Page 24 of Claimed By the Alien Prince

ZEVRAN

I storm 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 toward her. 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.

“She didn’t do this,” I assert, voice low but fierce.

The Queen’s gaze remains steady, unyielding as she leans back in her seat, regal and poised. “This is not about one human girl. The Desert Kingdom will demand blood. If we cannot deliver the guilty party, they will assume we protect her—and retaliate.”

Her words hit like a physical blow. I can almost feel the tension crackling in the air, a storm brewing on the horizon. “I won’t hand her over,” I snap, each word laced with defiance. “Even if she did it.”

My mother’s eyes narrow slightly, glinting with an ancient wisdom that I’ve always found intimidating. “Court politics are not won with love, Zevran.”

I grind my teeth together, frustration boiling beneath my skin. How can she be so detached? So cold? “Then I’ll lose with it.”

Silence fills the space between us, heavy and oppressive.

My fingers curl into fists at my sides as I feel the weight of expectations bearing down on me—my responsibilities to our people, my duties as their prince—but also something deeper: my connection to Carys. It gnaws at me like a hungry creature.

The Queen sighs softly, her expression shifting just slightly—an emotion flickering beneath her carefully crafted exterior. “You know what they’ll say if you defend her.”

“They can say whatever they want,” I counter sharply. “She isn’t a criminal. She’s a researcher caught in something beyond her control.” My voice grows softer as the memory of Carys standing defiantly before me flashes through my mind—her eyes alight with fire even when faced with uncertainty.

“You’re blinded by your feelings,” she warns gently, but there’s no reprimand in her tone—only concern wrapped in maternal wisdom.

“Maybe,” I concede, swallowing hard against the bitter taste of reality. “But I can’t throw her to the wolves for political gain. She is my mate. Nothing else matters.”

A moment stretches taut between us until finally she leans forward slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper filled with gravity. “I see."

I nod sharply, knowing this fight is only beginning—and Carys is at its center whether we like it or not.