Mated To The Cruel Prince
Chapter 642: Suppress His Existence

Chapter 642: Suppress His Existence

In the dead of night, the room was dimly lit with fresh air coming through the open window and rustling the curtains . Islinda lay in bed, the silence heavy around her as she drifted on the cusp of sleep. Suddenly, a chill prickled the air, and a sense of foreboding washed over her like a cold wave crashing against her skin.

Islinda felt it before she saw it—a looming presence, a shadow hovering over her like a dark specter. With a jolt, her eyes snapped open just as hands closed around her throat with a merciless grip, the sudden movement shattering the tranquility of the room.

Instinctively, Islinda gasped for air, her fingers clawing at the hands that threatened to suffocate her. But as the light fell upon the face, Islinda realized with a sickening dread that it was not Elena’s twisted visage looming over her, but Aldric’s. The hell.

"Aldric..." she managed to croak out, her voice choked with disbelief. But there was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, no trace of the Fae she knew. If anything, he continued to tighten his grip, his hands squeezing the life out of her, oblivious to her pleas for mercy.

She knew it. Islinda should not have left Aldric alone and look where that led. Aldric even while under the influence of Elena’s manipulation had promised not to touch a hair on her body. Aldric was good at keeping to his words. Who knows what Elena must have done to him for him to go back on his words like this.

As Islinda’s world descended into chaos, her struggle against Aldric intensified, her survival instincts kicking into overdrive. Every fiber of her being screamed for release, for a chance to break free from the vice-like hold that threatened to consume her. But it was like trying to move a boulder with her bare hands—Aldric remained immovable.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Islinda’s fingers clawed desperately at Aldric’s arms, searching for any weakness, any opening that would grant her a fleeting moment of reprieve. There was nothing. If anything, his grip tightened with every passing second, crushing the life from her with merciless intent.

With one hand locked in a desperate struggle against Aldric’s iron grasp, her other hand groped blindly, searching for the weapon she had stashed beneath her pillow. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal of the knife, and with a surge of adrenaline, she grasped it tightly, drawing it forth with trembling hands.

Aldric was more invested in strangling her and didn’t see it coming. With a surge of determination, Islinda drew it forth and plunged it into Aldric’s side with all the force she could muster. She may have been fighting against the Fae she loved, but she refused to let him become her executioner. That was not happening.

Aldric’s flesh tore and blood spilled forth from the wound accompanied by the sound of his pained grunt filling the air as he recoiled, his grip only easing. Islinda was able to breathe a little, coughing from the assault, but even she

knew that her victory was far from assured.

Islinda struggled with all her might to free herself, but he remained as unyielding as a force of nature. An animalistic growl reverberated from his chest, sending a shiver down Islinda’s spine as she met the wild, primal intensity in his gaze. He was like a wounded beast, his rage unleashed by her action — she stabbed him.

Islinda attempted to strike Aldric again, to escape his grasp and flee for her life. But before she could act, he swatted the knife away with contemptuous ease, the blade slicing through his flesh unnoticed in his fury. His grip around her neck tightened, fueled by vengeance, crushing the air from her lungs.

Islinda’s struggles grew more frantic, her nails clawing at his arms and drawing blood in a desperate bid for release. As darkness encroached on the edges of her vision, Islinda felt the cold embrace of death drawing near. Tears stung her eyes as she realized the finality of her impending demise, yet she found no blame in her heart for Aldric. It wasn’t his fault; it was all Elena’s doing. And soon, he would come to his senses, haunted by the knowledge of what he had done, and the secrets he would uncover about her.

With a heavy heart, Islinda ceased her resistance, resigning herself to her fate. But just as death loomed ominously overhead, a tear escaped her eye, falling onto Aldric’s hand. In that moment, a sharp pain pierced through his mind, causing Aldric to release her with a cry of agony, clutching his head in torment.

Islinda gasped for air, her lungs burning as she struggled to breathe, barely aware of Aldric’s own torment as she fought to regain her composure. But it was the sound of a name, spoken with a mixture of confusion and recognition, that froze her in place. "Princess....?"

For what felt like an eternity, Islinda remained motionless, stunned by the revelation. Only one person had ever called her "Princess" with such reverence. Slowly, painfully, she turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest.

"E—Eli...," she croaked, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart and the rush of emotions flooding her senses. And when his lips curved into a small smile, she felt as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

"By the gods...." Islinda whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms, holding him tightly as if afraid he might disappear.

But their embrace was short-lived, shattered by Eli’s sudden withdrawal and the storm of emotions that crossed his face—guilt, shame, and finally, fury—as he spotted the bruise on her neck.

"He did that, didn’t you?" he growled, his voice laced with rage. "I felt your distress through the bond and surfaced as soon as I could. I’m going to kill that bastard. No, maybe I’ll just suppress his existence as he did mine. Obviously, he cannot take care of our mate!"