The Devil's Betrothed
Chapter 386: Hurt And Humiliated

Chapter 386: Hurt And Humiliated

Arlan’s chuckle had a wicked edge to it as he spoke, "What if I refuse? That old man is in agony, and I possess the expertise to swiftly end his suffering. But for a murderer like him, I intend to ensure his demise is agonizing, drawn out to its last painful breath," his gaze pierced through Oriana’s soul, and his voice, cold and deep, carried a menacing threat that resonated in her ears. "Just you wait and watch, Oriana Verner."

Gritting her teeth, Oriana clenched his collar, her eyes locked onto his with a searing intensity. "You’d best steer clear of my grandpa if you wish to avoid getting hurt. You might be a Prince with power in these parts, but you have no idea who I am. I am capable enough to hurt you in a way you won’t even be able to imagine."

Her new found identity that she was a witch, was enough to give her confidence that she could deal with these humans. She never wished to use it but this vicious man in front of her was adamant on making her show it.

Arlan lowered his gaze to her hands, which clutched his shirt collar, crumpling the fabric beneath her tight grip. Delicate as her skin might be, the veins in her hands were visible, a testament to her rage. Her anger? He didn’t care at all.

"Do I need to know who you are? Don’t presume that merely discovering your family’s noble heritage makes you think highly of yourself," Arlan retorted with a sneer. "In front of me all I see is a peasant who has developed a taste for luxury and can’t wait to revel in her newfound title of Crown Princess."

"Crown Princess, what a repugnant title to bear," she sneered in response as her hands clutched his collars even tighter. "Do not deceive yourself into thinking I have the slightest interest in it. It’s you who can’t seem to let go of it, especially given our shared intimate history. How did it feel to realize you were entangled with a daughter of the very family you hold in the deepest contempt?"

As if she had poured salt on a fresh wound, Arlan’s gaze darkened, and in the next moment, his hand gripped her slender neck, choking her without hesitation and pressing her against the wall. Oriana’s hands turned weak due to sudden suffocation and let go of his collars.

"Ugh..."

Oriana fought for breath, but the coldness and hatred in her eyes remained undiminished. Her tearful eyes continued to mock him defiantly.

Arlan’s fingers clenched even tighter around her neck, causing her face to redden due to suffocation as he issued a stern warning, "I’m warning you, Oriana Verner. In two days, if you don’t vanish from here, I will kill you and your grandfather. If you believe that the King can truly prevent me, you’re sorely mistaken. You also have no inkling of who I am. I’m a force you cannot afford to trifle with. I would rather kill you than place a ring on your filthy finger. If you fail to find a solution to stop this engagement, on that very day, I will kill that wretched old man as my engagement gift to you—a present you will never forget."

With a forceful push against the wall, he released his grip on her. In the next moment, she knelt on the floor, violently coughing after her near-death experience. A little bit of force, and her neck was close to being crushed in that strong grip.

Arlan remained unfazed, his predatory gaze locked on her. "Do not dare to dismiss my words lightly. Today, I merely strangled you, but next time, your head would be rolling on the ground."

Oriana drew in a deep breath and stared back at him. She yearned to wield her powers and retaliate against this man immediately, but she restrained herself, for the sake of her grandfather who could not afford the consequences of her reckless action.

The grip of his hand was so strong like that of a monster, leaving her body weak and sapped of strength. It served as a stark reminder of the intensity of his loathing towards her.

Before she could utter a word, he turned and left, delivering one last directive, "Get lost. My residence has been dirtied enough by your presence."

She clenched her fists and shot an indignant glare at his retreating figure. At that very moment, she overheard him instructing Roman in the foyer, "Cleanse this entire residence immediately. Leave no trace of that disgusting peasant’s presence here," and he left.

Gritting her teeth, Oriana rose to her feet, consumed by anger. Her eyes changed their colour as her body yearned to unleash her powers and reduce this place to ruins. Her chest heaved with each heavy breath, her hands were ready to wield her powers of destruction. But just then, an unexpected visitor entered the drawing room, interrupting her tumultuous thoughts.

"Your Highness," Roman entered the room, his attention drawn to Oriana. However, before he could discern anything unusual about her, everything seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye.

She could be angry but she could not be cruel enough to hurt innocent people around just to punish the single man.

With his head lowered in front of her, Roman informed, "Commander Loyset is waiting for you outside."

Her words were met with silence, and she continued to stare at Roman, lost in a daze. It all felt like a surreal dream to her. The people in this residence, once like her own, had now become strangers. Her already moist eyes welled up with tears, her heart aching.

Finally, the prolonged silence prompted Roman to raise his head and observe the veiled woman before him. Her eyes were directed in his general direction, but she was not looking at him. Her gaze was blank, clouded by the pain she harbored within.

Roman recognized those eyes, and he was taken aback. He knew to whom they belonged. He trusted his keen senses, and he was unequivocally certain. In this moment, all he could wonder was how and why.

"Your Highness, are you all right?" He couldn’t help but ask, his gaze fixating on the visible marks on her neck, making it abundantly clear what transpired between her and his master.

Oriana snapped back to her senses, averting her gaze, and hastily wiped her eyes. She then left the drawing room, grateful that her veil concealed her anguish.

Exiting the palace, she made a beeline for her carriage, climbing in without acknowledging the presence of the knights around her. Imbert, Rafal, and even the commander could discern the pain she was attempting to conceal, yet there was little they could do to alleviate her suffering. The commander mounted his horse and instructed the coachman to set the carriage in motion.

Upon reaching her temporary residence, Oriana disembarked from the carriage. It was here that the commander finally addressed her.

"Crown Princess, are you alright?" His tone, once commanding, now carried a touch of concern and resembled that of a worried elder.

Oriana didn’t turn to face him as she responded, "Do not call me Crown Princess." She then made her way into the mansion and proceeded directly to her room, shutting the door behind her.

"Your Highness," her lady-in-waiting called out to her. In response, she heard Oriana’s voice, frigid and distant, coming from the other side of the door, "Do not disturb me."

Outside the room, the servants could only linger, waiting for the moment their mistress would call upon them.

Inside the room, Oriana discarded the veil and sat on the floor, near the foot of the bed. She folded her knees in front of her chest and buried her face within them. Soon, muffled sobs filled the room, her tears saturating the fabric of her dress covering her knees.

Since that fateful day in Wimark, when she witnessed her grandfather being stabbed, she had held herself resolutely, suppressing her emotions to prepare for the battles ahead. But today, Arlan’s callous treatment had shattered the fragile resolve she clung to. She felt deeply wounded and humiliated, and the last hope she harbored of setting things right began to splinter. It seemed there was no way out, and she no longer had the will to fight.

Hours passed, and evening descended, casting the sky in deeper shadows. However, Oriana remained behind her closed door, while her servants outside could only fret for her. Eventually, her lady-in-waiting gathered the courage to knock on the door.

"Your Highness, are you awake?"

There was no reply from within. The servant repeated, "We have prepared a meal for you."

Still, no response came. The servant, resigned, sought out the commander. "Her Highness is still in her room and not responding to us. What should I do, Sir Loyset?"

"Let her be," the commander responded. He had come to understand Oriana well, and he was confident that she would not act recklessly. She simply needed some time alone.

He then went to check on Philip, where the royal physician’s apprentice was tending to him.

Conor Loyset was no stranger to Philip Verner. ’Lord Verner, I expect you to wake up soon and provide us with an explanation, especially to your granddaughter. Your past actions have left us all bewildered, and we remain in the dark about your motivations. I expect you to pull your granddaughter out of her misery. It’s heart-wrenching to see her suffer when she bears no responsibility for these circumstances.’