Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 178: Florian’s Chance for Freedom

Chapter 178: Florian’s Chance for Freedom

With Margrave Boris’s recovery, Lady Maris no longer had to shoulder her burdens alone. The margrave took charge of rebuilding the western palace and compiled a list of those who had lost their lives in battle, ensuring they received proper compensation from the crown.

Meanwhile, Lady Maris focused on the swift recovery of the royal family and high-ranking officials.

She felt a surge of relief when she heard that Cielo had briefly opened her eyes, even if it was just for a fleeting moment before she slipped back into slumber.

In contrast, Lisbeth and King Valentin remained unconscious. Though their injuries were healing, they remained trapped in a deep sleep.

As the only one able to make royal decisions, Lady Maris steeled herself, determined to stay strong while waiting for her loved ones to awaken.

The bodies of the enemies had been recovered and placed in a cell, but Lady Maris chose not to provide medical aid to them. She hoped they would rot away, succumb to their injuries, or recover only after an agonizingly long time.

She contemplated various options for punishing the surviving foes and presented these alternatives to Margrave Boris to discern the most appropriate course of action.

However, while it was crucial to demonstrate the consequences of defying the king to deter potential treason in the future, Margrave Boris advised focusing on more pressing matters, such as the recovery of the royal family, the rebuilding of the palace, and the functioning of state operations and administrations.

As Lady Maris went through the documents, a sudden, sharp pain seized her chest. The intensity of the discomfort was so overwhelming that she collapsed from her chair.

"My Lady!" Margrave Boris exclaimed, rushing to her side with a worried expression. "Are you alright? Guards! Summon the royal physician immediately!"

Lady Maris clutched her chest, her body wracked with violent coughs. A burning sensation radiated from her chest, and though the pain and a thick lump in her throat rendered her speechless, she understood the cause all too well.

The guards swiftly assisted in carrying her to her chamber, but soon she lost consciousness. The royal physician hurried into the room, quickly assessing her condition. He set down his medical equipment and tilted his head in confusion.

"I can’t find anything wrong with her," he said. "Perhaps it’s simply the result of stress. After everything she’s endured, it’s natural for her body to react this way. Let her rest for a few days, and ensure she doesn’t overwork herself."

It struck Margrave Boris as ironic that, despite not having been directly involved in the battle against Elder Alfred, she was the one advised to take it easy.

Meanwhile, Margrave Boris, who had collapsed that night due to the emperor’s powers, had returned to work the moment he regained consciousness.

What a strange world I inhabit now.

Yet, despite these self-pitying thoughts, Margrave Boris had no intention of burdening Lady Maris further.

She had insisted on taking on her responsibilities, knowing that only she could manage them. Now, however, it seemed he must shoulder more of her workload.

He understood that she had endured so much, witnessing the suffering of her lover and daughter, and he could only empathize if she needed more time to recuperate.

But Lady Maris was not one to find solace in idleness. This drive to be active in service to the kingdom and their loved ones was a trait she had passed down to her daughter, Lisbeth.

Upon regaining consciousness, the first thing Lady Maris did was summon a trusted servant. She rubbed her chest, where the lingering pain still resided, though it was no longer as sharp as before.

"Yes, My Lady?" the servant asked, stepping forward with a look of concern.

Still seated on the edge of her bed, Lady Maris issued her command, urgency threading through her voice. "Find Emmanuelle! Search every corner of the city and bring her to me at once! This is crucial—perhaps the most important task of all."

***

"Foolish child, how long will you deny your true potential?" The dark voice echoed through the stillness, slithering into Florian’s thoughts.

It had become a constant presence—invading his waking moments and haunting his dreams—so much so that the young vampire no longer found it bothersome. It was as if the voice had merged into his own consciousness, a part of him that refused to be silenced.

Florian stared blankly into the emptiness of the room, his expression unreadable. Zane sat nearby, keeping a watchful eye on him from the chair by the door, tasked with ensuring the vampire didn’t cause any trouble.

With his wrists bound by Riona’s crystal, Florian could barely move, let alone find comfort. His muscles ached from the unnatural positions he was forced into, yet he refused to ask for relief. The cuffs stayed on; he wouldn’t beg for them to be removed.

Why bother pleading with his sister, Riona, who couldn’t possibly understand? Soon, he’d be free of this place anyway.

"Yes! She doesn’t understand you. No one does. Only I do. We are one, you and I," the voice crooned, feeding off his sense of alienation.

On particularly sleepless nights, when exhaustion blurred the edges of his sanity, Florian would see it—the dark fog.

A swirling, pulsating mass of black energy that drifted through the air, visible only to him. The fog constantly shifted, never settling into a singular form, as though it were alive, crackling with a strange energy that resembled distant lightning.

It hissed again, coiling around his thoughts. "What are you waiting for? Didn’t you want to leave this wretched place? You don’t belong here, among these barbarians. You’re a mighty vampire—far too noble to lower yourself to this existence."

The words slithered into his mind like poison, enticing, insidious. The dark fog grew more tangible with every whisper, as though feeding on his uncertainty.

"You have no friends—never have," the voice taunted, dripping with malice.

The bond Florian once believed he had with the werewolves—Thorin, Puck, Zane—now felt like a fragile illusion, more fleeting than the fog swirling before him.

That illusion was dissolving, much like the mist that began to shift and contort into a shadowy, human-like figure.

If they had truly been his friends, they wouldn’t have bound him in chains like a prisoner.

The fog twisted further, sprouting massive horns that scraped the ceiling. "Exactly! They should’ve seen the truth. You didn’t kill that pup on purpose—why can’t they understand that? And even if you had done it deliberately, wouldn’t that have been just another way of cleansing this world of their filth?"

Florian’s jaw tightened. He was going to leave—there was no doubt in his mind. The only thing he needed was a sliver of opportunity, a brief moment when Riona’s watchful eyes faltered.

Despite the weight of guilt pressing on him, he convinced himself it was for the best. In time, Riona would understand his choice.

"The Zachs are here! The Zachs!" The urgent cries of the werewolves shattered the silence.

Zane leaped from his seat, rushing to the door to assess the commotion outside. "What’s happening?" he barked.

"They’re here—the Zachs!" came the frantic reply.

"What? But Thorin is already on his way to meet with his family. Why would—?"

Florian didn’t move, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He remained still, watching Zane, who turned back and glared at him.

"Don’t even think about moving!" Zane growled, pointing a warning finger at him. "I’ll be back in no time."

As the door slammed behind him, the room fell into a tense stillness. Florian’s eyes gleamed. This was the moment he had been waiting for—the chance he needed.

Freedom was just a breath away.

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