Mated To The Cruel Prince novel Chapter 899

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. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

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.

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.

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