Todos os capítulos de Forced to Marry the Wicked Werewolf Prince: Capítulo 101 - Capítulo 110

[RUELLE]The harbour looks different tonight. It feels different. The air smells unfamiliar, filling me with more terror than I already feel deep in my bones, making me shiver from more than just the cold. The ships bob in the dark water, their tall masts slicing into the moonlit sky. Lanterns flicker along the docks, casting faint light on the rippling waves. The sharp tang of salt, mingled with the stench of fish, damp wood, and the sweat of sailors hauling crates and barrels.I’ve been here countless times during my life, but all those other times, my heart raced for a completely different reason — out of excitement for the new place I’d explore when the ship anchored on the other side. Tonight, there’s only room for fear. I have to survive.‘No time to waste,’ my wolf, Kara, mutters. ‘Let’s go.’Tugging the hood of my cloak tighter around my face, I let out a shaky breath. I stole the cloak from a caravan halted along the forest road on my way here. It wasn’t taken from someone

[RUELLE]My lips release a gasp, my cheeks burning as if set on fire. Share a hammock with a stranger? A man? He lets out a laugh then only to cut himself short. His face turns serious. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” he pauses, looking away. “I was only jesting.”If we were back in the palace, I’d have laughed and joined in the fun. But no—any sense of joy has abandoned me. I’m in survival mode. He may have promised to protect me, but what reason does he have to keep his word? His intentions could sway any minute, even though he may be truly genuine right now. I have never been gullible, but I certainly do have my feet firmly planted on this dusty floor, within his chamber. I’m a fool, I think. Before I know it, I’m brushing past his shoulder, running to the wide wooden plank that serves as a door. But his hand is quicker, gripping my wrist like a vice. I turn to glance at his face, my jaw clenching, partly in fear and partly in anger for stopping me. “Let me go.”He loosens his g

[RUELLE]The coldness of the water is the first thing I feel, a biting chill that seeps into my bones, numbing every part of me. The weight of it presses down, making it impossible to tell which way is up. My limbs thrash, but the water drags me down, its icy grip tightening around my chest. For a long time, it’s just the water—an endless, suffocating struggle against the darkness.Then, a force stirs within me. Kara. My wolf. Her spirit rises, lending me the strength I desperately need. With her urging, I push through the heavy currents, my lungs burning as I break the surface.Gasping for air, I blink rapidly, my eyes stinging with salt. The world is chaos. Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the tumultuous waves, and the ship I was on—once a vessel of hope—tilts precariously, the Cursed Gulf hungrily pulling it under. The air vibrates with thunder, each clap shaking the very water around me.I struggle to stay afloat, coughing and spluttering, trying to make sense of the

[ELARA]Thornhall has become a theater, and Magnus its star performer. To the lords who visit every month for his feasts, he’s the epitome of charm—a prince who smiles easily, dances with grace, and entertains his guests with music and laughter. It’s a clever mask, one I can’t decide if he wears for them or for himself.But when the wine runs dry, and the music fades to nothing, the whispers creep in again. War brews in Caelondor, the unrest growing louder with every passing week. The King’s cruelty has spilled past the castle walls, stoking rebellion among both peasants and nobles. And now, with Magnus in exile, his name has become a rallying cry.He must have been named heir. What else could ignite this fire? The King has no other children. The throne will fall to Magnus, whether he wants it or not.These thoughts circle endlessly, the rumors tightening around us like a noose. And though Magnus has yet to speak a single word of it to me, I know what he’s doing. The quiet conversatio

[ELARA]I tug at the loose pearl string around my neck, playing with a single pearl absentmindedly between my fingers as Lady Brook talks. She’s lounging on the chaise, feasting on a painted bowl of black grapes. I think she might be speaking about tomorrow’s gathering, or of the newest fashion in Qaiven, or of the honey wine gifted by Lord Kilmartin. Her words don’t reach me because I already have a lot on my mind. A longing sigh leaves my lip as I adjust the soft feather pillow under my head and roll over on the bed. My mother’s bright eyes stare back at me from the portrait. They’re so green, so beautiful. Her smile is gentle, as if telling me that everything will be alright. And that I will feel happy again. Magnus only saw the portrait once, maybe only for a couple of seconds, and yet he was able to replicate it so well. In fact, he has done more justice to her features than the original painter from my pack. Now it is framed and hung on the painted stone wall in my chamber. I