Page 22 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
The conversation flows easily between us—a dance between knowledge and curiosity that has been missing since our initial encounter filled with tension and resentment.
Days stretch into a blur of soft light filtering through the windows and the rhythmic pulse of Verus’ vibrant flora. Zevran’s visits become my anchor, threading a strange pattern into my captivity. At first, I dread his arrival, but as time passes, anticipation replaces anxiety.
He strolls in with that same steady grace, always bringing something—a soft robe woven with metallic threads that catch the light like starlight, a fruit I mentioned once, plump andsweet, bursting with flavors reminiscent of summer days back on Earth. Today he carries a datapad filled with human archives—classics I devoured during long nights studying in cramped libraries.
“Thought you might enjoy this,” he says, his voice low as he hands it to me.
I take it hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his as I grasp the device. There’s an unspoken connection in that moment—electricity crackling between us like the energy from a storm. I force myself to look away first, heart racing. “Thanks,” I mumble, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.
He settles across from me, resting his arms on his knees as if we’re simply two scholars sharing ideas rather than captor and captive. “What do you think?”
“I’ve barely skimmed through it,” I admit. “But the history of humankind is fascinating.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his lips—unexpected warmth igniting something deep within me. We talk for hours about literature and culture, his questions digging deeper than anyone ever dared back home. Each conversation peels back layers I didn’t know existed; we share laughter and debate over characters and their motives as if we were friends rather than strangers bound by fate.
With every visit, I notice how much easier it becomes to breathe around him. The weight of my resentment lessens each time he shows up unannounced—sometimes just to sit in silence, letting the tension dissolve into something softer.
“Why do you keep coming back?” I finally ask one day when we sit side by side under the soft glow of mossy sconces.
His expression hardens for just a moment before melting back into contemplation. “Perhaps it’s because you’re more than just an intruder.”
That stirs something within me—something daring and hopeful that blooms against all odds. Maybe this mate thing isn’t nonsense after all. Maybe there’s something real here beneath our conflicting worlds and stubborn beliefs. The thought unnerves me as much as it excites me.
“What are we doing here?” My voice trembles slightly—a mix of curiosity and fear at what this connection might mean.
He looks at me then—deeply—as if weighing every word before he speaks. “I don’t know yet.”
His honesty disarms me further; maybe… maybe this mate thing isn't just nonsense. Maybe there's some truth to it after all.
CHAPTER 18
ZEVRAN
Inever meant for this to happen.
When I first brought her belongings, it felt like a strategic move—something to keep Carys compliant, to distract her from the weight of captivity. But now, I roam the markets of Verus with a different purpose, my heart drumming an unfamiliar rhythm in my chest.
As I weave through stalls, vibrant colors and fragrant scents assault my senses. Vendors shout their wares, and the laughter of children echoes through the canopy above. Each sound feels alive, yet my thoughts drift elsewhere. I scan for anything that might spark joy in her eyes.
There! A trinket carved from a sacred branch—the same one she reached for that day. Its intricate designs remind me of her curiosity and boldness. I can almost picture her face lighting up as she examines it, fingers tracing the grooves with wonder.
I purchase it without hesitation, slipping it into my pocket alongside another item: a cloak woven in the exact shade of her eyes—a hue that rivals the deepest emeralds of Verus. It seems absurdly simple to me now, yet I can't help but imagine how it would drape over her shoulders, framing her against the backdrop of this alien world.
Eating with her becomes more than just a duty; it transforms into something I crave. The first time we share a meal together, she looks at me as if trying to read some hidden agenda behind my intent. But when she takes a bite of roasted root vegetables and her mouth curves into surprise at the flavor explosion, my heart skips.
“What is this?” she asks, eyes wide with delight.
“Food,” I reply, trying to mask my amusement at how naïve that sounds. “Delicious food.”
She laughs—a sound like music in this strange place—and in that moment, I want nothing more than to hear it again and again. To sit across from her not as prince and captive but simply as two souls navigating an uncharted connection.
"Of course it's food, Zevran," she says with the roll of her eyes. "What kind? What species—where did it come from?"
As our conversations flow freely between bites, I find solace in sharing thoughts without war or blood clouding the air around us. For those fleeting hours each day, we escape our roles and forge something new—a bond shrouded in possibility rather than obligation.
But beneath it all lies an undercurrent of tension; fate has its grip on us both.
I sit in the council chamber, surrounded by faces I know too well. The air hangs heavy with the weight of their words—discussions about trade, territory, and human transgressions that echo like a dull drumbeat in my mind.
