That Prince Is A Girl The Vicious King's Captive Slave Mate

Chapter 747:

“Nora.”

“Mistress.”

“Listen closely. If anyone comes asking about me, or demands to know where I am, you will tell them I went on a trip to relieve stress. Never, under any circumstances, reveal how much I packed for this journey or how desperate I was to leave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress! I understand.”

“We’ve been here three days, Your Highness. The Grand King’s elites are out looking for us—we’re being hunted like dogs. We cannot afford to stay in one place this long.”

Kady’s voice came from the door.

“Close the door from the other side, Kady,” Zaiper growled. Silence.

He heard no footsteps. No shift of weight on the stones.

“Get out.”

Finally, movement. The faint scrape of boots. Then the low groan of the hinges as the door swung shut.

Zaiper opened his eyes, the familiar darkness greeting him. The small chamber was lightless again, just as he preferred it.

He closed his eyes once more.

Light brought reality, and reality was the last thing he wanted to face.

Perhaps, if he stayed here, in this place where shadow masked all things, he could pretend just a little longer. He could pretend none of it had happened.

His secrets hadn’t been dragged into the open. He hadn’t lost his throne, and he wasn’t the most wanted fugitive in all of Urai. He could pretend he wasn’t skulking through caves and abandoned hovels like a lowlife thug, waiting for the cover of night to keep moving to his most fortified hideout. Perhaps, in this dark, he could still believe Razarr was just beyond the door, waiting for his command.

He had not watched Razarr die. It was merely a trick of his mind—a cruel hallucination. A delusion conjured by exhaustion to toy with his cold heart, degrading him to be like all those weakling males who felt emotions for others. Zaiper laughed when villages burned, smiled as younglings died. Found humor in the shrieks of pregnant females as they bled out in childbirth. He was not one to feel these things. So yes, the darkness could stay.

And when light finally came, Razarr would be there, silent and stoic in a corner, waiting on him. Razarr was not dead.

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He could not be.

So why, in all the blasted hells, is this filthy, makeshift pillow beneath my head damp with my tears once again?

High Lord Herodis’s mood significantly improved when he received word that Princess Emeriel awaited him in his study.

But as he pushed the door open with a smile on his face, a large, commanding figure leaned against his desk, shrinking the room around him.

Now that Herod thought about it, the message had only mentioned that he had a visitor from the Citadel.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence, Your Grace?” Herod greeted, inclining his head in a deep, formal bow.

“Herodis,” Grand King Daemonikai straightened casually.

“I came to speak with you. But I’m not here to address Herodis Duonavaar. I’m here to speak with Gustazlion Herodis Dragaxlov.”

“Huh?”

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