THE FORSAKEN LYCAN PRINCESS.

CH 29..

"GERALD!"

The scream tore from the rawest depths of my throat, a sound so ragged and broken it didn't even sound human. I lunged forward against the iron manacles, my bound wrists bleeding against the sharp edges, ready to hurl my body over his motionless form.

But the severed head I expected to see rolling on the floor never came.

At the absolute, infinitesimal split second before the heavy steel could slice through his neck, Gerald had driven his knees into the mud, twisting his upper body with a final, explosive burst of desperate instinct.

CLACK-CRUNCH!

The massive broadsword missed his neck by a fraction of an inch, burying its razor edge deep into the heavy meat of his left shoulder and upper arm. The force of the blow shattered the iron shoulder plate, slicing through muscle and bone with a horrific sound that made my stomach heave. Blood erupted in a dark, violent geyser, painting the pristine snow in bright crimson.

Gerald let out a strangled, breathless gasp, his eyes rolling back as his body collapsed sideways into the freezing mud, completely motionless.

He was bleeding out. He was dying right in front of me.

"Gerald! Please! Wake up!" I shrieked, my tears cutting warm, stinging paths through the fresh blood on my cheeks. I thrashed wildly, trying to crawl toward him, my hands clawing uselessly at the icy earth.

"Gerald.."

"Shut her up," Beta Marcus sneered coldly.

Before I could even register the movement, a shadow loomed over me. A brutal, heavy force slammed directly into the side of my temple. The iron pommel of Marcus’s sword hit me with the weight of a falling boulder.

Exploding white light shattered my vision. Pain flared like a supernova behind my eyes, immediately drowned out by a thick, suffocating wave of pitch-black darkness.

The sound of my own screaming faded into nothingness.

Cold.

That was the first thing that returned to me. A deep, agonizing, bone-penetrating frost that seeped through my thin, blood-stained clothes, settling straight into the marrow of my bones.

My eyes fluttered open, heavy and swollen. Blinding agony throbbed behind my forehead in slow, violent waves, making the room tilt and spin around me. I tried to lift my hands to touch my aching temple, but a sharp, metallic clank echoed through the space.

Heavy iron chains bound my wrists to the cold stone floor, the spell-carved silver runes glowing with a faint violet light that kept my inner wolf suppressed, numb, and paralyzed beneath my ribs.

I forced myself to sit up, my bruised ribs protesting with every shallow breath.

I was no longer in the freezing perimeter ditch. I wasn't in my cramped cellar room, either.

I was locked inside the highest floor of the High Ward Tower, the ancient, circular stone vault usually reserved for high-value political prisoners or rogue Alpha captives. The room was freezing, devoid of any furniture save for a stone bench, lit only by the pale, eerie silver of the midnight moon filtering through a narrow, iron-barred window high above.

"Gerald..." I rasped out, my voice barely a dry whisper.

The image of his body collapsing into the bloody mud flashed across my mind, a fresh wave of agony tearing through my chest. Was he dead? Had they left him to bleed out in the snow? Or were they dragging his broken body through the sub-level torture vaults right now?

TICK. TICK. TICK.

The subtle, rhythmic clicking of high-heeled velvet boots against the flagstones echoed from the spiral staircase outside the heavy iron door.

The heavy lock disengaged with a loud, ominous CLACK.

The thick oak door swung open, and the overwhelming, suffocating scent of crushed lavender, expensive oils, and toxic Alpha arrogance flooded the frigid room.

Victoria stepped inside.

She was breathtakingly immaculate, clad in flowing, midnight-blue velvet silks trimmed with silver fox fur, a stark, cruel contrast to the dried blood, dirt, and torn rags covering my bruised body. Around her slender throat, the ancestral sapphire necklace that had once belonged to my mother, Luna Evelyn, caught the moonlight, burning with a cold, mocking blue glare.

She didn't step close to me. She stood near the doorway, holding a scented silk handkerchief to her nose as if the very air I breathed was a foul stench contaminating her pristine presence.

Her dark eyes swept over my chained frame, my blood-caked face, and my raw, bleeding wrists. A slow, sickening smile spread across her red-painted lips, a look of cold, triumphant disgust.

"Look at you," Victoria purred softly, her voice dripping with venomous amusement.

"Sprawled on the stone floor like the stray, nameless mongrel you have always been."

I clenched my bound fists, the iron chains rattling against the flagstones. I glared up at her through my matted hair, my jaw set, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

"Where is Gerald?" I demanded, my voice raspy but sharp with pure hatred.

"What did you do to him?!"

Victoria let out a light, tinkling laugh, a sound so musical and utterly devoid of mercy that it made my blood run cold.

"Still worrying about the lower trash while standing on the edge of a cliff?" She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her silks rustling softly against the quiet room.

"How wonderfully pathetic. You always had your mother’s tedious, foolish heart, Elara. Caring for things beneath your feet."

She paused, leaning her head slightly to the side, her glittering eyes narrowing as she locked onto mine.

"I heard a rumor from Beta Marcus," Victoria murmured, her tone dropping into a purring, riddle-like cadence that set every nerve in my body on edge.

"He said you tried to run tonight. He said you dragged your pathetic, wolf-less body all the way to the split oak tree, clawing at the dirt, desperate to vanish into the woods."

She took another step closer, her crimson lips curving into a grotesque sneer.

"How deliciously ironic," Victoria whispered, her eyes dancing with a terrifying, sadistic delight.

"You fought so hard, bled so much, just to escape this fortress... yet the joke is entirely on you, little child."

I frowned, my heart skipping a beat in my chest.

"What are you talking about?"

Victoria leaned down slightly, her voice dropping to an intimate, venomous hiss that echoed in the quiet vault.

"You wanted so badly to leave Silverwood..." she parables softly, her silver-trimmed cloak brushing the dusty stone.

"Well, sweet child... the heavens have answered your prayer. You won't have to suffer the sight of my face, or your father's contempt, for much longer. Your long, bitter stay in this pack house is finally coming to an end. A grand carriage is coming to sweep our little unwanted princess far, far away."

My mind reeled, completely lost and confused by her riddles. Leaving the pack? A carriage coming to take me away?

Did Raymond decide to cast me out into the rogue lands? Were they banishing me forever?

"What did you do?" I choked out, a cold knot of dread tightening in my stomach.

"What did Raymond do?!"

Victoria didn't answer. She simply straightened up, smoothing the front of her velvet gown with long, manicured fingers, her laughter echoing softly against the cold stone walls.

"Be grateful, Elara," Victoria purred over her shoulder as she turned back toward the open door.

"After tonight, you will never have to worry about cleaning the kitchens or scrubbing the flagstones again. A very... grand destination awaits you."

She stepped out into the dark staircase, signaling the heavy iron door to be shut.

"Lock her tight," Victoria ordered the guards outside, her voice fading down the corridor.