Page 39 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
CARYS
T he atmosphere shifts, thickening with unease as every eye in the room turns toward me. Tension coils in my belly like a viper ready to strike.
What am I doing here? I should’ve stayed in my quarters, buried myself in my research.
But now I’m standing beside Zevran, a prince who has declared war on whatever faint semblance of normalcy I thought I could cling to.
Some faces show surprise, others sharpen into narrow slits of accusation, their judgment palpable and suffocating.
This was never supposed to happen. My purpose here was simple: study the flora and fauna of Verus, log my findings, and return to the CRC with groundbreaking data. Just a botanist chasing plants—nothing more. But here I am, entangled in court politics that could cost me my life.
My thoughts spiral downward. I can’t breathe under the weight of their gazes. They see me as an intruder, an unwanted blight among their sacred trees—a parasite clinging to their roots.
Panic wells up inside me like rising water threatening to overflow. My pulse quickens as whispers flit through the crowd like dark wings; they must think I'm guilty, too.
Then I feel him beside me—Zevran's presence is a steady anchor amidst the storm brewing around us. He moves closer, his hand brushing against mine, grounding me with a warmth that chases away the cold dread clawing at my chest.
“Carys,” he murmurs softly, and it’s enough to pull me back from the brink of my spiraling thoughts.
He guides me toward his throne—his throne—and gestures for me to sit down.
The act is both intimate and terrifying; it feels like a claim, yet there’s a tenderness in his movements that calms the storm inside.
As I lower myself onto the ornate seat beside him, he kisses my hand gently—a gesture both possessive and reassuring that sends warmth flooding through me despite the chaos surrounding us. The eyes of the court still bore into us like arrows aimed at our hearts, but Zevran’s confidence shields me.
“You are safe,” he whispers just for me. “No one will harm you while I breathe.”
In that moment, something shifts within me—a flicker of strength igniting against the fear swirling around us.
I grip Zevran’s shirt, pulling him down to me. Our lips meet in a rush of heat, urgency swirling between us. He leans into it, strong hands cupping the back of my head, deepening the kiss. The world fades away, and for a moment, it’s just us—his warmth enveloping me like a protective cloak.
When we finally break apart, his smirk is infectious, a playful glint in his eye as he winks at me. My cheeks flush under the weight of his gaze. I watch him turn to face the council chamber again, posture shifting from relaxed to fiercely determined.
The tension in the room thickens as I catch sight of his resolve; he’s ready to find whoever poisoned the envoy. I can feel it radiating off him—an intensity that both terrifies and excites me. He won’t let anyone threaten our future, whatever that may look like.
My eyes drift left to the Queen seated regally at her throne.
She’s beautiful in her elegant attire, striking features echoing those of her son.
A spark of curiosity nudges me—what must it be like to rule this kingdom?
Yet intimidation roots me in place; I can’t seem to muster the courage to engage her directly.
Instead, I fiddle with my clothes, nervous energy thrumming through me.
“Prince Zevran would have slaughtered you for trespassing,” she states coolly, her tone unwavering and laced with an authority that demands respect.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry, as if I had just swallowed a mouthful of sand. “I know,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper, laden with the weight of the reality we both face.
“But he didn’t,” she continues, her words slicing through the tension in the room like a finely honed blade.
Her statement hangs there, suspended like a taut string, a challenge lingering in its wake.
I meet her gaze hesitantly, searching for any hint of what lies beneath her composed exterior.
There’s something knowing behind those piercing eyes, an understanding that makes me feel both exposed and oddly empowered.
“It takes a strong woman to change a man,” she adds, tilting her head slightly as if assessing my worth, as if weighing my resolve against the backdrop of her own formidable presence.
The implication of her words resonates deeply within me, igniting a flicker of determination amidst the uncertainty.
Before I can fully process the weight of her comment or muster an appropriate response that would do justice to the gravity of the moment, chaos erupts violently in front of us.
A councilman, his face marred by an expression twisted with anger and indignation, storms forward with all the fury of a tempest unleashed.
“This is a waste of time! Kill the human and be done with it!” His voice booms across the chamber like thunder rolling through a stormy sky, reverberating off the high, intricately carved walls adorned with vibrant tapestries depicting the proud history of Verus.
I feel the sudden, sharp rise of adrenaline coursing through my veins, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. My instincts scream at me to retreat, but the weight of the moment keeps me rooted in place, forcing me to confront the reality of my precarious position.
Zevran reacts instantly—he moves like lightning. In one swift motion, he draws his blade and strikes without hesitation. The councilman doesn’t even have time to register what’s happening before he collapses to the floor—a headless body crumpling lifelessly at our feet.