𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

54⚚ Summoned

Author POV:

The moment Amaira stepped into Ruhi's palace, an unsettling stillness enveloped her. The air felt thick, heavy with an intangible dread that prickled her skin. Her instincts screamed that something was amiss.​

"Ruhi?" she called out, her voice echoing softly through the grand, empty halls. No response. With cautious steps, she walked further, her senses on high alert.​

Suddenly, a cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth. The sharp, sweet scent was unmistakable—chloroform.

Amaira's training kicked in, she knew she had mere moments before the chemical took effect. She clenched her fists, subtly signaling to her shadow guards to stay back.

Faking a struggle, she allowed her body to go limp, her eyes fluttering shut.​

That guy smirked, confident in his success, and tied her hands. He dragged her into the living room, unaware that Amaira was fully conscious, her mind racing with plans of escape.​

Meanwhile, in the royal chambers, Gaurav entered and took a seat beside Viraj. Viraj's eyes bore into him, silently demanding answers. Gaurav sighed, placing a reassuring hand on Viraj's shoulder.​

"I can't tell you anything yet," he said, his voice heavy with concern.

Viraj scoffed, frustration evident in his demeanor. He turned to the X King, giving a curt nod, signaling him to continue the tale that had so deeply unsettled them all.

Meanwhile, Amaira stirred as cold droplets splashed onto her face. Her lashes fluttered open, revealing a dimly lit room. Before her stood a man with an unsettlingly youthful appearance, yet streaks of silver in his hair betrayed his age, suggesting he was contemporaneous with her father.

His face bore a cunning charm, with sharp cheekbones, a meticulously groomed beard, and eyes that gleamed with a calculating intelligence. Though unfamiliar, there was something eerily recognizable about him.​

Beside him stood a younger man, likely in his late twenties, bearing a striking resemblance to the older figure. His features were less refined, and while he possessed a certain attractiveness, it lacked the commanding presence of his presumed father.

Amaira's mind raced, she has never encountered these men before, yet their demeanor exuded authority.​

A flicker of panic surged within her. Where is Ruhi? How many others lurked in the shadows? Despite the uncertainty, a sense of calm washed over her, anchored by the knowledge that her shadow guards were near, vigilant and ready.​

The older man broke the silence, a smirk playing on his lips. "You look exactly like her," he remarked, his voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that grated on Amaira's nerves.​

Summoning her regal composure, she met his gaze unflinchingly. "Who are you?" she inquired, her tone imbued with the authority befitting a crown princess.​

He chuckled, clapping his hands slowly. "A fierce one, I see. I've heard tales of your calm demeanor, your kindness, your gentle nature. Yet, here you are, not so gentle after all."​

Amaira's eyes narrowed, her mind sharpening with resolve. This encounter is far from over, and she intended to uncover the truth behind these enigmatic figures.

Amaira asked again, her voice sharper this time, "Where is my best friend?"

The old man didn't answer right away. Instead, he smiled—slow and twisted, the kind that made her skin crawl. There was something in his eyes that held too much power, and too much pride in having it.