Page 31 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
He looks away for a moment, frustration etched into his features as he rubs a hand over his face. “Just answer,” hemutters, barely above a whisper but loud enough for me to catch the words that settle like lead in my gut. “Did you or did you not leave this room last night?”
I flinch at his words. “Yes. But?—”
“Don’t,” he snaps, venom lacing his voice. “You stupid little human. They’ll have your head for this.”
His words pierce through me, sharp and unyielding. I watch as he turns on his heel, the tension radiating off him like heat waves rising from scorched earth. He strides out, leaving the door to swing shut behind him with a finality that echoes in the silence.
I sit frozen on the bed, my heart racing in a desperate rhythm against my ribcage. The room feels too big and too small all at once, closing in around me yet suffocatingly empty. My fingers grip the fabric of my trousers, knuckles white against the dark material.
The silence roars, overwhelming in its intensity. I can almost hear my pulse pounding in my ears, a chaotic drumbeat that amplifies every pang of dread pooling in my stomach. Zevran’s accusation lingers like a ghost between us—a tainted thread woven into this bizarre bond we share.
How did everything spiral so far out of control? I replay the moments leading up to this—the warmth of his breath on my skin, the way he looked at me when we kissed as if the universe shrank down to just us two. But now? Now it feels like betrayal is stitched into our fates.
What was I thinking? Stepping out into the palace corridors without a guard or a plan? The risk weighs heavily on me now; their laws don’t bend for curiosity or bravery. They’re merciless.
My mind races through the implications—Zevran's fierce protectiveness twisted into rage and disdain for my recklessness—and every scenario leads to bloodshed and chaos. They won’tcare about intent; they’ll only see a human who dared cross forbidden lines.
With trembling hands, I push myself off the bed and pace across the room. Every step is fueled by panic mixed with indignation—why should I be afraid of them? Of anyone? But deep down, a chilling fear burrows beneath my bravado: they’d see me as an intruder, an invader in their sacred space.
Suddenly, I freeze mid-step, caught between fighting for survival and wrestling with this maddening bond that ties me to Zevran. What do I mean to him? What does he truly want from me? A part of me yearns for clarity amidst this storm of confusion—but right now, all I can feel is the burn of uncertainty closing in around us both like a vice grip tightening around my chest.
CHAPTER 24
ZEVRAN
Istorm down the corridor, fury pulsing through my veins like wildfire. Carys’s incredulous expression haunts me—her confusion, her defiance. How could she leave her room? What madness possessed her? How did she even manage it without falling out the window and breaking her neck? The echo of my own voice lingers, sharp and accusing, taunting me with the possibility that she could be the enemy.
Aran’tha intercepts me in the corridor, her usual composed demeanor slightly unsteady, the faintest hint of concern flickering in her pale rose-gold eyes. It’s a rare sight, one that makes the air between us feel charged with unspoken tension.
“She’s requested your presence,” she informs me, her voice steady as she falls into step beside me, matching my stride with practiced ease.
The Queen. The mere mention sends a jolt of anxiety through my gut, tightening it with an uncomfortable grip. The weight of expectation looms over me like a storm cloud, dark and foreboding.
“I’m already on my way,” I grunt in response, my tone clipped and dismissive, not bothering to redirect my gaze towardher. The last thing I want is to engage in a conversation about what’s to come.
As we continue down the corridor, the rich tapestries lining the walls seem to close in around us, the vibrant colors swirling in my peripheral vision. I can feel Aran’tha’s eyes on me, her brow furrowed with curiosity, as though she can sense the tempest brewing within me. “How did your conversation with Carys go?” she inquires, her voice laced with a mixture of concern and genuine interest.
I clench my jaw tightly, irritation simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. The truth is, I don’t feel inclined to share anything about it—not now, not when the uncertainty coils like a serpent ready to strike. Could Carys really be involved in this treachery? The thought gnaws at my insides, and I find myself wrestling with the implications of her actions. There’s too much at stake, and I can’t afford to let my guard down, not even for a moment.
We reach the Queen's private chambers. I stop, take a breath to steady myself against the storm raging inside.
“Open,” I call out.
“Enter,” my mother responds, her voice regal yet warm.
I push the door open and step inside, Aran’tha hovering just behind me like a shadow. My mother sits on a chaise draped in lush fabrics, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting who fan her with delicate leaves. Their chatter falls silent as I enter; eyes flicker toward me before darting away.
“You’re all dismissed,” she announces coolly. The women scurry off as if they’ve just been caught in an embarrassing moment.
Once alone with her, I step further into the room. The air feels thick with expectation, but before Aran’tha can follow me in, my mother gestures for privacy.
“Aran’tha,” she says firmly.
The disappointment flashes across Aran’tha’s face for a brief moment before she masks it behind a veneer of professionalism. She knows better than to protest openly but I see the tension ripple through her shoulders as she turns away and walks down the corridor.
The door closes behind us with a soft click that reverberates in my chest like a drumbeat of dread. I take another deep breath as I face my mother—her dark hair cascading over one shoulder and sharp eyes assessing me like a hawk sizing up its prey.
I step deeper into the chamber, my heart racing with the weight of my conviction.
