The King's Forbidden Heir

Elara's POV "Elara, what can I get for you tonight?" The club’s manager asked after I took my seat in his office. "Book the club for the night," I said to him. "An empty hall, just me and the drinks. I want it empty." His eyes grew wide. "The whole club? I think you're asking too much." I lifted a fat stack of cash from my purse. "That should take care of it. Make it happen." Taking another look at me, he quickly nodded. "Ten minutes. I'm on it." Soon enough, the main area was empty. No people, no noise apart from the one music I picked. I ordered whiskey after whiskey, sitting by the bar. One, then two, then more glasses. I loved the fiery feeling going down my throat. I continued drinking until I felt tipsy and my face was lit up with a crazy smile. Why not look around?, I thought. Check out what more was here - or who was here. Staggering out of my section was the sound of the heels I wore trampling beneath me. The club has private rooms; hence, I opened the first door.

Elara’s POV The familiar scent of the palace hit me as soon as I crossed the threshold, an odd mixture of cold stone, faded perfume, and the polished edge of judgment. As I entered through the grand doors, a wave of pressure enveloped me. It was present in the polished marble beneath my feet, the soaring ceilings above, and in the rigid expressions of the guards who greeted me with salutes that made me feel more like an intruder than a member of the Windsor family. A maid bowed her head. “Princess Elara? Her Majesty wishes to see you in the main hall.” Her Majesty. Celene. Naturally. I drew in a breath, forcing a response through clenched teeth. “Lead the way.” The vast corridor seemed to consume me, its walls lined with the stern faces of my ancestors, all of whom appeared to disapprove of my very existence. My father’s portrait was conspicuously absent. Celene had removed it years earlier. As the maid pushed open the ornate golden doors to the main hall, I was

Elara’s POV If Averelle Palace had a heartbeat, tonight it was racing. Maids hurried past my door, bearing fresh linens and gleaming silver trays. Guards stood watch along the corridors, their boots creating a rhythmic thud that reverberated through the hallways. Meanwhile, two stylists flitted around me like nervous undertakers, fussing over my appearance. “Hold still, Princess,” one muttered as she carefully pinned my hair. “Try not to breathe,” the other chimed in, tugging the corset tighter. “I’d prefer to breathe, thank you,” I replied through clenched teeth. They ignored me. Of course, they did. Celene had sent them, which meant my feelings didn’t really count. “There,” the head stylist finally said, stepping back to inspect her work. “You’re fit for royalty.” I turned to face the mirror. A stranger looked back at me. My tightly curled hair was pinned high atop my head, a jeweled comb glinting ominously. The dark wine-colored gown clung to my body, elega

Elara’s POV I didn’t stop running until the door slammed shut behind me. My back hit the solid wood, breath coming in short, ragged gasps, my heartbeat racing out of control. My thoughts kept spiraling back to that moment , his menacing voice echoing in my ears: “You left without a word.” My legs gave way beneath me, and I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, the fabric of my gown spreading out around me like spilled wine. He wasn’t supposed to be him. The man from the club was never meant to be a prince. He wasn’t meant to be Damon Valen, the man Celene was about to marry. Of all the people out there… fate had to choose the one person I absolutely should have avoided. I pressed my hands against my face. “No, no, no… this can’t be real.” I thought I had buried that night. I tried to forget the way he had looked at me under those soft lights. I tried to erase memories of his hands, his mouth, his voice. But then he had given me that smirk across the d

Elara’s POV Waking up in this palace felt stifling, but stepping into the throne hall was like being plunged into deep water. The ceilings soared high above, adorned with gold-leaf constellations representing every monarch from the past five centuries. Sunlight streamed through tall, emerald-tinted windows, casting green ribbons of light across the marble floor. It was strikingly beautiful. And chilling. Just like Averelle. Just like Celene. I entered quietly, hoping not to draw attention — but it seemed my bad luck had stuck around since my brother abdicated the throne. “Elara!” Celene’s sharp tone shattered the silence. “Finally. Come over here.” All eyes in the hall turned towards me. Of course they did. Celene was positioned at the far end, flanked by officials and advisers dressed in rigid robes. Damon and his delegation stood nearby, tall and composed, their expressions unreadable. Morgana lounged against a column, observing everyone with the predatory pa