Bound To The Lycan Prince

Chapter 11

Azzurra wiped her tears with the crook of her arm, sniffling as the sharp pain in her hand throbbed relentlessly, echoing up through her entire arm like a scream trapped in bone. She dared a glance at her fingers bent at unnatural angles, stained a chilling shade of blue. She had no idea how long she’d been standing there, balanced precariously on her toes. The moment she shifted any weight to the balls of her feet, her wrists were yanked by the rope again, the searing stretch threatening to rip her arms from their sockets.

Her legs had been trembling for what felt like an eternity. Still, she fought to stay upright, desperate not to surrender to the darkness closing in on the edges of her vision.

Then, at last, the heavy door creaked open.

Her swollen eyes fluttered open, just enough to see Benedetto framed in the doorway, his face tight with tension. His gaze landed on her twisted hand and he inhaled sharply.

"Guard," he snapped, his voice edged with steel. A man appeared instantly. "Untie that," Benedetto commanded, pointing without looking. He strode toward her, and the moment the ropes were loosened, Azzurra’s body crumpled forward but Benedetto caught her easily, as though expecting it.

With a gentleness that contradicted everything about the dungeon’s brutality, he lowered her arms while the guard freed the rest of the bindings.

"Your first day... and already in trouble," he murmured, almost to himself, before lifting her into his arms and carrying her out of the dungeon.

Once inside her room, he laid her down carefully on the bed. Azzurra wiped away her tears with the back of her trembling hand, refusing to look at her mangled fingers but the tears kept coming. Angry, raw welts now bloomed around her wrists like red shackles.

"Don’t worry. The healer is on the way," Benedetto said softly.

Moments later, a woman stepped into the room slim, calm, and efficient. They still called them “healers,” even in this supposed age of modernity.

"Heal her," Benedetto instructed. The woman nodded, settling beside the bed and pulling open a worn leather bag.

She placed a thin wooden stick between Azzurra’s teeth. “Bite down,” she instructed. Azzurra obeyed without question, bracing herself.

The healer gently took her hand, inspecting the damage. Benedetto moved to Azzurra’s other side, holding her steady.

"On the count of three," the woman said, grasping one of the crooked fingers. She could’ve used anesthesia but maybe that sort of mercy wasn’t wasted on humans like her.

"One."

A sickening c***k tore through the silence as the bone snapped back into place. Azzurra's scream was muffled by the stick, her eyes wide with agony as tears streamed into her hairline.

The same brutal process followed with the second finger. Then the healer wrapped both digits in a splint, fashioning a crude cast that offered little comfort. Benedetto silently removed the stick from her mouth.

Azzurra panted, gasping through the pain, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her shoulder as Benedetto stepped away to speak briefly with the guard stationed outside.

Once the healer finished her work, she left. A young slave girl came in with a tray of food, placing it on the bed before disappearing just as quickly.

"It’s late. Eat something, then take these," Benedetto said, placing a few pills on the bedside table. He turned to leave but stopped, glancing over his shoulder.

"Azzurra," he said, his voice more serious now. She sat up slowly, wincing with every movement.

He rubbed a hand across his brow, debating his words. "My advice? Stay low. Try to control your temper. If this continues, the new King might make his pledge sooner than we expect."

His tone chilled her. Then, more gently: "Take care of yourself. The King will meet with you tomorrow."

And with that, he walked out and closed the door behind him.

She stared at the food tray, picking at a few bites, but her stomach rebelled against more than a few mouthfuls. Tears spilled down her cheeks unchecked as she let the pain wash over her.

Curling into the thin, cold sheets, she tried to coax herself into sleep but the agony in her hand throbbed like a warning, and her mind refused to forget the horrors of the day. The medicine. She remembered the medicine.

She swallowed the pills quickly and lay back down, eyes locked on her bandaged hand.

If things continued this way, she wouldn’t survive long. And yet despite everything she hated how badly she wanted to live.

The night passed in restless fragments. She twisted and turned, never finding peace. Pain gnawed at her nerves, and the terrifying image of Maristella haunted her thoughts.

What had they done to her?

By morning, Azzurra was already awake and dressed, anxiously waiting. The seconds dragged as she stared at the door, terrified of what she might learn. Maristella had looked so frightened. That man's face the threat in it still made her shiver.

Finally, the door creaked open again, and Benedetto entered, smiling faintly.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

She blinked at him, unsure how to respond. He didn’t treat her like a possession. He didn’t act as though she were an animal. He was kind. Friendly, even. She couldn’t make sense of it.

"How’s your hand?" he asked.

"It hurts," she admitted honestly, glancing down at the swollen, wrapped fingers.

"You’ll need to be more careful going forward," he said, his tone full of genuine concern. But the warning behind the kindness made her stomach twist.

"Come on. The King wants to see you."

She stood with effort, following quietly behind him. Oddly enough, she didn’t fear Benedetto. Maybe it was his tone, or the fact that he saw her as a person instead of a pet. And when someone saw her humanity, her own warmth slipped through the cracks, even when she tried to stay guarded.

They entered a grand dining room. Her heart stumbled at the memory of yesterday’s events. The King sat at the head of the long table, eating a rich breakfast. Her eyes darted to the inner balcony, where the first prince had stood last time but today, it was empty.

“Sire,” Benedetto said, offering a respectful bow before stepping aside.

“Come, Azzurra. Have a seat,” the King said calmly.

She hesitated, rooted in place. She didn’t move toward the floor where the others those treated like animals had been forced to kneel. That humiliation, she refused to repeat.

The King raised a brow. “What are you waiting for? Sit,” he said again, gesturing to one of the chairs.

Then he beckoned a slave girl forward with a flick of his finger.

“Serve her some breakfast.”

Even the servant looked stunned as she gawked at Azzurra before nervously placing food on a plate.

Azzurra stood there frozen, dumbstruck. The King was inviting her to sit at his table and eat the food of royalty.