Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 472: Chapter 472

Less than a minute passed before the door swung open.

The guards stepped inside and scanned the room quickly. Their gazes fell on the queen on the floor, her hands shaking, her face the picture of grief and they understood what had happened without needing to be told.

One of them looked to the bed to see their king’s unmoving form.

A senior guard issued a swift order and one of the younger ones turned and rushed out to fetch the king’s chief advisor.

It was protocol to have the chief advisor view the body of the dead king before anything else, since he was the one tasked with announcing the king’s death.

Nheera did not look up. She stayed where she was, folded in on herself, her sobs filling the room with a sound that echoed off every wall.

It did not take long for the guard to return and he brought Laheir back with him.

Laheir crossed the room to the bed first. He stood there, looking down at Zeriel for a moment, and then his gaze moved to Nheera.

He crouched and took hold of both her arms, drawing her attention to his face. His expression was carefully neutral. He held her gaze as he spoke. freёweɓnovel.com

"You must be strong," he said. "For yourself. And for your sons. Despite what you have lost tonight, you must be strong."

Her cheeks were wet and blotchy. She nodded, slowly, like someone struggling to hold themselves together against a current. Her lower lip trembled on cue.

Laheir saw through her charade. But right then they were both performers. He was playing his part just as she was playing hers.

She was glad they understood each other in this.

The room had grown crowded with guards and attendants, everyone watching the queen’s grief with pity in their eyes.

But when no one was watching hers closely, she allowed her lips to twitch upward, a flicker of something smug and satisfied that rose to the surface for only a second before she smoothed it away completely.

She looked back at Zeriel and her expression was once again filled with sorrow.

***

Azul had only grown bolder since their last interaction.

At breakfast, he chose the seat directly opposite her, a deliberate choice she only understood the moment he sat down.

He made no effort to conceal his attention. His gaze settled on her and largely remained there all through the meal, drifting away only when someone spoke to him directly and returning the moment they had finished. He watched her the way a man watched something he had already decided was his.

Elka kept her eyes on her plate.

It was Hairan who noticed first.

She felt the subtle stillness that came over him, the kind that preceded nothing good. When she finally glanced up, it wasn’t Azul her husband was looking at. It was her. There was a dark look on his face and the warning in his eyes was unmistakable. As though she had asked for Azul’s attention.

He held her gaze for only a moment before turning back to his food, like she were not worth any more of his time.

He had never particularly cared for her. She had long since accepted that. But this was different. This was a reminder that even his indifference had its limits. He would not tolerate anything between her and Azul. Perhaps that was why Azul was being so brazen today. He wanted to create a wider rift between her and Hairan.

Elka dropped her gaze immediately and did not lift it again for the remainder of the meal. She did not once acknowledge Azul’s presence across the table.

Nheera sat further down, mostly quiet, but she occasionally spoke to Hairan and Azul, while Jayran was purposely left out.

The meal ended without incident and not long after, a faint discomfort bloomed in her lower abdomen.

It was subtle enough at first that she was able to dismiss it. It was nothing she couldn’t push through. She had a full day ahead of her and she saw no reason to let her body slow her down.

But as the hours passed, the sensation refused to ease. It worsened and spread, morphing into a dull pain instead, a particular type of pain that felt familiar.

She stopped in the middle of the corridor and pressed her hand lightly against her midsection, her heart in her throat.

She told herself she was wrong. That she was tired and anxious and reading too much into what was nothing more than ordinary discomfort. There were a dozen explanations, any one of which was more likely than the one her mind kept circling back to.

But her body knew. Some part of her had known for the past hour.

The rest of the day continued without her fully registering it. She went through the motions, responded when spoken to, smiled when smiling was expected. All of it felt distant, like her body was possessed. The ache in her abdomen was the only thing that felt real.

By the time she allowed herself to fully come to terms with it, there was nothing left to argue against. The pain was no longer something she could reason away.

She thought of Hairan. Of the throne that would soon be passing to him. Of what Azul had told her all those nights ago.

Once the king was dead, Hairan would become king, and once he took the throne, he would have no further use for a wife he had never wanted. He would set her aside and she would be left with nothing.

Two choices. That was all she had.

Return to her father, or accept what Azul was offering.

She had not survived everything she had endured simply to end up in one of those two places.

Her plan had been straightforward in theory. If she could fall pregnant, Hairan would be bound to her in a way that even his distaste for her could not easily undo. A child would change everything.

A child would give her a foothold that no one could simply take away. It had felt like the only real option she had, the one variable she could actually control.

Hairan might despise her but being his wife was still better than any of the other options laid before her.

She walked quickly back to her chambers.

Her door somehow felt heavier than usual as she pushed it open. She locked it behind her and stood there for a moment with her back against it, her breathing uneven.

Then she reached down and gathered her skirts in her hands. She pressed her handkerchief between her legs and held it there.

When she pulled it back, the fabric was stained red.

She didn’t move for a long moment.

The tears came without warning and she didn’t try to stop them. There was no one to see her here, no one to pretend in front of. She slid back against the door until she was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up and her skirts pooled around her, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and wept quietly.

Her plan had failed. Whatever slim advantage she had been working toward was gone.

A sound reached her then and found her where she sat, a long, agonized wail of grief.

It was the queen’s voice.

Elka lifted her head.

She already knew, even without being told.

The king was dead. And her time was up.