Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 68

Adelaide

His golden eyes blazed with a dangerous, primal intensity as he loomed over me, radiating raw power. The flickering candlelight cast shadows that made him seem more beast than man. My heart hammered as I pressed my palms against his solid chest, trying to create distance between us.

"Your Majesty, you cannot do this..." My voice trembled despite my efforts to remain dignified. "This is not truly you..."

But my words seemed to fall on deaf ears. His hands moved with ruthless efficiency, tearing at the fabric of my dress with a violence that made me gasp. The sound of ripping cloth filled the tent, and I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that went beyond mere physical nakedness.

"Please," I whispered, my voice breaking as his powerful hands captured my wrists, pinning them above my head with ease. "This isn't what you want. This isn't who you are."

His knee forced my legs apart, and I could see nothing but golden fire in his eyes—no recognition, no tenderness, only a consuming need that terrified me. This wasn't the king who would protect me. This was a predator claiming his prey.

His free hand roamed over my trembling body, fingers finding sensitive places with an unsettling familiarity. Despite my fear and revulsion at his roughness, my treacherous body began to respond to his touch. Heat pooled low in my belly, and I couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped my lips.

"No, Lycanthar," I breathed, squeezing my eyes shut as shame washed over me. How could my body betray me like this? How could I feel desire when he was taking rather than giving?

But there was something disturbingly intimate about the way he touched me, as if he knew exactly where to caress, exactly how to make my breath hitch. His fingers traced patterns on my skin that felt like muscle memory.

I heard the rustle of fabric as he shed his own clothing, and when I opened my eyes, I saw him positioned above me, his arousal evident and intimidating. When I felt him press against my entrance, hot and demanding, I finally understood that my protests meant nothing to him in this state.

Slowly, I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the silken pillows. A single tear escaped, trailing down my cheek like liquid silver in the candlelight. It carried all my sorrow—for the man he had been, for the gentle lover I had hoped to find again, for the future slipping away with each moment.

I felt him pause above me, his body going rigid. When I opened my eyes, I found him staring at that tear with dawning horror, as if truly seeing me for the first time since he'd dragged me into this tent.

"Adelaide," he whispered, my name falling from his lips like a prayer or a curse.

The brutal hunger in his eyes flickered and died, replaced by something that looked almost like pain. His grip on my wrists loosened, and he pulled back as if burned. We stared at each other—him horrified at what he had almost done, and me afraid to hope that the man I remembered still existed beneath the beast.

Without a word, he reached for his discarded robe and draped it over me, his movements now gentle, reverent. His face was a mask of shame and regret.

"Go," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Get out."

I clutched the robe around myself and stumbled toward the tent entrance, my legs unsteady. I didn't want him to see me break, didn't want him to witness my collapse. The cool night air hit my face as I pushed through the tent flap, and I ran blindly into the darkness, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Behind me, the tent remained silent, but the weight of what had almost happened settled over us like a shroud.

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Lycanthar

I stared at the tent entrance long after Adelaide had fled, her hurried footsteps echoing in my mind like accusations. The sight of that single tear rolling down her cheek had shattered something inside me, cutting through the red haze of possession and rage like a blade through silk.

What had I become? What kind of monster nearly forces himself on a woman who had shown him nothing but loyalty and grace?

I sank onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. The scent of her fear still lingered in the air, mixed with the phantom warmth of her skin beneath my palms. My body still ached with unfulfilled desire.

The need for release clawed at me, demanding satisfaction, and I found myself thinking of calling for Liliana. She would come eagerly, would offer herself without question or judgment. But even as the thought crossed my mind, Adelaide's words echoed in my memory: "What am I to you? What exactly am I supposed to be?"

The question haunted me, just as her tear-stained face haunted me. Liliana would not ask such questions. She would take what I offered and give what I demanded, but there would be no soul in it, no depth beyond physical gratification.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, I gave in to my body's demands. As my hand moved with urgent need, my mind betrayed me completely. It was Adelaide's face—not as it had been moments ago, marked with fear and tears, but as it had been in fleeting moments when she'd smiled at me with genuine warmth.

The memory of her bright eyes, the way they lit up when she spoke of something that mattered to her, the gentle way she tended to the wounded without regard for their species—these images drove me over the edge with an intensity that left me gasping.

But the release brought no peace. If anything, the emptiness that followed was more profound than before. I collapsed back onto the bed, staring up at the tent's peaked ceiling where shadows danced in the candlelight.

Why had that single tear affected me so profoundly? Why did the sight of her pain cut through my fury like nothing else could? I was the Wolf King—I had commanded armies, ruled an entire people, survived three centuries of madness. Yet one human woman's tears had brought me to my knees.

The truth crashed over me like a cold wave, stunning in its clarity and terrifying in its implications.

I loved her.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I, Lycanthar, King of the Werewolves, loved Adelaide—a human woman whose very existence challenged everything I had been taught about my people and hers. I loved her courage, her compassion, her stubborn refusal to cower even when facing forces beyond her comprehension.

But what did this mean? What was I supposed to do with this knowledge?

For three centuries, I had been lost to madness, guided only by base instincts. Now I was free, only to discover that my heart had chosen the one path that would bring the most complications. A Wolf King and a human—it was unprecedented, perhaps impossible.

And yet, I couldn't deny the truth that had taken root in my chest. This wasn't merely desire or possession. This was something far deeper, more complex, more dangerous than anything I had faced in battle.

The candles burned lower, casting longer shadows across the tent, but sleep eluded me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face—sometimes smiling, sometimes afraid, always beautiful, always stirring something in me that I was only beginning to comprehend.

I had claimed she belonged to me, but the truth was more complicated. I belonged to her, whether she knew it or not, whether she would have me or not. And after tonight, I wasn't sure what her answer would be.

The wolf king had finally found his mate, and now he had to figure out what to do with a love that could either save or damn them both.