Page 25 of Claimed By the Alien Prince

CARYS

I pace the room, heart hammering like a wild creature trapped in a cage. Zevran’s words replay in my mind, sharp and accusatory: “They’ll have your head for this.” For what? A walk through the gardens? I trusted Aran’tha not to say anything.

But here I am, stuck in this gilded prison with uncertainty clawing at my insides. Each step feels heavier than the last, the plush moss beneath my feet no longer soothing but suffocating. The silence in the room amplifies my anxiety, each breath becoming a countdown to something inevitable.

Suddenly, commotion erupts outside. Shouts slice through the quiet—a flurry of voices that sends adrenaline surging through my veins.

I freeze, straining to hear snippets of conversation: “She’s here!

” “Find her!” My instincts kick in. I dart toward a delicate vase perched on a nearby table and lift it like a weapon.

The doorknob jiggles violently, rattling against the frame as if someone is trying to force their way in. My grip tightens around the vase, knuckles whitening as I prepare for whatever—or whoever—might burst through that door.

With a final twist, the door swings open, and I brace myself for confrontation.

It’s Oswin.

A wave of relief washes over me, cascading like cool water cascading over hot stone, soothing my frayed nerves.

There stands Oswin, his youthful face illuminated by a mixture of exhilaration and anxiety, his wild dark curls framing his features like a halo of chaos.

I can see the mischief dancing in his bright eyes, an infectious energy that momentarily distracts me from the turmoil outside.

“Carys!” he exclaims, his voice a buoyant note in the heavy air, eyes wide with excitement that contrasts sharply with my own sense of dread.

“Oswin!” I respond, lowering the vase slowly, my grip still firm as I maintain a wary stance. “What’s happening? Why are they shouting?” The questions tumble out of me, propelled by a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Carys,” he says urgently, glancing back over his shoulder as if he’s half-expecting guards to burst through the door at any moment.

The tension in his posture is palpable, and I can feel the weight of his words pressing down on us like a storm cloud hanging ominously overhead.

“I overheard some guards talking about your walk yesterday! They think you did something bad.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

“Something bad?” Panic wells up inside me once again, a swirling vortex of anxiety as the reality of the situation sinks its teeth deeper into my skin.

“What are they accusing me of?” Each word leaves my mouth like a stone, heavy and uncertain, the implications swirling around us like the shadows in the dimly lit corridor.

“I don't know,” he whispers conspiratorially. “But they're really angry. Even Zevran.”

My stomach twists violently at his words. Poisoned? It feels ludicrous; how could they even suspect me? But fear flickers behind Oswin's eyes—it’s real enough for him.

“I didn’t do anything!” I insist, but my voice lacks conviction.

He’s flushed, wide-eyed. “They’re coming for you.”

Panic surges through me. I grab Todd, clutching him tightly as if he can shield me from the chaos swirling outside. My satchel, filled with my notes and precious samples, feels heavy but necessary. I can't leave without it—this research is everything to me.

“Let’s go,” I say, urgency threading my voice.

Oswin nods and takes off down the corridor, his small frame darting into the shadows like a flicker of light escaping a storm.

I follow closely behind, heart racing as dread coils around my stomach.

The weight of Zevran’s anger hangs heavy in the air; it taints every thought I have of him, turning memories of warmth into ice.

We slip through the dimly lit halls, passing ornate tapestries and intricate carvings that tell stories of Kiphian legends long forgotten. My breath quickens with every echo of footsteps behind us. I can almost feel the guards’ presence closing in, their shouts muffled but menacing.

“Which way?” I whisper, desperate to keep myself calm.

Oswin glances back at me, eyes sparkling with mischief and determination. “This way!” He veers left down a narrower passageway that twists like a serpent. I follow without hesitation, trusting him despite the uncertainty that clings to my thoughts.

The air grows cooler here, tinged with the scent of damp earth and moss—a stark contrast to the polished grandeur of the palace. Vines hang from above like curtains, swaying slightly as if whispering secrets only they know.

“Keep moving,” he urges softly as we press on through shadowy corridors.

I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting Zevran to materialize from the darkness. The thought stings; our last encounter burns in my thoughts like a fresh wound. It wasn’t just anger—there was disappointment there too. He thinks I’m a danger now, and part of me knows he might be right.

We reach an intersection where light spills from an open archway ahead. Oswin peeks around the corner before turning back to me.

“There’s an exit,” he whispers urgently.

“Can we trust it?” My heart races again—not just from fear but from wanting to believe in this chance at escape.

“Trust me,” he insists with childlike confidence that tugs at something inside me—hope? Maybe it's foolishness. But right now? It doesn’t matter.

I nod sharply and together we surge forward into the light beyond, leaving behind everything—Zevran included—and stepping into uncertainty.