Mated To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 914: Not Your Family

And not just that, there were the countless lives Islinda had taken during the ongoing war to protect the Fae realm. Each kill had been justified—or so she told herself—but those deaths weren’t her family. They weren’t people she had grown up with, shared blood with.

But this? Killing one’s own brothers, the women who had raised them, all for power? She couldn’t reconcile it. She hated this "only the strongest rules" nonsense that seemed ingrained in creatures like the wraiths and Fae.

"Why marry so many wives knowing it would only end in chaos?"She asked with anger. "Why did your father put them through such a fate?"

Zal’therak’s lips curved into a faint smile, though there was no humor in it. "Perhaps you are right, Islinda. My father was a fool, as were his fathers before him. But this is our way, and I will not apologize for doing what I had to do to survive. My mother needed me, and I needed to protect her. The rest... they would have destroyed us if I hadn’t struck first."

His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes, a shadow of pain, perhaps regret, though it was buried too deep for Islinda to be sure. She met his gaze and realized she had no response. For all her judgments, she couldn’t deny that she might have done the same if she had been in his place.

Still, the thought unsettled her, and she looked away, her hands clenching tightly in her lap. "I don’t think I’ll ever understand your ways," she admitted.

"And I don’t expect you to," Zal’therak said, his voice gentler now. "But perhaps, in time, you will come to see that survival sometimes demands choices we never wish to make."

The atmosphere in the room shifted entirely. Their light-hearted conversation dissipated, leaving a heavy awkwardness in its place. Islinda sat quietly, gathering her thoughts before summoning the courage to address the elephant in the room.

"Why haven’t you brought up the war?" she asked finally, curiosity in her tone. "Instead, we’re here chatting away like we’re old friends."

Zal’therak met her gaze. "Exactly. That’s the point," he said pointedly. "I told you I don’t trust easily, but you keep on winning me over, Islinda Grace Remington." His piercing eyes locked onto hers as if he were trying to see straight into her soul.

Islinda blinked, caught off guard. She didn’t know how to feel about that. While the sentiment carried a faint note of flattery, the subtext was clear: he didn’t trust her completely, just as she didn’t trust him. They were dancing on a razor’s edge, neither willing to fully extend their hand.

Zal’therak leaned back slightly, his demeanor shifting to something more casual yet no less intense. "We’ll talk politics tomorrow. For now, I want to know the person I may entrust with the safety of my people." A faint smirk crossed his lips as he added, "Besides, I wanted to introduce you to my mother."

Before Islinda could respond, the heavy wooden door creaked open. A figure stepped into the room. Islinda turned her head and froze as her eyes landed on the newcomer.

The woman who entered was stunning, with silky dark hair cascading over her shoulders, warm brown eyes that seemed both inviting and guarded. She had an elegance around her, carrying herself with quiet authority, her beauty nearly overwhelming.

Two things happened in that instant.

First, Islinda felt an overwhelming surge from deep within. Azula, who had been dormant inside her since they arrived here, stirred to life like a slumbering beast suddenly roused. Her presence was electric, venomous, and filled with unbridled hatred.

"Fayre," Azula hissed, her voice dripping with venom. It wasn’t just anger, it was a deep, consuming loathing that chilled Islinda to her very core.

Second, the stunning woman froze in her tracks. The color drained from her face, leaving her pale as if she had seen a ghost. Her hands trembled visibly, and she stumbled back, her composure cracking. "A-Azula..." the woman stammered, her voice shaking as if she had just been confronted by her worst nightmare.

Islinda’s head began to spin, the pieces of an impossible puzzle clicking into place with terrifying clarity.

Fayre.

There was only one Fayre Azula had ever despised this much—Benjamin’s mate. The first woman Azula had possessed before abandoning her and taking control of her unborn child. Fayre’s child.

Her.

Everything seemed to slow down, the weight of the realization crashing over her like a tidal wave. If Fayre had once been Azula’s host, and Fayre had a child... then this stunning, trembling woman was...

"Mother..." Islinda whispered, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it. It sounded foreign to her own ears. Her throat tightened, her chest heaving with the effort to breathe.

Her mother was alive.

Her mother had survived.

And not only that, she had married the Wraith King and borne his child. Zal’therak. The sharp truth hit Islinda like a dagger. She had a half-brother. Her thoughts reeled, spinning out of control as bile rose in her throat.

Islinda felt sick. The room tilted dangerously, her head pounding with the truth she’d just learned. Unlike the first time she had fought the urge, this time she couldn’t stop it. She doubled over, retching violently on the ground, emptying the contents of her stomach.

Her mother. Zal’therak. Her half-brother. The gods had got to be fucking with her.

Islinda didn’t even realize someone was patting her on the back until the last moment when a voice broke through her haze. "Easy there," Zal’therak said, his tone strangely soft and calm.

She looked up, her teary, flushed face meeting his knowing brown eyes. Her heart sank further when she saw the flicker of understanding in his gaze. "You knew?" she accused, her voice trembling with equal parts rage and disbelief.

Zal’therak nodded slightly. "I wasn’t sure," he admitted, "But then you have our mother’s look. Not to mention, she always spoke of the daughter she had left in the human realm. I knew she had a child there, but here you are in the Fae realm. I had to be certain."

Islinda’s chest heaved with emotion she didn’t know how to process. A flicker of movement caught her attention, and her head snapped toward Fayre.

"I-Islinda..." Fayre stammered, her voice wavering as her trembling hands reached toward her daughter.

There was no longer fear in her eyes. Now, there was only recognition for the child she had left behind, now grown and standing before her. "My daughter," she whispered, her tone drenched in regret.

But Islinda’s blood boiled. The sight of Fayre as if she had a right to claim her now, filled her with seething hatred. She recoiled as if the woman were a viper poised to strike.

"Don’t call me that," Islinda spat, venom dripping from each word. Her glare burned into Fayre, cutting through any illusions of reconciliation.

Fayre’s face crumbling but Islinda didn’t care. She stepped forward, shoving Fayre out of her way with a force that left no room for doubt about her feelings and took off.