Mated To The Ice Werewolf King

Chapter 5

KIERAN

I work in silence, cleaning the worst of her wounds with water from my flask and applying salve to the cuts on her face and arms.

Each time my fingers brush her skin, my wolf surges against my consciousness, restless and demanding in ways I don't understand.

The scent of her blood should repulse me, but instead it makes me want to hunt down whoever hurt her and tear them apart with my bare hands.

Her dress is so torn it's barely decent, so I wrap her in my own cloak. The moment the fabric that carries my scent settles around her shoulders, my wolf practically purrs with satisfaction, a reaction so unexpected and inappropriate that I nearly jerk back from her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I force myself to focus on her injuries with clinical detachment. Bruised ribs, possibly cracked. Defensive wounds on her hands and arms. The pattern of bruising on her throat and wrists tells a story I recognize all too well.

Someone tried to force himself on her.

The realization brings a surge of fury so intense it takes my breath away. My wolf snarls, claws scraping against my consciousness as violent images flash through my mind—finding the bastard who did this, making him pay for every mark on her skin. The protective rage is so overwhelming, so possessive, that for a moment I can't think straight.

This isn't normal. I've seen injured women before, tended to assault victims among my own people, and while I felt anger and sympathy, I never felt this... this claiming instinct. This need to eliminate any threat to her, to wrap her in my scent and keep her safe.

My hands shake slightly as I bandage a deep cut on her forearm, and I have to clench my jaw to maintain control. Every breath brings more of her scent—pine forests and wildflowers, with an underlying sweetness that makes my wolf pace restlessly.

There's something about her presence that feels essential, like finding a missing piece of myself I didn't know was gone.

I'm bandaging her forearm when her eyes flutter open, and the moment our gazes meet, something electric shoots through me.

My wolf goes completely still, then begins to pace with frantic energy. Her scent intensifies, and I catch myself leaning closer before I realize what I'm doing.

For a moment, she stares at me in confusion, violet eyes hazy with pain. Then recognition dawns, and terror floods her expression, but underneath the fear, I catch something else. Her breathing quickens, and I can see her pulse hammering in her throat.

She feels it too.

Whatever this inexplicable pull is, it's affecting both of us.

"No," she whispers, trying to scramble away from me. The movement tears open several of her wounds, and fresh blood seeps through the bandages.

"Don't move," I command, reaching out to steady her. "You'll hurt yourself worse."

She goes perfectly still at my touch, though whether from obedience or paralyzing fear, I can't tell. Her eyes are wide and fixed on my face, and I can see her pulse hammering in her throat.

"You're the Ice King," she breathes.

"I am." I sit back on my heels, studying her reaction. "And you're the runaway bride whose selfishness has already cost more lives than you can imagine."

Something flickers across her expression, guilt, maybe, or resignation. "How many?"

The question surprises me. I expected denials, justifications, pleas for mercy. I didn't expect her to ask about casualties.

"The ceasefire ended the moment your disappearance was confirmed," I tell her coldly. "My border patrols were attacked within hours. Six men dead so far, with more to follow. And that's just the beginning."

She closes her eyes, tears leaking from beneath swollen lids. "I never meant for anyone to die."

"Intent doesn't resurrect the dead," I reply harshly. "What did you think would happen when you destroyed the peace treaty? That our kingdoms would simply shrug and move on?"

"I thought... I hoped there might be another way to make peace. Without forcing me into a marriage I didn't want."

Her naivety is almost breathtaking. "There is no other way. The treaty was negotiated over months of careful diplomacy. Your marriage to me was the cornerstone that made it possible. Without that alliance, we're back to where we started—two kingdoms bleeding each other dry."

She opens her eyes to look at me, and I see the full weight of understanding in her expression, not just comprehension, but the crushing guilt of it. “They’re already dead because of me,” she whispers. “All those men. And more will follow.”

"Yes,” I say coldly. “Every death from this point forward is a consequence of your choice." I lean closer, making sure she sees the cold fury in my eyes. "Tell me, Princess, was your precious independence worth their lives?"

She flinches as if I'd struck her, then looks away, unable or unwilling to answer my question. The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of lives lost.

After a moment, I shift my attention to her injuries, studying the bruises on her face, the defensive wounds, the torn clothing. "Someone beat you. Badly. I assume it was whoever you ran away with?"

Her expression shutters closed, but the slight nod confirms my suspicion.

"What was his name?" I find myself asking, though I'm not sure why it matters.

"Marcus," she whispers. "His name was Marcus."

"Where is he now?"

"I... I hit him with a candlestick. I don't know if he's alive or dead." Her voice is barely audible, shame and trauma making her words come in stuttered fragments.

Good. I hope the bastard is dead. The thought comes unbidden and with surprising vehemence. She may be a political disaster, but no woman deserves what was clearly done to her.

"He forced himself on you," I state, watching her face carefully.

She doesn't answer, but the way she curls in on herself tells me everything I need to know. Whatever romantic fantasy she'd built around her escape, it ended in violence and betrayal.

I stand, brushing dirt from my knees as I look down at her huddled form. "Get some rest. We ride for Winterhold at first light."

"Winterhold?" She lifts her head, eyes wide.

"Oh, Princess, I forgot to tell you." I pause, letting the words sink in. "You're no longer my intended bride, Princess. That opportunity died when you chose to run. Now you're my prisoner, and you'll answer for what your selfishness has cost both our peoples."