Mated To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 910: Claimed For Himself

"Abomination!"

"This is impossible!"

"What great evil?!"

Cries of outrage filled the hall at the revelation. As if taking Spirit wasn’t enough, Valerie dared to harm his own father. While not everyone on the council had agreed with King Oberon’s rulership, he was still beloved. In a time where Astaria had fallen into chaos, they needed a symbol of strength like him.

Oberon would have known what to do in times like this. He would have restored order, prevented the situation from escalating. But Valerie had robbed them all of that hope. He dared to harm his father, the king? That was an unforgivable offense.

As the people’s outrage grew more vocal, the expressions on Valerie and Maeve’s faces were filled with more fear. Unfortunately, It was a look that Aldric savored from his position, a hint of satisfaction dancing in his eyes.

But his enjoyment was short-lived, as in the midst of the confusion, he loosened his hold on the knights scattered across the floor. The captain of the guard, taking advantage of the distraction, surged forward with a furious shout. He was determined that even if this were his final act, he would sever Aldric’s head from his shoulders.

The captain charged, his blade gleaming in the light, and swung with lethal intent. However, the instant his sword sliced through the air, a sharp metallic ring reverberated through the hall as it clashed against a blade that Aldric had effortlessly materialized from the shadows.

"You never stay down, do you?" Aldric smirked, his tone mocking, clearly amused by the captain’s defiance.

The captain’s expression twisted into a snarl, and with barely a heartbeat’s hesitation, he unleashed a torrent of fire straight at Aldric’s face. But the dark Fae prince moved like a wisp of smoke, graceful and untouchable, dancing backward to avoid the blazing heat by mere inches.

Their blades met again, a clash of steel that reverberated across the chamber. This time, the captain put all his weight behind the blow, driving Aldric back a few paces. The captain of the elite guard was no ordinary opponent. He was skilled, disciplined, and determined to uphold his duty, — what he belived in — even if it cost him his life.

The audience in the room who had been watching held their breath, anticipation and fear written across their faces. None dared to intervene; this was a fight between the dark Fae prince and the captain.

Queen Maeve clasped her hands together, her lips moving silently in prayer. She hoped, no, she wished, that somehow, the captain would find a way to defeat Aldric. If Aldric fell here, perhaps they could still salvage this situation. Her son was the strongest heir after Aldric, no one could rival that. Aldric simply had to die.

The fight was fierce, relentless. The captain fought with every ounce of strength he possessed. He knew this might be his final stand, but he was determined to make it count. Each time their swords clashed, it sent sparks flying, each strike more intense than the last.

Aldric was swift, his shadow-forged blade a dark blur, but the captain was formidable too. He pressed forward, landing blow after blow, his heart pounding as he fought with the weight of the entire kingdom on his shoulders.

The battle dragged on, and murmurs began to spread among the Faeries. Was Aldric losing his touch? Why was the fight taking too long? Could the captain actually emerge victorious?

The possibility seemed more real with each passing moment. Then, it happened, a clean strike from the captain, his sword driving into Aldric’s side. A gasp resonated through the hall, a combined intake of breath as everyone watched in disbelief.

Aldric’s face contorted, not with pain, but with surprise which soon became annoyance. The captain had actually managed to wound him. Blood seeped from the wound, staining his side, but Aldric smirked instead.

"I think you missed a spot," Aldric said to the captain, who was panting hard, sweat beading on his forehead and his jaw clenched tight as he tried to drive the sword, which Aldric held back with one hand, further into him.

The captain’s eyes momentarily flickered with confusion, right before his body jerked forward as something pierced into him. His wide eyes locked onto Aldric’s, disbelief etched across his face, as if unable to fathom that he had just been stabbed, even though he had stared death in the face the whole time he dueled with the dark Fae prince.

All Aldric had done was place his hand on the captain’s chest, and from his palm, shadows formed into daggers that pierced straight through the captain’s heart.

The captain hiccuped, blood beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth. But even at that, he didn’t give up, his hands still trying to push the sword deeper into Aldric’s side.

Aldric’s expression darkened, his patience thinning. He then forced the shadow-forged daggers deeper, their tips emerging from the captain’s back, and the captain’s grip on the sword finally weakened.

Aldric leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing the captain’s ear as he whispered, "When my father wakes, I’ll be sure to tell him what a disappointment you were."

He twisted the shadow weapons inside the captain’s body, eliciting a strangled gasp before the captain’s eyes went vacant, and he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

His body fell with a heavy thud, and the entire hall fell deathly silent. No one dared to move or even breathe too loudly. Aldric glanced down at the sword still protruding from his side, annoyance flickering across his face.

Sure, the captain had been strong, but Aldric could have easily taken him out if he had truly wanted to. Since the captain sought a final fight before death, Aldric had chosen to honor him, and this was where it led. In his carelessness, he had allowed himself to be wounded.

With a sharp intake of breath, Aldric gripped the hilt of the sword and yanked it from his side with a groan. He dropped it to the floor, where it landed with a loud clang. All Astaria weapons were laced with silver—ordinary steel couldn’t harm the Fae—and now he could feel the poison coursing through his veins. But he would survive. He had endured far worse.

The hall remained deathly silent, every gaze fixed on Aldric, every one holding their breath in anticipation of what Aldric might do next, or rather, who he might kill next. They naturally assumed.

But Aldric paid them no mind. Ignoring the eyes following his every move and with his side bleeding steadily, he began to stride toward the dais.

When realization dawned on the crowd, anyone among them could have easily spoken out, could have protested against what he was about to do, but they did not. Instead, the tension in the room grew heavier with suspense.

Aldric walked, his back to them, very much unconcerned that someone might take the opportunity to stab him. He ascended the stairs to the throne and when he reached the throne, turned, and seated himself upon it.

He let his gaze sweep over the gathered Faeries, waiting for the inevitable protests that he knew would come. Except none came. Only shock was reflected on their faces.

And then, before his very eyes, Prince Andre was the first to kneel. His head bowed low, his knee pressed against the cold floor. It was an act of submission that seemed to resonate through the room, rippling like a wave.

In a heartbeat, Theodore followed suit. Although he looked conflicted, yet there was no mistaking him bending the knee.

Queen Victoria, graceful and dignified, was next to kneel. She lowered herself with a silent acknowledgment, even though her expression was unreadable.

Reluctantly, Queen Nirvana dropped to her knees, her gaze lingering on Aldric, as if searching for something, some assurance, perhaps. She hoped to the gods not to regret this.

And just like that, the entire hall followed. Ministers, council members, noble Faeries, one by one, they all knelt before Aldric, each of them bowing in recognition of the position he had claimed for himself.

All except for Queen Maeve and Prince Valerie. Mother and son stood frozen, unable to comprehend what was unfolding before them. Valerie clenched his jaw, his hands trembling at his sides, his eyes flickering from one kneeling figure to another as if trying to understand how everything had unraveled so quickly.

Aldric himself was momentarily stunned, having not seen this coming. If anything, he expected to be challenged, to be forced into subduing the gathered nobles by sheer will. Yet here they were, kneeling willingly. Perhaps, the Faeries of Astaria wasn’t a lost cause after all.

He allowed the silence to linger for a moment before his voice rang out, clear and commanding.

"Guards! Escort former Crown Prince Valerie and his mother to a comfortable dungeon."

The order was met with an immediate response. The elite guards moved quickly, and Valerie’s eyes widened in panic, and he took a step back, shaking his head. "No... you can’t do this!"

But the guards grabbed his arms, their grip unyielding as he yelled at the high Faeries this time. "How dare you all bow to him? How dare you allow that abomination to sit on the throne? You let him sully the thrones of our fathers? That dark Fae scum?! I should have just killed you all when I had the chance! Useless, the lots of you!"

And just like her son, Queen Maeve’s face twisted in fury, her eyes blazing as she struggled against the hands that seized her. "You will pay for this, Aldric!" she spat, her voice filled with venom.

"Don’t you for once think this is over! I am the queen of the summer court! They would not stand for this! You are bringing war upon yourself!"

But Aldric watched them with a cold, detached expression as they were dragged away, their cries filling the hall. He felt no sympathy, no remorse, only a sense of justice served.

He had done what needed to be done, and now Astaria would move forward, without the deceit and corruption that had plagued it.

But most of all, he had gotten what he wanted....The throne of Astaria.

Except where was his Queen?