CROWN OF FORBIDDEN HEARTS
Chapter 56: PROTECT THE QUEEN

Chapter 56: 56: PROTECT THE QUEEN

The first golden streaks of morning light seeped through the tall windows of Alaric’s chamber, painting the stone walls with soft amber hues. The room was silent, save for the distant cawing of birds outside and the slow, steady breaths of the king, still tangled in the silken sheets of his grand bed. The air was cool from the lingering chill of the night, carrying the faint scent of burning candle wax and damp stone.

Alaric lay still, his bare chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, his body heavy with sleep. His mind drifted in the quiet haze of morning, caught between rest and wakefulness, until a noise disturbed the fragile peace, a soft knock, barely audible, yet insistent.

He did not stir at first. His grip on sleep was stubborn, unwilling to surrender to the pull of reality. But then, the door creaked open, and a whisper of movement crossed the threshold. The shift in the air was enough to stir his instincts. Years of war had taught him never to be too comfortable, never to trust silence for too long.

His sharp eyes flickered open, cutting through the dim morning light. The golden irises glowed faintly in the shadows as he turned his head toward the intruder.

Lady Vaelor stood at the doorway, her dark eyes unreadable, her frame stiff and poised. She had dressed with her usual care, her dark crimson gown flowing over her slender frame, but there was tension in her stance. Her hands were clasped in front of her, knuckles pressing tightly together as if she were holding something inside, something heavy.

Alaric exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face before raking his fingers through his tousled hair. His patience was not yet awake.

"Could this not have waited until later today?" His voice was gruff with sleep, his tone edged with irritation. He was not a man who enjoyed being disturbed at such an early hour.

Vaelor did not flinch. Her chin lifted slightly, her eyes locked onto his with quiet determination. "No, my king," she said firmly. "It must be told now."

Alaric held her gaze for a long moment, searching her face. He was used to her games, her cunning words, but this... this was different. There was an urgency in her voice, something unspoken lurking beneath the surface. Still, he was not a man to be rushed.

With a sigh, he swung his legs over the bed, the cool air biting at his skin as he stood. His movements were slow, deliberate, the weight of command settling onto his shoulders. He rolled his neck, easing the stiffness from sleep before turning to her with a measured look.

"Wait outside," he ordered. His voice was sharp, leaving no room for discussion.

Vaelor hesitated for only a second before nodding and stepping back. The door shut behind her with a soft click, and Alaric strode toward the adjoining bath chamber.

The air inside was cooler, carrying the scent of fresh linen and faint traces of lavender from the water that had been drawn the night before. The marble floors were cold beneath his feet as he approached the wash basin. He poured the cool water over his hands, splashing his face to rid himself of the last remnants of sleep. The sharp sting of the cold woke his senses fully, grounding him.

He reached for the dark robe hanging nearby, slipping it over his broad frame. The fabric was soft, heavy against his skin as he fastened the sash at his waist. He took a moment, inhaling deeply, steadying himself before turning back toward the main chamber.

With a flick of his hand, he gestured for the guards to open the door.

Vaelor stepped inside with measured grace, her posture unshaken. The room was still dim, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the polished wooden floor.

Alaric stood tall, his presence commanding as he faced her. His eyes, now fully awake, bore into hers with the weight of a man who tolerated no nonsense.

"Speak," he commanded.

Vaelor parted her lips to speak, but before a single word could leave her tongue, the sharp whistle of an arrow cut through the air.

Time slowed.

The deadly projectile shattered through the glass window in an explosion of sharp fragments, slicing through the morning light before embedding itself into the wooden wall above Alaric’s head with a sickening thud.

For a brief second, silence reigned.

Then—

"ASSASSINS!"

The panicked cry of a guard rang through the hallway, shattering the fragile stillness.

Chaos erupted.

A second arrow came flying, then another. The air hissed with their speed, slicing through the chamber like the strike of a viper. The morning peace was gone, replaced by the lethal hum of danger.

Alaric did not hesitate. Instinct roared to life, his battle-honed reflexes sharper than thought. He dropped low, rolling swiftly out of harm’s way as another arrow whizzed past where he had just stood.

"PROTECT THE QUEEN!" he bellowed, his voice a thunderous command that sent guards scrambling.

But Vaelor, she silently growled in anger, how could Alaric be worrying about the queen in this moment when she was standing right in front of him; vaelor was thinking a lot while all the arrows flied across, but She was not fast enough.

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as an arrow struck her back with brutal force. Her body jerked, her fingers twitching mid-air before she collapsed forward onto the cold floor. The crimson stain of blood spread rapidly beneath her, her breaths turning shallow, ragged.

Alaric’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as fury surged through him like wildfire. His golden eyes flared with pure, unfiltered rage. Someone had dared attack him in his own chambers. Someone had dared strike his people.

He would make them pay.

Snatching his sword and crossbow, he moved with lethal precision, muscles coiled and ready to strike. His pulse pounded, the roar of battle coursing through his veins as he stormed out of his chambers, his guards flanking him on either side.

But the moment he stepped into the corridor—

Nothing.

No clashing swords. No hurried footsteps. No shadowy figures slipping into the dark.

The palace stood eerily silent.

His breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as his gaze flicked across the empty hallways. The assassins were gone. Vanished like ghosts, leaving nothing behind but broken glass and blood.

Yet even as his mind raced, calculating, assessing only one thought burned above all others.

Lysandra.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Alaric turned sharply on his heel and sprinted toward the queen’s chambers, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The heavy doors slammed open beneath his touch, revealing the vast chamber bathed in the soft glow of dawn.

And there—

Lysandra lay untouched.

Her delicate frame rested beneath silken sheets, her silver-white hair cascading over the pillows, her face peaceful in sleep.

For the first time since the attack, relief struck him like a crashing wave. His breath hitched, his tense shoulders loosening just a fraction as his eyes swept over her, searching for any sign of harm.

There was none.

She was safe.

And that was all that mattered.

He lingered for only a moment longer, taking in the rise and fall of her steady breaths. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and strode back to his chambers.

The scent of blood thickened as he stepped inside.

Vaelor still lay motionless on the floor, her breathing weak, each inhale a struggle.

she lay motionless in a pool of her own blood but her mind was still active, she wished she could express the rage she felt for him, Alaric for worrying more about lysandra than him, she hated the queen now even more.

"Fetch the royal physicians!" Alaric’s voice was a growl, snapping the guards into motion. He knelt beside her, pressing his fingers against her throat.

A pulse. Faint, but there.

She would live, if the physicians were fast enough.

As footsteps pounded down the hall and healers rushed in, Alaric’s gaze flicked upward. His eyes locked onto the wooden wall where the first arrow had struck.

Something was there.

A note.

Wrapped tightly around the shaft, its edges slightly torn from impact.

Slowly, Alaric reached up and tore it free. His fingers unfolded the parchment with an unsettling calm, his expression unreadable as his golden gaze scanned the message.

Three bold, jagged words stared back at him.

IT’S OVER.

Below, a location and time had been scrawled in dark ink.

Alaric’s grip on the note tightened. His jaw flexed.

Whoever sent this wanted a meeting.

They would get one.

But it would be on his terms

Alaric has never been one to worry because his whole life, he has fought through...but today, this time it was different, Alaric was scared, he wondered who it might be and he wasn’t just scared for himself but for his wife the queen and his unborn son whom he loves so much with all his heart..

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