Mated To The Ice Werewolf King

Chapter 4

KIERAN

The forest stretches endlessly before us, shadows dancing between ancient pines as our horses move through the undergrowth.

We've been riding for hours, following reports of movement in the borderlands, refugees, most likely, fleeing the chaos that erupted the moment Princess Seraphina of the East decided her personal desires mattered more than thousands of lives.

"Your Majesty," Commander Thane calls from my left, his voice cutting through the whisper of wind through bare branches. "The scouts report tracks leading deeper into the forest. Multiple horses, moving fast."

I grunt acknowledgment, adjusting my grip on my horse's reins. The black destrier beneath me is battle-trained, steady and silent as we navigate the treacherous terrain.

Around us, my personal guard moves like wraiths through the trees, twenty of my most trusted warriors, all seasoned veterans who've fought beside me since I claimed the throne eight years ago.

We're not supposed to be here. I should be in my war room, planning the military campaigns that will resume now that the peace treaty lies in ruins.

My generals are probably wondering where their king has gone, why I insisted on leading this particular patrol myself instead of delegating it to my subordinates.

The truth is, I couldn't stay in that castle knowing she was out here somewhere. The runaway bride whose betrayal has already cost more lives than she'll ever comprehend.

Part of me hopes we don't find her, hopes she's already dead in some ditch, claimed by exposure or hunger or the mountain bandits who prey on travelers foolish enough to venture into these woods alone. It would be simpler that way. Cleaner.

But another part of me, a part I refuse to acknowledge, needs to see her face when I explain exactly what her cowardice has cost both our kingdoms.

"Movement ahead," Thane whispers, pointing through the trees toward a clearing barely visible in the moonlight.

I signal for silence, and we approach cautiously. The smell hits me first, blood and fear, thick enough to taste. My wolf stirs uneasily in my chest, hackles rising at something he can't quite identify.

In the clearing ahead, I can make out a figure slumped against the base of a massive oak tree, motionless in the pale light filtering through the canopy.

"Could be a trap," Thane mutters, but I'm already dismounting.

"Stay here," I order, as I approach the figure. "Keep watch."

Each step brings the scent stronger, definitely blood, and something else underneath it that makes my wolf pace restlessly. Female, young, and... familiar somehow, though I can't place why.

As I draw closer, I can see it’s definitely a woman, though her condition is so poor I can barely make out any defining features.

She’s wearing the tattered remains of what might once have been a traveling dress, though it’s so torn and bloodstained I can’t be certain of the original color. Her dark hair is matted with blood and forest debris, hanging in tangles that obscure most of her face.

She stirs slightly as I approach, and I see one eye, swollen nearly shut, try to focus on me. The other is completely closed, surrounded by dark purple bruising. Her lip is split and crusted with dried blood, and bruises cover every inch of visible skin.

She looks like a common refugee, another casualty of the brewing war. But something about her makes my wolf increasingly agitated, pushing against my consciousness with an urgency I don’t understand.

I stop a few feet away, and her one working eye manages to track my movement. There’s recognition there—terror and something else I can’t quite identify.

“Well,” I say, my voice carrying easily in the quiet clearing. “Look what I’ve found.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, whatever strength was keeping her conscious gives out. Her eye rolls back, and she slumps further against the tree trunk, completely motionless.

I move quickly then, dropping to my knees beside her and checking for a pulse at her throat. Her skin is ice-cold but her heart beats steadily, if weakly. She’s alive, barely.

As I brush the matted hair away from her face to get a better look at her injuries, moonlight illuminates features that make my blood run cold.

Violet eyes, even swollen nearly shut. High cheekbones. The delicate bone structure of noble breeding.

Princess Seraphina of the Eastern Kingdom. My intended bride. The woman whose flight from our arranged marriage has doomed thousands to death.

"f**k," I breathe, rocking back on my heels.

For a moment, I consider leaving her here. It would be so easy, tell my men we found nothing, ride back to the castle, and let the forest claim her.

Her death would solve several problems at once. No political complications, no constant reminder of the treaty that could have saved so many lives.

But even as the thought crosses my mind, I know I won't do it. Whatever else she is, she's beaten and broken and barely clinging to life. My wolf won't let me abandon an injured female, regardless of who she is or what she's done.

"Thane," I call, not taking my eyes off her battered face. "We're making camp. Now."

"Your Majesty?" There's surprise in his voice, we usually ride through the night when we're this close to enemy territory.

"Now," I repeat, more sharply. "And bring the medical supplies."

I hear the sounds of my men dismounting and setting up a temporary camp, but my attention remains focused on the unconscious woman before me.

My intended bride, who was so desperate to avoid marriage to me that she fled into the wilderness and nearly got herself killed in the process.

The irony isn't lost on me. She ran away to escape becoming my queen, and now she's completely at my mercy.

When Thane approaches with the medical kit, his eyes widen as he recognizes her. "Is that—?"

"Princess Seraphina," I confirm grimly. "Or what's left of her."