That Prince is a Girl the Vicious King's Captive Slave Mate - Chapter 270

Chapter 270:

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Another scream escaped her, and then another.

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat pouring from her body. She clawed at the floor, her nails digging into the rough wood in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

“Oh my God!” she screamed.

This was different. Nothing like what she had felt before. This was a monstrous, all-consuming pain that shattered her very soul.

This was the end.

There’s no way I will survive this.

LORD HEROD

High Lord Herod’s heart ached with a profound sorrow he hadn’t felt in decades. Emeriel’s screams pierced the night’s air like a banshee’s wail, filled with unbearable pain, each one a shard of ice twisting in his gut.

He wanted nothing more than to rush to her, to help the female in heat, especially when he could hear her suffering so clearly. The sound of her agony was nearly unbearable. Despite the cottage being far away, her cries reached him with chilling clarity. As Urekai aged, their senses grew sharper, and their strength increased. Herod was no exception.

His heightened senses were sharper than ever, capturing every tortured sound. It broke him. He could even hear the desperate whimpers punctuating her screams. Herod’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of his study chair. His erection was hard and angry, straining through his pants. His muscles tensed in an effort to maintain control.

While she struggled to endure her torturous heatwaves, Herod rose and began to pace his study like a caged beast.

Emeriel had made him promise that no stranger would touch her during her heat, and he understood her disgust at the thought of enduring another male’s touch. But now, hearing her pain, he questioned the wisdom of that promise. Was anything worth her going through this unbearable agony?

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He could spare her this torment by taking her heat himself, or by sending one of his most trusted soldiers.

Or you could send for her male. The thought whispered in his mind.

Herod understood the grand king’s predicament more intimately than most. Having lost his beloved Vera to the cruel clutches of illness three decades ago, he knew what it felt like to live with the pain of a severed bond. The anguish of losing a bondmate was excruciating, the grief unbearable.

Thirty years had passed, yet the aching void still remained. Some nights, Herod woke from sleep, missing Vera so much that he wept until dawn.

The misery of a severed bond was like losing a limb. Or a dozen.

Vera’s death had not been his fault, but Herod had spent countless nights blaming himself, hating himself for his failure to protect her.

Queen Evielyn had not been ill for years; she was vibrant and had so much life left to live. Then, suddenly, she was gone. It was a burden no one should bear.

This understanding fueled his support for Emeriel’s decision to conceal her identity from the grand king. Herod knew the risks and the potential consequences of their deception. But he also understood the depth of Daemonikai’s grief—the raw wound that time had yet to heal, and perhaps might never heal.

Another scream pierced the night, raw and agonizing. Then another, each more gut-wrenching than the last. Finally, an eerie silence.

Emeriel had lost consciousness.

Herod sagged against the wall, relief washing over him. He didn’t know how much longer he could have endured the sound of her suffering without taking action.

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