Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 67

Adelaide

My breath caught in my throat as Lycanthar's imposing figure filled the tent entrance, his golden eyes zeroing in on where Vespera's hand was still entwined with mine. Those piercing eyes held an intensity that made my skin burn with awareness and something dangerously close to guilt.

I yanked my hand back as if scalded, scrambling to my feet so quickly that I nearly knocked over the bowl of medicinal herbs beside me. "Your Majesty," I managed, dropping into a hasty curtsy while trying to ignore the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "I was just finishing Commander Vespera's treatment."

Lycanthar stepped fully into the tent, his presence immediately making the modest space feel cramped and suffocating. Every movement was controlled, deliberate, like a wolf circling its prey. His gaze swept from my flushed face to Vespera's weakened form on the bed, and I caught the slight tightening around his eyes—jealousy, though he tried to mask it behind royal composure.

"How are your injuries, Vespera?" His voice was deceptively calm, but I could hear the steel beneath the silk. The formal tone made it clear this wasn't a casual visit.

Despite his obvious pain, Vespera struggled to sit up straighter, inclining his head with as much dignity as his condition allowed. "Much improved, Your Majesty. Adelaide's herbal treatments have been remarkably effective. The poison has been neutralized, and the wound is healing cleanly."

Something flickered across Lycanthar's features at the praise—a flash of something dark and possessive that sent a shiver down my spine. "I'm pleased to hear it," he said, though his tone suggested anything but pleasure. His attention shifted back to me, and I felt pinned beneath his intense gaze like a butterfly under glass. "However, your work here is finished, Adelaide. You're needed elsewhere."

The dismissive words stung more than I cared to admit. "Your Majesty, if I may—I believe it would be beneficial for me to continue monitoring Commander Vespera's recovery. The treatment regimen requires consistency, and any disruption could—"

"You seem to have forgotten your place." The words cut through my explanation like a blade, cold and sharp enough to make me flinch. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper that somehow carried more menace than any shout. "You are my personal attendant, Adelaide. Your primary duty is to serve me, not to play nursemaid to whoever happens to catch your... attention."

The casual cruelty of it—the way he reduced my genuine care for an injured ally to some frivolous whim—hit me like a physical blow. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I had to bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from saying something that would make this situation even worse.

"Of course, Your Majesty," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted bitter on my tongue. "Forgive my presumption."

"Gather your supplies. Now." The command brooked no argument, and the finality in his tone made it clear that any further protest would be seen as open defiance.

I moved mechanically, collecting the scattered medical supplies with hands that trembled slightly despite my efforts to remain composed. I could feel both men watching me—Vespera with obvious sympathy and concern, Lycanthar with that unnerving intensity that seemed to strip away every defense I possessed.

"Thank you, Adelaide," Vespera said quietly as I reached for the tent flap. "Your kindness won't be forgotten."

I nodded without turning around, not trusting my voice or my expression to remain neutral.

The walk to the royal tent felt like a march to execution. I followed several paces behind Lycanthar, my eyes fixed on the ground while my mind raced with hurt and confusion. The other werewolves we passed seemed to sense the tension radiating from their king, giving us a wide berth and avoiding eye contact. Even the air itself felt charged with his barely contained emotions.

Inside the royal tent, flickering candles cast dancing shadows across the rich tapestries and scattered military maps. I immediately moved to the far side of the space, busying myself with reorganizing herb containers and scrolls—anything to avoid looking at him directly. The silence stretched between us like a taut wire, filled with unspoken accusations and simmering tension.

I could hear him pacing behind me, his boots making soft sounds against the carpeted floor. The restless energy rolling off him was almost tangible, making my skin prickle with awareness. When he finally spoke, his voice was rougher than usual, as if the words were being dragged from somewhere deep inside.

"Do you have feelings for Vespera?"

The question struck me like lightning. My hands stilled in the middle of organizing bandages, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty?"

"Don't pretend you didn't hear me." His voice was closer now, and I could feel the heat of his presence at my back like a living thing. "I saw how you looked at him. How you touched him. Do you have romantic feelings for Vespera?"

Slowly, I turned around, lifting my chin to meet his gaze directly. The raw jealousy burning in those golden eyes took my breath away, but it also kindled something fierce and defiant in my chest. "I feel gratitude and respect for Commander Vespera. Nothing more."

"Gratitude." He repeated the word like it tasted foul. "Is that what you call holding hands with him? Gazing into his eyes like he's offering you salvation?"

The accusation stung because there was a grain of truth to it—not romantic attraction, but something deeper. Vespera represented hope for a future where humans and werewolves might coexist peacefully. But how could I explain that to this proud, jealous king standing before me?

"Since we're discussing relationships," I said, my voice gaining strength as weeks of suppressed frustration finally found their outlet, "perhaps you should focus on your own. I hear you and Liliana have grown quite... close lately."

His eyes flashed dangerously, pupils dilating as something primal stirred beneath the surface. "You're jealous."

"I'm not jealous!" The words exploded from me with more force than I'd intended, my careful composure finally cracking. "I'm tired of being treated like a possession! One moment I'm your precious Moon Bride, the next I'm just a servant to be ordered around. What am I to you, Lycanthar? What exactly am I supposed to be?"

Something shifted in his expression—a crack in that imperial facade that revealed the confusion and hunger beneath. "You want to know what you are to me?" His voice dropped to a dangerous growl as he stalked toward me, his movements predatory and focused. "You're mine, Adelaide. Mine. Not Vespera's, not anyone else's. You belong to me."

Before I could respond or retreat, he was on me. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me effortlessly as he carried me toward the raised sleeping area covered in rich furs and silks. The world tilted as he lowered me onto the soft bedding, his larger frame caging me beneath him with a possessiveness that made my heart race for entirely different reasons.

"I'm going to show you exactly who you belong to," he growled against my ear, his breath scorching hot against my skin. His eyes, once golden, now darkened to molten amber, and I could see the wolf stirring beneath the surface—primal, possessive, and utterly focused on claiming what he considered his.