That Prince Is A Girl: The Vicious King’s Slave Mate Novel

Chapter 269: Once done, he emerged from the court, where his head guard awaited him. He had shared many battles with Wegai over the centuries, bearing scars from the countless wars they had fought side by side. Wegai had retired following Daemonikai's descent into madness, but upon Daemonikai's return, he had reinstated him and all his most trusted soldiers. Wegai's loyalty was unwavering, his dedication absolute.

"Grand Lord Vladya is not in Blackstone, Your Grace," Wegai reported, his voice grave.

Daemonikai's brow furrowed. "Are you certain?"

"Positive, Your Grace. I spoke with his head soldier." Vladya's recent behavior had been… odd. He had been leaving the fortress frequently, his attention wandering during conversations, sometimes forgetting their discussions altogether. Something was amiss. But what? And where did he vanish to when he left Blackstone? Lost in thought, Daemonikai rounded a corner and came face to face with Ottai. "Your Grace," Ottai greeted with a warm smile and a respectful bow.

"Lord Ottai," Daemonikai acknowledged, returning the gesture. They fell into step, exchanging pleasantries as they walked towards the Southern Wing.

"Have you seen Vladya?" Daemonikai asked, unable to shake the nagging worry.

"Not since this morning, no." Ottai's smile faded slightly.

"Is something the matter?"

"He's been acting strange lately. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something is wrong."

Ottai averted his eyes. "Nothing I'm aware of, Your Grace." Daemonikai's eyes narrowed, his gaze boring into Ottai. Ottai was closer to Vladya than Zaiper, and if something was truly wrong, Ottai would know.

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"Are you certain?" he pressed.

A tense silence stretched between them. Ottai shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting away from Daemonikai's penetrating gaze.

"I'm sure that if anything were wrong, Vladya would tell you," Ottai said at last, his voice carefully measured. Ottai, the most honest and forthright of the grand rulers, was evading his questions. Worse, he was lying.

Daemonikai paused. If the situation was serious enough to make Ottai lie, then it was far more dire than he had initially suspected.

He would get his answers, and he would get them from Vladya himself.

EMERIEL

By nightfall, Emeriel bolted upright, ripped from a fitful, tormented sleep.

She was parched, her throat burning like a desert. She felt an overwhelming, uncontrollable desire-her body slick with moisture, the sheets beneath her soaking wet.

Emeriel lurched toward the water pot, her movements clumsy and disjointed. But suddenly, an invisible force slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs.

It felt like thousands of knives carving through her, searing her flesh, shredding her organs, leaving behind a trail of molten agony. The pain was unlike anything Emeriel had ever felt.

A scream tore from her throat-raw, animalistic, and filled with pain, echoing through the silent cottage.

Her vision blurred, and the room spun as she collapsed to the floor. If the previous waves of heat had been storms, this was a hurricane.

Emeriel rocked back and forth, clutching at her burning skin, as though she could extinguish the inferno raging inside her. The volcano inside her core erupted, its molten lava consuming her womanhood and scorching her very being from the inside out.

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