Mated To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 899: A Message To Aldric

"They’re not going to let this be," Valerie said, his voice taut with frustration as he and his mother, Queen Maeve, walked purposefully down the corridor.

"They can throw a tantrum all they like," Maeve replied with unshaken confidence. Her steps were brisk, each one echoing through the stone halls with the authority of someone who knew she held power. "But everyone knows who truly holds control now."

As they approached the guarded entrance to the underground bunker where King Oberon was being kept, the elite guards stationed at the doorway lowered their heads in silent greeting. These men, fiercely loyal to the crown, were the most capable Astaria had to offer. With a single nod, Valerie and Maeve acknowledged them, their presence both commanding and unquestionable.

The heavy metal door loomed before them. The guards reached for the wheels, pulling it with slow, deliberate force. The old mechanism groaned as the door creaked open, the sound reverberating through the narrow hallway.

Behind it lay the hidden chamber, a secure bunker built beneath the palace even before the attack. Should there be a threat, it was built to keep the king of the Fae safe. And it sure came in handy now.

Maeve knew that even if Nirvana’s and Victoria’s followers managed to breach the entrance, what waited inside was a sea of guards ready to fight to the death. Blood would spill, and now wasn’t the time for such chaos, not when Astaria was already on the edge of disaster.

They stepped through the entrance into the well-lit, sterile bunker. The stone walls were pristine, polished, and lined with guards who stood so motionless they might have been mistaken for statues.

Their armor gleamed under the soft glow of the sconces, and their gazes remained fixed ahead, unflinching, as Maeve and Valerie passed them in silence. It was a stark contrast to the tension in the grand hall above, but the weight of their mission, which was to protect the fallen king, was palpable in the still air.

The silence between Maeve and Valerie grew heavier as they neared the chamber where King Oberon was being treated. No words were needed now. Their minds were focused on the task ahead, their footsteps echoing softly in the stone hallway.

Finally, they arrived. The room was far different from the cold, militaristic atmosphere of the bunker. Spacious and luxurious, it was fit for a king, with high, arched ceilings and walls lined with rich tapestries. It was clear that, despite the somber situation, this was designed to honor the king’s stature even in his most vulnerable state.

At the center of the room, King Oberon floated, suspended in midair within a stream of energy. His bare chest was exposed, and the soft, glowing light focused on the wound that marred his skin.

It was a grievous stab wound, yet the energy worked tirelessly to mend the damage, slowly knitting flesh back together. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful and serene. For the first time in years, Oberon looked younger, as though the weight of the crown had been lifted from him.

Queen Maeve’s steps faltered for a brief moment when she saw him. For all her pride and ambition, the sight of him in such a vulnerable state tugged at her heart.

There was a time when she had loved him, when she had fought for him, stood by his side, and built his kingdom with him. But that was before. Before he had cast her aside, before he had allowed her sacrifices to be ignored.

Oberon, despite his weakened state, was still the king who had wronged her. The hardness returned to her eyes, and she pushed the feeling away. She couldn’t afford softness now, not when the throne was so close to being claimed. This was her son’s future, her victory to claim, and nothing, not even a resurrected king, would stand in the way of that. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Inside the chamber, three fae dressed in white robes busied themselves around Oberon, recording his condition, observing the progress of his healing. They were apprentices, young and focused, their eyes constantly flickering over the equipment and notes in front of them.

Standing apart from them, overseeing the process with a look of intense concentration, was the master healer. His eyes were closed, his hands raised, glowing with the same energy that encased the king. His concentration was intense, his focus entirely on maintaining the delicate balance that kept Oberon alive.

Valerie watched them work, his expression unreadable. "How long until he wakes?" he asked, his voice low.

One of the apprentices, startled by his sudden question, glanced nervously at the master, who was the royal healer before answering. "It’s hard to say, Your Highness. The wound was... severe. But the energy is working —"

"He will wake up soon, if not today," the healer announced, turning to face them.

He had sensed their presence long before Queen Maeve and Prince Valerie stepped into the room. Their volatile energy disrupted the quiet sanctity of the chamber, filling the space with tension.

The healer continued, sensing the need to explain further.

"King Oberon is strong," he said. "He could have recovered easily, but the spear was laced with a powerful poison. It attacked his life force, slowing the healing. Fortunately, he was brought back to the palace quickly, or Astaria would be mourning."

"Thank the gods, then," Valerie said, relieved. But Maeve remained expressionless, her focus cold and calculating.

The healer nodded. "Yes, thank the gods. The poison was neutralized, and his rest is aiding his recovery. However, there could still be complications when he wakes, but for now—"

"Why doesn’t he rise further?" Maeve interrupted, stepping closer, her eyes sharp and unrelenting.

The healer blinked in confusion. "What?"

"You heard me," Maeve said smoothly. "You’ve said it yourself, rest is doing him well. If he were to rest more deeply, perhaps he would recover faster."

The healer’s brow furrowed. He glanced at Valerie for support, but the prince’s face was blank, unreadable. It was clear now that they were both aligned in this twisted idea.

"I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Majesty," the healer said cautiously, though a sinking feeling in his stomach told him exactly what she was implying.

"What I’m saying," Maeve said, her voice low and dangerous, "is that King Oberon needs more time to rest. A lot more time."

The healer froze, his blood running cold as the meaning of her words settled in. One of the apprentices, younger and more eager than the others, stepped forward, her face pale but determined.

"But that’s not right, my queen," the apprentice protested, her voice trembling. "That would be—"

She never finished. With a swift, merciless gesture, Maeve tilted her head toward a nearby guard. Without hesitation, the guard drew his blade and sliced through the apprentice’s neck.

Blood splattered, and her head fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Chaos erupted as the other apprentices screamed, their faces contorted with terror, clutching one another as the room became a scene of horror.

The healer’s face turned crimson with rage, but he was helpless. He could only watch as the life drained from the young apprentice he had trained, his heart hammering in his chest.

Maeve’s expression didn’t change. She stepped forward, her voice icy and calm. "This isn’t a request. It’s an order. King Oberon will remain here, quietly recovering, until my son sits on that throne. Is that understood?"

The healer hesitated, his lips trembling as he fought the urge to defy her. But the dead apprentice’s body still lay at his feet, and the guards were watching. He nodded reluctantly, the weight of his powerlessness suffocating him.

"Good," Maeve said, satisfied. She turned, her gown swishing against the floor as she moved toward the exit. Valerie followed silently, his expression grim.

As they walked down the hall, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the still air, Valerie spoke. "You didn’t have to kill her," he said quietly, anger simmering beneath his words.

Maeve stopped abruptly and whirled on him, her face twisted with fury. "That point needed to be made," she hissed. "Don’t show me your pathetic weakness, Valerie. Not now, when we are so close to victory."

Valerie flinched at the venom in her voice, but Maeve wasn’t finished. "Do not screw this up. You’re practically useless as it is."

Her words cut deep, and for a moment, Valerie was speechless. Sparks of energy flickered around his hands, erratic, uncontrolled. His magic had been unstable ever since his fight with Aldric, and the humiliation of it gnawed at him every second.

Maeve gave him a final, cold glance before storming away, leaving Valerie standing alone in the corridor, his fists clenched, the sparks still crackling.

Unbeknownst to Valerie, a small beetle crawled out from his clothing, unnoticed. The insect moved swiftly along the stone floor, expertly dodging the stomping boots of passing guards. It scurried its way through the palace halls until it reached a certain chamber.

Inside, Queen Nirvana sat in quiet contemplation. The beetle climbed up her hand, and with a slow, deliberate movement, she brought it to her ear. Its whispers were faint, but the secrets it carried were unmistakable.

Nirvana’s lips curled into a cold, knowing smile as the beetle finished its message. "So that’s how it is."

She turned to one of her guards, standing loyally by the door.

"You there," she said, her voice soft but commanding. "I need you to send a message to Prince Aldric. Immediately."