Princess's Revenge: Slave to the Soulbound King Chapter 89

Adelaide

Morning sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains' gaps, casting golden streaks across the chamber as I stirred in Lycanthar's strong embrace. His warmth enveloped me like a protective cocoon, and for a moment, I allowed myself to forget the complexities of our situation and simply bask in the comfort of his presence.

"Good morning, my little moon," Lycanthar murmured against my hair, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. His golden eyes held unusual tenderness as they met mine. "Today is an important day. The orc princess Zaroka will arrive with her delegation."

I propped myself up on my elbow, suddenly alert. "Orc princess?"

"Zaroka, daughter of the orc chieftain and their greatest female warrior," Lycanthar explained, his hand tracing lazy circles on my bare shoulder. "She's here to discuss our alliance terms."

The weight of responsibility settled on my chest. "And you need me to help prepare for tonight's feast?"

"More than that," he said, sitting up and pulling me closer. "You must attend as my Moon Bride. It's time for you to meet our allies properly."

Curiosity and nervousness warred within me. "I know so little about orcs. How are they different from werewolves?"

Lycanthar's mouth curved into an amused smile. "They're more... direct than we are, especially the females. Go ask Lina in the kitchens—she knows more about their customs than most."

After kissing him goodbye and dressing in a simple blue gown, I made my way to the castle kitchens. The familiar bustle of preparation greeted me, along with the rich aromas of roasting meat and fresh bread. I found Lina, a seasoned servant who'd been at Lycandor Keep for decades, cutting vegetables with practiced efficiency.

"Lady Adelaide," she greeted me with a respectful nod. "How can I help you?"

"I need to know about orcs," I said directly. "The Wolf King wants me to understand their customs before tonight."

Lina set down her knife and wiped her hands on her apron. "Orcs and werewolves are both strong races, but orcs are much more... blunt. Especially their women warriors. They say exactly what they think, no dancing around words or courtly manners."

She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Princess Zaroka? She's not just any chieftain's daughter. In their tribes, status comes from strength alone. She killed a giant bear beast with her bare hands when she was sixteen—that scar on her face isn't a flaw, it's a badge of honor."

My eyes widened. "Really?"

"Oh yes," Lina continued, glancing around to ensure we weren't overheard. "She fought alongside Commander Draven in a border campaign three years ago. There are rumors..." she paused dramatically, "that something happened between them. But nobody dares ask directly."

"Draven never mentioned anything about that," I said, genuinely surprised.

Lina's expression grew serious. "Remember this when dealing with orcs, my lady: lies will make them furious. They respect directness, even if it's harsh truth. Deception is the one thing they cannot tolerate."

---

Lycanthar

The council chamber felt appropriately solemn as I took my place on the throne, with Draven, Garrick, and Vespera flanking me on either side. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the ancient stone walls carved with the history of our people.

The heavy oak doors suddenly burst open with a resounding bang—far more forceful than proper etiquette would dictate. But then again, orcs had never been known for their adherence to courtly protocol.

Zaroka strode in with the confidence of a conqueror. Her armor was adorned with beast bones and trophies from countless battles, a massive predator's pelt draped across her broad shoulders. A prominent scar ran from her right eyebrow down to her cheek—a mark of honor rather than disfigurement. Her fiery orange eyes blazed with an untamed light as she surveyed the chamber.

She dropped to one knee before my throne, her voice carrying clearly through the hall. "Wolf King! The orc tribes honor the Silverhowl!"

Rising to her full impressive height, she scanned the room with the predatory gaze of a hunter assessing potential threats or prey. Her attention locked onto Draven, and suddenly her fierce expression transformed into a broad, almost feral grin.

Without ceremony, she strode directly to him and slapped his shoulder with enough force to make even Draven sway slightly. "Draven! Three years, and you've gone soft like a desk warrior!" Her laugh boomed through the chamber. "During the border campaign, you could cut down five enemies without stopping to breathe!"

Draven's composure faltered slightly. "Princess Zaroka, it's an honor to see you again. You're as... energetic as ever."

Zaroka rolled her eyes with theatrical exasperation. "Don't call me princess! On the battlefield, you called me 'Zaro' without all this formal nonsense!" She turned to me with shameless directness. "Wolf King, is your first commander this stiff in bed too?"

The silence that followed was deafening. I could see Garrick struggling to suppress his amusement while Vespera maintained diplomatic neutrality. Such brazen behavior would be scandalous by werewolf standards, but from orcs, it was merely... authentic.

Zaroka seemed entirely unbothered by the shocked atmosphere. From her belt, she produced a leather scroll and tossed it casually in my direction. "My father made some modifications to the alliance treaty. Mostly about border patrols and resource allocation."

I caught the scroll and began reading its contents while she continued speaking.

"Oh, and there's one more condition," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "My father proposes strengthening our alliance through marriage."

I looked up from the parchment. "Marriage? Between whom?"

Without hesitation, she pointed directly at Draven. "Him and me. I've seen his courage and wisdom in battle. I want him." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the selection of a weapon. "Orcs choose mates based on two things: strength and honor. He has both."

Draven looked as if he'd been struck by lightning, his gaze darting between Zaroka and me in stunned silence.

I knew Draven's heart already belonged to another, but outright rejection could damage our crucial alliance. "This is a significant proposal," I said diplomatically. "It requires careful consideration. Perhaps we can discuss it further at tonight's welcome feast."

Zaroka shrugged with characteristic nonchalance. "Fine by me. Orcs never rush decisions, but once we decide, we don't change our minds." She moved closer to Draven, boldly tracing the line of his jaw with one finger. "See you tonight, Commander. Don't wear too many layers."

She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway for one final comment. "Wolf King, I'm eager to meet your Moon Bride. I hope she's worthy of you."

After the orc delegation departed, Draven immediately turned to me with obvious distress. "Your Majesty, about this marriage proposal—"

I raised a hand to stop him. "We'll discuss it later. The orc alliance is crucial for our people. This requires delicate handling."

Draven nodded reluctantly, but I could see the worry etched in his features. He was caught between diplomatic necessity and personal desire—a conflict I understood all too well. I sympathized with Draven's predicament, but as the Wolf King, I knew I had to find a solution that could satisfy both the alliance's needs and my brother's happiness.