Page 9 of Claimed By the Alien Prince

CARYS

M orning light filters through the massive windows, spilling golden warmth across the plush mossy floor. I blink awake, still tangled in sheets that feel like clouds against my skin. This bed—luxurious beyond anything I’ve known—cradles me like a fallen star.

But luxury means nothing when I’m stuck here, and the weight of captivity presses down on me.

I shove the covers aside and swing my legs over the edge, heart racing with irritation.

My stomach grumbles as I spot a tray sitting innocuously in the sitting area to my left.

The sight makes me scowl; it's like a cruel joke from the universe.

I stride over, grabbing the edge of the tray with a huff.

“Just eat,” I mutter to myself, poking at one of the meat-like things with a finger. It jiggles under my touch. “At least you won’t starve.”

I reluctantly take a bite; it doesn't taste much better than it looks.

My eyes drift to the door as two guards stand sentinel outside, silent sentinels blocking any escape route I might devise. They watch me without expression—stone-faced and unyielding. Boredom swells inside me like an overripe fruit ready to burst.

I’m cold, furious at this absurdity: how can I be a prisoner in such opulence? It’s unreal—the sheer audacity of it all churns within me like an untamed storm. What do they think they’ll achieve by holding me here? Are they waiting for an apology or for me to beg for freedom?

The thought gnaws at me. There’s no way out!

“Ugh!” I groan, tossing down the half-eaten fruit as if it carries some curse within its vibrant skin. My fingers clench into fists at my sides, frustration boiling over until it spills out in whispered threats directed toward the closed door.

“Let me out of here!”

Silence answers back, only deepening my sense of isolation as walls seem to close in tighter around me—the weight of this ridiculous situation suffocating any spark of hope lingering within reach.

I pace the room again, heat rising in my cheeks as I glare at the door. The silence grates on my nerves, amplifying the loneliness that claws at me from every corner. I glance back at the untouched food; my appetite has fled, leaving behind only irritation.

Suddenly, something slides under the door, skimming across the floor with a soft thud. My heart skips as I rush over and drop to my knees. A folded note peeks out from beneath the threshold. Cautiously, I tug it free and unfold it.

Hi .

I squint at the simple greeting, confused but intrigued. A pen lies next to it—fresh ink glistens like an invitation. I hesitate for a heartbeat, then scribble back.

Who are you?

Moments stretch into eternity as I wait for a response. Finally, the note slips back through the door, accompanied by another message.

My name is Oswin. Who are you?

A grin creeps onto my face despite myself. I write quickly.

I’m Carys.”

The pause feels unbearable as I wonder what kind of game this is. It feels almost juvenile—notes exchanged like children playing make-believe—but a flicker of hope ignites within me. Maybe Oswin knows something about this place or even how to escape.

What do you want? I ask, curiosity driving me.

Back comes Oswin’s reply: Just talking.

My brows knit together. Talking? About what?

To you , he writes back, almost instantly.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile creeping up again.

Tell me about Verus.

The silence stretches long after that question hangs in the air like a taunt before he finally replies: It’s beautiful and dangerous .

A small thrill shoots through me; his words echo my own thoughts upon arrival here. What about this palace? What do you know about it?

You ask too many questions , comes his terse reply.

I scoff and shake my head in disbelief, laughter bubbling up until it catches in my throat.

Okay, I scribble, Answer my question, and I'll answer one of yours.

My amusement fades as quickly as it came—his silence returns like a dark cloud rolling in over bright skies.

And just like that, all energy drains from the room as I stare at that empty space beneath the door where our notes passed moments ago—a void left by his absence.

Nothing comes back.

The stillness feels oppressive now, wrapping around me tighter than any rope ever could. Walls close in with a deafening hum that seems to pulse along with my racing heart—a constant reminder of my captivity. Each second drags out endlessly until they stretch into hours—or so it feels.

Desperation claws at me again; why isn’t he writing? Did I push too hard? The thought stings like frostbite on bare skin—I don’t want to be alone here anymore.

With shaky hands, I grab Oswin’s last note and read it again under slanting light from the window—the words seem to fade and blur together until they lose meaning altogether. The lack of response amplifies an ache deep inside me; what if he really did leave?

I rise, fists clenched, and march to the door.

“Oswin!” I knock, my voice sharp and demanding. “Come on! Don’t leave me hanging.”

Silence swallows my words whole.

I press my forehead against the cool wood, heart racing as uncertainty grips me. Alone again—this time, it feels heavier. The vibrant world outside teems with life while I’m trapped in this gilded cage.

“Ugh!” I shove away from the door, pacing back to the window. I scan the lush canopy beyond, longing for freedom—any sign of movement. Anything to break this suffocating isolation.