CROWN OF FORBIDDEN HEARTS
Chapter 51: "WHEN DID YOU STOP BEING MY CAPTOR?"

Chapter 51: 51: "WHEN DID YOU STOP BEING MY CAPTOR?"

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The air was thick with the scent of evening jasmine, the gardens bathed in a soft silver glow beneath the moonlight. The palace grounds, once a place of cold detachment and whispered resentment, had become a sanctuary of something a lot softer for Zara, something she never thought she would find here.

She walked beside Alaric, her fingers lightly tracing the delicate embroidery of her gown as the cool night breeze swept through the trees. The stillness of the evening wrapped around them like a cocoon, isolating them from the rest of the world. For once, there was no weight of war, betrayal, or pain pressing down on her. Just this moment. Just him.

Alaric, ever watchful, walked with his hands loosely clasped behind his back. His steps were slow, deliberate, as if savoring the quiet as much as she was.

He broke the silence first. "You’re smiling again."

Zara turned her head to glance at him, arching a brow. "Am I?"

His gaze never wavered, as if he were memorizing the delicate curve of her lips. "You are." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.

She let out a small breath of amusement, tilting her head slightly. "Perhaps I’m just in a good mood."

Alaric smirked, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "And what put you in this good mood? Was it me?"

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You assume too much."

"Or maybe I just know you too well."

She opened her mouth to argue, but then he reached for her hand. His fingers, rough from battle and yet strangely gentle, slid between hers, intertwining them with an ease that startled her. She could feel the warmth of his skin against hers, the slow, steady pulse at his wrist.

Zara didn’t pull away.

Instead, she let him hold her, let herself absorb the weight of his presence, the quiet intensity of his touch.

The moment stretched between them, unspoken words hanging in the cool night air. The moonlight painted them in soft hues, casting shadows along the stone pathway, and once again, she didn’t feel trapped in his presence.

She felt safe.

Alaric’s thumb brushed absently over the back of her hand. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this," he murmured.

"Like what?" she asked, her voice quieter now, more careful.

"At peace." His eyes darkened slightly, something unspoken flickering beneath the surface. "You’re always fighting. Always guarded." He exhaled, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly. "But tonight, you seem... free."

She looked away, staring at the silver-lined leaves shifting in the breeze. "I could say the same about you...besides, Maybe I’m just too tired to fight."

Alaric’s hand lifted then, his knuckles brushing along her cheek, tracing a slow, lingering path down to her jaw. The touch sent a quiet shiver through her, and she hated the way her body responded so easily to him.

"You don’t have to fight me, do you know that?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath hitched as she chuckled. "I always fight you don’t I?"

His lips curled into something sad. "yes you do, but Not tonight."

She swallowed, something dangerous curling in her chest. "No... not tonight."

And once again, zara simply just let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to fight him anymore.

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They walked a little longer, their conversation dipping into matters of the kingdom, the council’s latest decrees, and the state of the villages beyond the palace walls. Zara spoke with purpose, her voice steady and sure, weaving through discussions of trade routes and winter provisions. Alaric listened intently, allowing her words to fill the space between them. She was wise, strategic and her mind sharp as any blade.

And though she had once been his prisoner, now she was his queen in every sense of the word.

And he respected her for it.

He watched the way her brow furrowed when she spoke of the injustices outside the palace walls, the way her hands moved when she explained her plans, her fingers delicate yet firm with conviction. There had been a time when she would not have spoken so freely in his presence, a time when every word between them had been laced with barbed wire. But now? Now she did not hesitate.

"I think we should send aid to the outlying villages before winter sets in," Zara said, turning to him. "Some of the crops have failed, and if we don’t act quickly, people will starve."

Alaric’s lips twitched. "Always thinking of others."

She scoffed. "That’s what a queen is supposed to do."

He tilted his head, studying her. "That’s what you do."

Her gaze held his for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then she looked away, inhaling the crisp night air. "I only wish we had done more before now."

"We will," he assured her, and he meant it.

She glanced at him again, searching his face as if trying to decide whether to believe him. But then she simply nodded, and they continued their walk in silence.

Later that night, as the palace grew still and the torches flickered dimly along the corridors, Zara lay in bed, her body relaxed against the silken sheets. The warmth of the evening still clung to the air, but beneath the blankets, she felt safe. At ease.

Alaric sat at the edge of the mattress, watching her, unmoving.

He never used to watch her like this.

Before, his gaze had always been searching, scrutinizing, expecting resistance at every turn. But now, as he looked at her, her hair spilling over the pillows, her hand resting lightly over her belly, he felt different...he felt;

Peace.

Love.

His fingers brushed against the fabric of the sheets as he leaned in slightly, his eyes tracing the delicate features of her face. Her lips, slightly parted, her breathing slow and even. A lock of hair fell across her cheek, and without thinking, he reached forward, tucking it behind her ear.

Zara stirred at his touch, her lashes fluttering open. Sleep still clung to her gaze as she looked at him. "You’re staring."

Alaric didn’t move away. "I am."

She sighed, shifting slightly beneath the sheets. "Why?"

He hesitated, then murmured, "Because I can’t believe you’re real."

Her brows furrowed, and she blinked up at him, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. "Alaric..."

He reached out again, this time tracing his fingers along the inside of her wrist, feeling the steady beat of her pulse beneath his touch. "You love me now," he said quietly. "Don’t you?"

Zara rolled her eyes, the question surprised her. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Maybe." she said sarcastically.

He exhaled, his hand trailing up her arm, over her shoulder. "When did that happen?"

She let out a soft breath, closing her eyes for a moment before whispering, "I don’t know."

His fingers traced the curve of her jaw, his thumb ghosting over her lips. "There was a time when you hated me."

"There was a time when you gave me reason to."

He flinched at that, but he didn’t look away. He deserved it, the reminder of who he had been. What he had done.

Zara reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, grounding him. "But you’re not that man anymore...right?"

His throat tightened. "Aren’t I?"

She studied him in the dim light, her gaze searching. "Would that man be sitting here like this? Watching me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen?"

Alaric swallowed hard, his hand sliding down to rest on her belly. "You are."

Zara’s breath hitched, and she reached for him, pulling him closer. He followed without hesitation, leaning over her, his weight pressing into the mattress. Their lips were only inches apart now, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

She was the one who closed the distance.

Her lips met his in a slow, deliberate kiss, one that carried all the things she couldn’t put into words. The way she had come to trust him. The way she had stopped fearing his touch. The way her heart ached when she looked at him now, not with hatred, but with something deeper.

Alaric kissed her back just as slowly, savoring the feel of her, the warmth of her body against his. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to hers, his voice raw when he whispered, "When did you stop being my prisoner?"

Zara’s fingers curled into his tunic, holding him close. "When did you stop being my captor?"

He didn’t have an answer. Maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe it had happened gradually, in the stolen moments between them, in the nights spent talking instead of fighting, in the laughter she no longer hid from him.

All he knew was that she was here, with him, and for the first time, he wasn’t afraid to reach for her.

And yet, as he lay beside her, his hand resting protectively over the life they had created together, something lingered in the back of his mind, a whisper of doubt he couldn’t quite silence.

why, after everything the queen had said to him, he still didn’t feel like he deserved her or her kindness.

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