Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 337: Broken Puppet II

Chapter 337: Broken Puppet II

"I’ll see if I can find someone," Hazelle suggested, placing her hand on the doorknob.

She couldn’t return to her maiden home. Her father would just send her straight back into the palace, probably knocked out and bound. If Alistair was to find out that she had attempted an escape, he wouldn’t spare a thought before having her killed.

Or worse, tortured.

Just the thought of it had Hazelle breaking out in cold sweat. She took in a few breaths in an attempt to calm her jittery nerves. Slowly, she turned the doorknob, prepared to dash down the corridor and disappear into the night once she was out of hearing distance.

"I’ll be right back―"

"I don’t need quack doctors!" Alistair roared.

He threw the nearest object to him, which happened to be a sharp shard of the broken vase. It lodged right into the wooden door, missing Hazelle’s face by just a hair’s breadth. She gasped, her hand quickly springing free from the door as she stumbled a few steps back in fright.

"All I need is... What I need is..."

His eyes landed on the final dose that he had gotten from Jean Nott. A smile slowly curved the corners of his lips.

"I just need one final dose and I will be perfect again."

Hazelle watched with horror as Alistair practically pounced on the syringe. He ripped the thing apart and plunged the needle into his arm before she could even say a word.

It hadn’t even been a day since his last dose. From what Alistair had told her, Jean Nott had specifically instructed him to take a dose once a day for three days, nothing more. To use it in such quick succession could prove detrimental. With his health already deteriorating due to the newer doses, Hazelle didn’t dare to fathom what could possibly happen.

"Alistair!" she yelled out, horrified. "Nott said once a day! You’ve just taken your second dose a few hours ago―"

It was too late. All of the substance had been pumped directly into his bloodstream. For a few seconds, color flooded back onto Alistair’s face. His hands stopped shaking and life seemed to fill him from head to toe.

As it did, Hazelle watched with her jaw hanging agape as Alistair’s fingers began to grow from that stubby palm. The previous two doses had already partially grown his fingers. Now with the third dose, the final notch was complete. Flesh melded together and within seconds, he was complete again.

It looked as though his hand was never even severed in the first place.

Alistair looked at himself, admiring the result of the medication he had been taking. His shoulders began to quake and in no time, he was belting out in a manic cackle. His fingers flexed and clenched, opened and closed, and every movement they made looked even more magical than when Alistair had conjured his first flame as a child.

"Your hand..." Hazelle murmured under her breath. Her own eyes were as wide as saucers.

Forgetting her husband’s bout of lunacy, she took a step closer. He allowed her to be near him, even turning around so that Hazelle could get a better look. With his palm facing out and his hand outstretched, Hazelle took her husband’s hand in hers. She gently traced the lines on his palms, gently touching his skin all the way to the tips of his fingers.

He felt just the same as before. It was flesh and blood, not a hallucination, not a hoax.

Jean Nott hadn’t tricked them.

"It grew back!" Alistair exclaimed excitedly.

The amount of joy that was written in his eyes was akin to a kid in a candy store. He was filled with so much childish delight that he almost looked innocent and pure. Hazelle couldn’t help herself but be wrapped up in that same euphoria.

"My darling wife," he said, pulling her close.

His hands rested on her waist and hoisted her up, twirling her around in the air just as he did on their wedding day. Hazelle yelped, giggling when he spun a couple more times before placing her back down on the ground. Ever so gently, he pulled her in and pressed a kiss to her lips.

When he looked into her eyes, Hazelle forgot about the manner she had been treated all these years of their marriage. What she saw now was the man that she had just married, a man who had still treated her with an ample amount of love and respect despite their arranged marriage.

Alistair had returned to being a wonderful husband, just as he was a few years prior― before the cheating, before the scandals, before Raxuvia.

Hazelle slowly lifted her hand, cupping his cheek tenderly. With his eyes closed, Alistair gently cupped his hand over hers, basking in the warmth she provided with her touch. His voice was soft and gentle as he spoke.

"I am whole again."

Hazelle nodded. Everything hadn’t been for naught after all. Alistair had regained his hand, Daphne was in a coma, and Drusilla was sold to Jean Nott.

Finally, everything was going on the path that Hazelle wished it would. In no time, her husband would be the crown prince again, and Daphne that eyesore would be back in Vramid. Or better yet, dead.

Her life was finally back on track.

"I’ve always believed in you," Hazelle murmured, gently stroking his cheek.

Alistair nuzzled into her touch as though he was a tamed pet cat. The endearing behavior sent her heart aflutter. How long had it been since her husband acted this way?

"I am famished," Alistair said when he opened his eyes.

His gaze was so soft and gentle, but his words held a flirtatious tune to it that had Hazelle’s stomach performing somersaults. It had been a while since her husband had shown her this much lust.

"My dear wife, would you help satiate my hunger?" he asked.

Hazelle instantly nodded with enthusiasm. She leaned in and pressed a kiss square onto Alistair’s lips. Their lips molded and moved together, tongues slipping in for a kiss that took both their breaths away. When they finally parted, the look that they shared was sweet enough that it could rival a sticky trail of honey.

"Of course, my husband," she said. "I am all yours."

Alistair grinned before they toppled onto the bed.

Hazelle had been so intoxicated by the sudden air of romance that despite her staring right into her husband’s eyes, her brain hadn’t registered one important thing.

Alistair’s blue eyes were now as red as blood.

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