𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷

Chapter-42

*•.¸♡ AUTHOR'S POV ♡¸.•*

Silence.

A dreadful, suffocating silence draped itself over the king's estate like a funeral shroud. It wasn't peace—it was the kind of silence that deceived, the kind that whispered of storms still gathering in the sky.

It made hearts pound harder, and breaths grow shorter.

It promised ruin.

The guards stationed outside the estate stood rigid in their places, hands clenched on their weapons, backs drenched in cold sweat. 

Their beast instincts screamed at them not to move, not to breathe wrong. One misstep—one twitch—and the fragile calm would collapse into devastation. Just like it had minutes ago.

They had witnessed it.

The destruction of an entire clan—shattered stones, fractured earth, bodies broken beyond recognition, blood soaking the soil in crimson rivers. 

All of it was brought about by him. 

Their king. 

The beast of war.

One victorious, rage-soaked howl—and then he tore through the battlefield like a wrathful god. But even that bloodshed paled in comparison to the storm that now loomed within the estate.

Because the Queen—his queen—was dying.

Inside the estate, the air was thick with panic and urgency. Myra lay motionless on the grand bed, her skin pale and damp, her breath shallow and erratic. 

Her body burned with a terrifying fever, the source of which glowed like a curse etched into her flesh: Diego's mark—fresh, deep, and utterly wrong.

He hadn't meant to mark her.

He wasn't supposed to. She wasn't his true mate. 

And for someone as powerful—as cursed—as Diego, that made his mark a death sentence. For her.

He had returned from the battlefield with Myra cradled against his chest, blood staining her throat and his trembling hands. He had barely spoken a word, but his order had been absolute: 

Save her. Or die trying.

Now, the best doctors and healers in the land moved frantically around her, their hands trembling as they applied salves and forced potions down her throat. 

They knew the stories—Diego's fury had no boundaries, and his silence was far more terrifying than his roars.

He sat still on the velvet sofa near the bed, hands rested by his elbows on his knees. His golden eyes—usually so cold, so sharp—were locked on Myra's face. They were glassy now, blazing with an agony that refused to be spoken aloud.

His face showed nothing. But his eyes screamed.

Guilt. Rage. Fear. Shame. And something darker.

He had marked her. Not in love. Not in tenderness. But in madness.

And now, she might die because of him.

"That wasn't just any weapon," Maya's voice broke through the silence, calm but grim. She stood beside him, eyes flickering to the unconscious girl.

"The knife they used... it was laced with Vocatio Auri. A potion of greed. It seizes the mind and forces them to act on their deepest and darkest greed." Diego's jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving Myra. 

The moment the blade pierced his chest, the world had blurred into bloodlust and obsession. His mind had drowned in a singular, primal urge: Claim her. Own her. Mark her.