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54. The One-eyed Guest
Terakhir Diperbarui:
2024-06-20 03:46:50
Priyal DessaiWhat do you think of this new character, Valen? How do you believe he'll bring chaos into Elara and Magnus' lives? Thanks for reading! If you're liking the story, consider voting with gems or leaving a comment.
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Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 136. Roots Beneath the Skin
[ELARA]I curl up upon myself as I wake, my knees tucked loosely to my chest, arms drawn in. The sheets are cozy, and the air is warm. A strange, wonderful calm hums through me—my mind at ease for the first morning in what feels like years.I didn’t wake through the night.No nightmares.No Soulkeeper reminding me of all those lost. No songs of the bard haunting me in my sleep. Just sleep.Deep, unbroken sleep.And now… this.I smile faintly, eyes still shut, and let my hand drift along my waist—Right where he held me.A blush warms my cheeks. Heat prickles behind my ears as I remember how the night ended. The way he looked at me in the glow of the firelight. The way he kissed me, gently, like the world could end and he’d still choose me in the ruins.Despite everything I’ve done. All the ways I’ve hurt him…I stretch gently beneath the covers, and that’s when I feel the faint weight on my left hand.I lift it slowly, and sunlight catches on a ring—delicate, golden, and unmistakabl
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 135. Like I've Never Been Held
[MAGNUS]I fold the parchment again.The lump in my throat feels impossible to swallow. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, breathe through my nose, but it doesn’t help. A single tear breaks free, sliding down my cheek, and lands on the parchment. The ink smudges slightly where the wet spot spreads.Elara doesn’t speak.She just steps closer.Her hand touches my arm, barely, then moves upward, curling around my shoulder blade. She doesn’t press, doesn’t pull me up. She just holds.I glance up from my chair, meeting her gaze.There’s no judgment in her eyes. No discomfort. Only quiet understanding.And that, more than anything, makes something in me come undone.My hands find her waist. I pull her closer.Then I fold into her. My forehead presses against her stomach, my arms wrapping around her hips like a child seeking shelter.She lets out the softest breath and responds in kind, her arms drawing around my head. Her fingers thread gently into my hair, slow and calming. She hol
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 134. May It Be Enough
[MAGNUS] My heart races.Not the way it does before battle. Not the way it does when I’m forced to smile at lords who dream of slipping blades into my back.This is worse.This is because of her.She will be here.After months apart, months of silence and distance, we’ll share the same room again. The same bed.Night is where the heart and mind unravel the easiest—when even the strongest mask slips, and what’s left is bare and aching.I remember how it used to be.Back in Caelondor, I would lie awake and watch her sleep. Her breath slow. Soft. A hand curled against her cheek, or sometimes resting lightly on the sheets between us.She would reach for me, even in slumber.A quiet gesture. Thoughtless. Instinctual.But I’d stop breathing every time.And when she pulled her arm back—like she’d touched something too warm, something dangerous—I would lie there, staring at the ceiling, unable to close my eyes again. It had felt like a sin.To watch her. To want her.She was my wife.But ma
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 133. The Remnants of His Soul
[MAGNUS]“Where did you go, Magnus?”Elara lets out a shaky breath. She’s been holding that question in, hasn’t she?“To the village,” I say quietly. “The one that was attacked.”Her lips part, but she says nothing. Just listens. Then relief crosses her face. It is subtle, but I see it in the way she straightens.She picks up a slice of poached fruit and eats.I watch her, feeling my lips stretch into a smile. Why? I can’t tell. She eats quietly, softly, her eyes flicking to mine a few times. “I went somewhere else, too,” I finally add. “Somewhere I shouldn’t have.”She stops. Swallows. Waits.“I should’ve returned sooner,” I say.She doesn’t speak. But her eyes stay on me now. Not guarded. Not distant. Just… waiting.“I shouldn’t have left you,” I tell her, my voice quieter now. “When I came back and saw you weren’t in my room, I—”I stop. The words vanish.She leans forward slightly, gaze softening, lips parted in something that almost looks like forgiveness—or at least understan
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 132. The Scattered Pack
[MAGNUS]The horse’s flanks steam in the winter air, breath billowing like smoke. My boots crunch over frozen straw. I pat its neck once, which is cool and damp with sweat, and the animal shivers under my hand.“You were good today,” the stableboy murmurs as he takes the reins.I don’t catch the horse’s name. I don’t need to.I leave before the boy can say another word, cloak tugged tight against the wind that cuts through the stable yard.Alistair joins me on the path that winds toward Thornhall’s towering gates, our boots echoing over frost-stiff cobblestone. The black stone castle looms against the pale grey sky, jagged and unwelcoming, its very presence a warning to anyone who casts an eye on it for a second too long. “She received a visit,” Alistair says. His breath clouds the air. “While you were away. Lord Rustyn. He brought something from Lady Celia and the queen.”My jaw tightens.But my eyes are on the roses.Even in winter, the cursed things bloom.Blue roses that climb th
Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince 131. A Throne of Bones
[MAGNUS]“You’ve returned,” a familiar voice falls on my ears. “It’s been a while, son.”The ache is instant.Despite all my wisdom, despite the warnings etched into my blood and bones, I’ve done it again. I’ve let the lake touch me. Let it pull me back into memory. Or madness. It’s hard to tell the difference.I open my eyes, and there he stands.My father.Not the way he looked in the end. Not bloody and broken, but in his prime. Regal, steady, impossibly still. Young as he had been in my eyes. The alpha of the Thunderclaw tribe. Hands clasped behind his back. Brow creased, as if some political conundrum weighs on him even now, in death. Or whatever this is.“I thought you’d forgotten me,” he says, his mouth quirking with a dry, half-hearted laugh. “Or worse—chosen to.”His voice scrapes against my ribs like stone dragged across marble.“You always did hate sentiment,” he adds, tilting his head. “Still wondering if this is really how I looked? Afraid your mind has reassembled me wro
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