled from cracks in the dried earth, their shells reflecting an unnatural blue-green sheen. They moved with purpose that seemed far too intelligent for mere insects. Fortunately, the mages in our party maintained protective barriers that kept the creatures at bay, though their frustrated chittering sent chills down my spine.

When we finally reached the Greywolf Pack territory, the sight that greeted us struck me like a physical blow. What had once been a thriving community now resembled the aftermath of some terrible siege. Houses stood as skeletal frames, their wooden structures gnawed down to bare supports. The ground was littered with the remnants of destroyed crops and personal belongings, all bearing the distinctive marks of the beetle swarms.

But it was the people that broke my heart. Werewolves lay scattered along the roadside, their bodies marked with spreading black veins that pulsed beneath their skin. Some writhed in obvious agony, while others had gone ominously still. The lucky ones were merely unconscious; others appeared to be fighting for each breath.

I clutched my medicine bag tighter, every healer's instinct screaming at me to act. When my gaze met Lycanthar's across the devastation, I saw my own determination reflected in his golden eyes. Whatever dark force had created this plague, whatever malevolent intelligence guided those unnatural creatures, we would find it.

And we would stop it.

The sight of so much suffering steeled my resolve. These weren't just werewolves—they were people, families, children. Whatever political complications existed between our species, whatever personal heartache I carried, none of it mattered in the face of such widespread agony.

As Lycanthar began issuing orders to establish a secure perimeter and aid station, I prepared to do what I'd come here to do: heal the wounded and uncover the truth behind this curse. The real work was just beginning.