The Devil's Betrothed novel Chapter 477

Chapter 477: Doesn’t Matter Who She is

The following morning, Arlan awoke with Oriana nestled in his embrace, her breathing steady but undeniably unconscious. Although her face bore the faint remnants of last night’s skirmish, he had meticulously cleansed her and replaced her blood-stained attire, remnants of their encounter with that evil witch, Edna.

Gently, he checked her pulse, relieved to find it steady yet noticeably weaker. ’Her recovery will require time,’ he thought, concern etching his features.

His gaze tenderly traced the contours of her face, memories flooding back of the anguish in her eyes when he had made the difficult decision to depart. Those tear-filled eyes of hers had silently accused him of betrayal, their depth reflecting a wounded trust.

"All I could focus on was safeguarding you," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with regret. "Even if I had known your true identity, my actions would remain same. Human or not, I would do anything to shield you from harm even if that means sacrificing my life everytime. I did not trust that witch who could orchestrate any plan and might have harmed you so I preferred to keep you away and end her life for good. If faced with a similar threat, I would do the same, placing myself between you and any danger. My commitment to safeguarding you knows no bounds."

With a gentle touch, his lips met her forehead, sealing a promise laden with profound emotion. After a while, he let her go and stepped out of the bed. He had things to discuss with others as the previous night he was unwilling to leave Oriana’s side.

As Arlan took a tentative step forward, a sharp pang pierced his heart, causing him to halt abruptly. His hand instinctively grasped his chest as he closed his eyes, bracing himself against the unexpected agony. Regaining his composure, a troubling thought surfaced:

"How did that divine weapon fail to kill me?"

Seeking clarity, he knew he’d need to consult with others. Thoughts of Oriana consumed him, particularly after witnessing her astonishing prowess the prior evening. Though she emanated an aura beyond that of a mere dark witch, his concerns remained singular: her well-being.

Soon, Arlan emerged, impeccably attired, courtesy of diligent servants who anticipated his needs. Making his way to the expansive lounge area of the manor, he overheard Cornelia Grim, the esteemed head of the Witches’ Council, engaged in conversation with Evanthe.

"Your Eminence, I must journey back to Agartha," Cornelia intoned gravely.

Evanthe offered a sympathetic nod. "Concerns for Morpheus weigh heavily on your mind."

"He is stabilized, yet his soul needs healing. Our treatments must continue," Cornelia affirmed.

"I shall join you soon, once I’ve addressed pressing matters here," Evanthe pledged.

As Arlan arrived there, Cornelia bowed to him respectfully. "Prince Arlan, I bid you farewell. Should you require any assistance, do not hesitate to summon me."

Acknowledging her gesture with a nod, the Prince watched as the eminent witch vanished from sight, leaving him to ponder the unfolding events and his intricate connection to them.

Gazing at the now vacant space where Cornelia had stood moments before, Yorian asked, "Do you feel bad for her?"

Evanthe’s voice quivered with a touch of remorse. "Despite the Queen of Witches in existence, Cornelia devoted herself tirelessly to our clan, often neglecting her personal well-being she was nothing but just young witch who was still learning. It pains me to see such dedication go unrecognized. Perhaps I failed as a Queen."

"Do not say it. No one can compare to the sacrifices you have made in your life," Sierra said, "No one can fathom the pain you have suffered to protect your people."

"You are the greatest queen the witch clan could ever have and a protector Agartha ever had, The situations at that time were worse when none of us was prepared to face it," Yorian added.

Drayce, who had already appeared there, heard it and tried to understand more of his mother’s side. He had never blamed her for anything but all he wished only if he could share her pain and burden.

Approaching Arlan, Drayce inquired, "How are you?"

Understanding his mother’s implication, Drayce responded, "I’ll handle it." _{fɾēewebnσveℓ.com}