Page 32 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
“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.
CHAPTER 25
CARYS
Ipace 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.
