Page 2 of The Slave in A Princess Disguise

His heart broke for their loss. He could not imagine a life without Evielyn.

“Myka, get your mother out of here! Take her to safety!” His voice boomed with urgency.

"Behind you!" Vladya's urgent call cut through the chaos.

He whirled, sword flashing instinctively. The human soldier's head tumbled to the floor, his lifeless eyes staring into oblivion.

Blood. So much blood.

Grand King Daemonikai's eyes snapped open. The familiar sight of his chambers greeted him with an unwelcome chill. Empty. Just like his heart.

He turned his head to the left, knowing what he would find even before his eyes confirmed it. The space beside him was cold, devoid of warmth. No Evielyn.

Five hundred years, he thought. The weight of the number pressing down on him like a tombstone. Five hundred years since the Cleansing War, since he had lost her.

The grief was crushing, tightening its grip around his chest. His heart felt hollow.

With a trembling hand, he removed the damp cloth from his forehead, its coolness a mockery of the burning ache within him.

He rose from the bed, drawn to the open window. Below, Urai pulsed with celebration, the sounds muffled by the vast distance seperating him from his people.

Guilt consumed him, but he shoved it aside.

His eyes drifted upward, observing the stars surrounding the quarter moon. A part of him still expected the door to creak open at any moment, for Alvin to come striding in to complain about his inability to sleep.

"I need Mother to sleep beside me," Alvin would whine, his voice often interrupting a good sleep.

"Get your own bondmate, brat. She's mine," Daemonikai would retort.

Alvin would pout, his lower lip jutting out in childish defiance.

Evie would laugh, then lean over and press a kiss to Daemonikai's lips, which in turn would make him frown, knowing she was about to leave their bed to settle their fully grown son, who had no sense of boundaries, back to sleep.

Alvin would shoot him a triumphant smirk—the "I win" face of a child who had outmaneuvered his father—before following his mother out of the room.

A bittersweet smile tugged at Daemonikai's lips. Alvin might be eight hundred years old, but sometimes, he possessed the attitude of a thirty-year-old Urekai child. And now he was gone.

They were all gone.

Daemonikai's fist slammed against his chest repeatedly, hoping if he hit hard enough, the agony and grief would stop trying to suffocate him.

But the pain refused to stop.

It only intensified. Growing, spreading like a poison through his veins.

Throwing his head back, he roared in anguish.

Emeriel bolted upright.

Another anguished roar, filled with sheer misery, pierced the air.

King Daemonikai.

Emeriel rubbed her chest, a wave of pain washing over her, mirroring the grand king's sorrow.

With each tormented howl, the agony intensified, leaving her gasping for breath, tears streaming down her face.

How was this possible? How could she feel his anguish as if it were her own when they were not mated? She couldn't explain it.

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