Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 69

Adelaide

I had not slept a single moment through the night. Every time I closed my eyes, the memory of what had transpired in the royal tent haunted me—his golden eyes blazing with dangerous intensity, the weight of his body pinning me down, the sound of tearing fabric.

But what tormented me most was not the fear or the shame, but the confusion. The way he had stopped so suddenly when he saw my tears, the look of horror that had crossed his face, the gentleness with which he had covered me with his robe—what did it all mean?

Perhaps the man I had fallen in love with still existed beneath the beast. Perhaps there was still something between us worth salvaging.

Standing before my temporary lodging as dawn broke, I took a deep breath and steeled myself. Duty called, and regardless of my personal turmoil, I was still his attendant. I needed to see him, to search his face for any sign of what he truly felt for me—if anything at all.

When I pushed through the heavy royal tent flap, only scattered documents and an untouched cup of tea occupied the space—Lycanthar was not there. My tense shoulders relaxed slightly as I began tidying the tent, grateful for any task that might distract me from the storm of emotions churning within me.

I was deep in thought, mechanically organizing his papers, when the tent entrance rustled open. A werewolf soldier in silver-gray armor stepped inside with an urgent stride.

"Miss Adelaide," he announced, his tone brooking no delay. "His Majesty commands your immediate presence at the council tent. An urgent dispatch has arrived from the keep, and the King requires you there at once."

My heart began racing—partly from nerves at the prospect of facing Lycanthar again, partly from worry about what urgent news could have arrived. I quickly smoothed my clothing and followed the soldier through the camp, acutely aware of the various glances the werewolves cast my way.

The moment I entered the spacious council tent, the heavy atmosphere of werewolf musk and tension hit me like a wave. Lycanthar's imposing figure dominated the center of the tent, standing beside a large map table with a parchment bearing the First Legion's seal clutched in his hand. His expression was grave. Greyson and several tribal elders surrounded him, engaged in heated discussion.

Every eye turned to me as I entered, but it was Lycanthar's gaze that made my breath catch. Those golden eyes held a flicker of something complex—was it regret? Guilt? I couldn't be sure, and I forced myself to look away quickly, offering a respectful bow.

"You summoned me, Your Majesty?"

Lycanthar's voice was steady as he explained, "Thalia has sent crucial intelligence through Draven. This infestation—these 'Hungry Ones'—they're the product of ancient vampire sorcery. To eradicate them completely, we need four sacred relics." He gestured to two marked locations on the map. "The Tears of the Elves and Phoenix Feathers are the most critical."

The elders murmured among themselves, debating the feasibility of obtaining such rare materials. Lycanthar's next words cut through the discussion like a blade.

"We'll divide our forces. Vespera's injuries require him to remain here. Greyson, I need you to dispatch elite messengers with my personal seal to the Elven territories." His finger traced a path on the map before settling on another location. "I will personally lead a party to Ember Peak for the Phoenix Feather."

Greyson's face creased with worry. "My King, the Phoenix is an ancient and mystical creature of immense power. Ember Peak has been known as the Land of Death since time immemorial. Many warriors have ventured there, never to return. Please allow me to send other officers in your stead—"

Lycanthar raised his hand, cutting him off. "Precisely because of the danger, I must go myself. As King of the werewolves, I cannot ask anyone to face perils I would not face myself. This is my responsibility to our people."

I had been listening quietly, but suddenly the words escaped my lips before I could stop them. "I want to go with you, Your Majesty."

My declaration sent a ripple of surprised murmurs through the tent. I felt my cheeks burn but kept my chin raised, meeting Lycanthar's intense gaze.

His eyes bored into mine with a mixture of surprise and concern. "This is not a request—it's an order. You will remain at camp. The dangers of Ember Peak are beyond anything you can imagine. This mission may well be a death sentence."

I stood my ground, violet eyes flashing with determination. "As your Moon Bride, I may be able to assist you in critical moments." My voice grew stronger, more assertive. "And if you refuse to take me, I'll find a way to follow anyway. You know I'm capable of it."

The tent fell into absolute silence. Everyone waited for the Wolf King's response. I watched his face carefully, seeing the internal struggle playing out in his expression—concern, frustration, and something else I couldn't quite identify.

Finally, he gave a slight nod, his tone resigned yet firm. "Very well. You may accompany us. But you will obey my every command without question. No independent action whatsoever."

---

By midday, our departure party had assembled at the camp's edge. Sunlight gleamed off the armor of six elite werewolf warriors as they stood at attention. Lycanthar, resplendent in his lightweight but sturdy battle armor with the ancient Wolf King's sword at his hip, stood before the group issuing final orders. I sat astride the horse, with a pack full of medical supplies slung over my shoulder.

Just as we were about to depart, Liliana appeared at the crowd's edge, dressed in an exquisite silk gown that seemed entirely inappropriate for a military camp. She hurried toward Lycanthar, tears glistening in her eyes, her voice trembling with emotion.

"My King, please forgive my inadequacy," she said, reaching toward him with one delicate hand. "As your blood thrall, I should be at your side always, but on such a perilous journey, I fear I would only burden you..." The tears traced down her perfectly sculpted cheeks as she gazed up at him with doe-like vulnerability.

Lycanthar's response was coolly distant, taking a deliberate step back to maintain space between them. "Stay here, Liliana. The camp needs hands to tend the wounded."

His tone held no warmth, no comfort, no hint of the intimacy I knew they had shared. Without another word, he turned toward our assembled party, leaving Liliana standing there. I watched her face transform—sorrow quickly replaced by a flash of anger before being masked again by feigned concern.

A barely perceptible curve formed at the corner of my mouth as I observed this exchange. When Liliana's gaze met mine, the hostility between us was almost tangible. She looked at me with barely concealed venom, while I held her stare with calm confidence.

The horn sounded across the sky, and our party began its march toward Ember Peak. As we rode away from the camp, I couldn't resist looking back. Liliana still stood where we'd left her, her figure growing smaller with distance, but I could feel the weight of her malevolent stare following us.

I turned back toward the path ahead, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. The road to Ember Peak stretched before us, shrouded in mystery and peril. Yet, watching him lead the team, I felt a strange sense of reassurance. The road ahead was full of unknowns and dangers, much like our relationship, but perhaps this was the only way to find the answers we sought.