Mated To The Cruel Prince novel Chapter 792

Chapter 792: Slaughter House

There was a rustling sound, faint but unmistakable. Instinctively, Islinda reached out and snatched an arrow from the air, her reflexes taking over before she even realized what had happened. She stared at the arrow in disbelief, the shock of what she had done spreading across her face.

A grin broke out, and she turned to Andre, her eyes wide with pride, as if to say, did you see that? She had just caught an arrow with her bare hands— her bare hands?!

Unfortunately, her celebration was short-lived.

In her moment of triumph, Islinda didn’t notice the figure that had slipped through the crowd, silent and deadly. Before she could react, she felt a sharp, searing pain in her chest.

Islinda’s breath hitched as she looked down, the glint of a dagger catching her eye. It was buried deep in her flesh, and her hand reflexively reached for the wound, her fingers trembling as they touched the warm blood that began to flow.

Time seemed to slow as she stumbled, her smile fading, replaced by shock and confusion. The sounds of battle became a distant roar in her ears as the reality of what had happened sank in. She looked up at Andre, her eyes wide, searching for understanding, for comfort, but all she saw was horror reflected in his face.

The world around her began to blur, the edges of her vision darkening as her strength left her. She fell to her knees, the dagger still lodged in her chest, and for a moment, the chaos of the arena seemed far away, as if it were happening in another world entirely.

"No!" Andre’s scream tore through the air, but by then, Islinda’s body had already begun to crumple, her hand slipping away from the arrow she had so proudly caught just moments ago.

Her bare hands... now stained with blood.

The air cracked with a violent burst as Andre’s rage exploded from his body. A whirlwind of force pushed the bodies around him aside, clearing a path as he rushed toward Islinda, catching her just before her body could fully collapse to the ground.

"No, no, no..." Andre’s voice was thick with terror, guilt gnawing at him as he held her in his arms. This shouldn’t have happened—not while he was supposed to be protecting her. His grip tightened as if holding her could somehow undo the stabbing, could somehow pull her back from the brink.

He looked up, frantically searching for the assailant, but the figure had already melted into the chaotic crowd. The bastard was gone, and so was any chance for immediate revenge.

Help.

He needed to get Islinda help. She was half Fae, Andre thought, clinging to hope. She could survive this. She had to survive this.

Without a second thought, Andre pulled Islinda close and carried her, his focus solely on getting her out of the arena, away from the madness.

Unbeknownst to Andre, Aldric had witnessed the entire scene play out.

Standing in the center of the arena, he was frozen, watching the moment of Islinda’s stabbing replay in his mind, over and over again.

His mate—his little human—had been stabbed right in front of him, and he had done nothing.

Valerie’s frozen body, once his target, was now forgotten.

All around him, the commotion raged on, but Aldric heard none of it. His mind was consumed by a singular, pounding thought:destroy them all.

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