All Chapters of The King's Forbidden Heir : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Elara’s POV Silence enveloped me. That was all that filled the air as I fled the throne room. Silence, accompanied only by the haunting echo of my own embarrassment. I squeezed myself into a dim alcove of the corridor, wrapping my arms around me tightly. The marble floor felt unnaturally cold and hard beneath my feet as if the palace itself were passing judgment on me. My breath came in shaky gasps as I brushed tears from my cheeks with trembling fingers. Why did Damon step in? Why did he make things worse? Why did he say..... “Don’t let them shatter you.” His voice lingered, unwanted yet warm, like a troublesome memory that clung refuse to be forgotten. I leaned my head back against the wall, forcefully letting out a slow breath. Stay strong, Elara. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. I heard footsteps echoing from a distance. I straightened myself. The whispers followed behind soft, but they grew louder. “Did you hear? The prince st

Elara’s POV By the time Celene pulled me up to the palace’s higher levels, my heart was still racing from Damon’s words. “You have me.” Those three quiet words reverberated inside me like a heartbeat that wasn’t mine. A heartbeat I had no business feeling. Celene moved quickly, almost dragging me along the smooth corridor. I stumbled twice trying to keep pace. “Walk straight,” she snapped. “I am.....” “Don’t argue.” I fell silent. Celene only let go of my wrist when we arrived at the Mirror Chamber, a long, elegantly decorated room filled with tall mirrors, typically used for posture training and practicing public speaking for the royals. The room was mostly empty, with just two etiquette instructors and a scribe present. Celene pointed coolly. “Stand there.” I complied. She turned to the instructors. “We’ve been too lenient with her. Today she will focus on her public speaking, projection and carrying the presence of a queen.” She paused, her gaze piercing.

Elara’s POV I barely had a moment to gather my thoughts before Celene’s summons arrived. A maid appeared in my doorway, her face pale with apprehension, bowing so quickly that her braid swung forward. “Your Highness… the Princess Regent requests your presence right away.” Not “invites.” Not “asks.” Requests. A chill spread through my stomach. Of course, she wanted to see me after the embarrassment in the library, Morgana’s predatory stare, the hushed whispers from the nobles, Damon coming to my rescue like a knight in shining armor. Celene must have been fuming. I adjusted my dress, squared my shoulders, and followed the maid down the gleaming stone halls. Every footstep felt like a countdown. By the time we arrived at the small council chamber, Celene’s private space...my palms were clammy. The maid bowed once more and retreated as if the room were ablaze. I stepped inside slowly. Celene stood with her back to me, gazing out the tall windows that framed t

Elara’s POV The wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere. One second, I was in the western corridor, listening to two women argue quietly about fabric deliveries, and the next, my stomach clenched violently, as if something inside me had tightened into a fist. I froze. Not now. Not here. Heat surged in my throat. I pressed my hand against my mouth and pivoted sharply, trying to move quickly without attracting attention. The corridor felt interminable, the walls seemed too close, and the air was suffocating. Somehow, I just managed to reach the alcove before it overwhelmed me. Bending forward, I clutched the stone ledge as bile surged up. My body convulsed, painfully unyielding. I gagged, fighting to keep quiet as my eyes filled with tears. This had been happening more frequently. Mornings. Late afternoons. Sometimes, it was even triggered by the smell of food. I had told myself it was all the stress. The palace life. Celene. Damon. The unending feeling of being scrut

Elara's POV I woke up before the sun had fully risen, my stomach churning violently. For a moment, I stayed still, staring at the bed’s canopy, wishing for it to pass,hoping it was just another result of sleepless nights and constant tension. The palace had a knack for wearing you down while denying you any chance to recuperate. But then, the nausea hit me again, sharp and sudden. I barely made it to the washbasin before I was retching. At first, there was nothing but a dry heave that left my throat burning and my hands trembling against the cool porcelain. My reflection in the mirror was a ghost: pale skin, bright eyes, lips devoid of color. This is just stress, I reminded myself fiercely. It has to be. Lately, the court felt suffocating. Celene’s watchful gaze, Morgana’s penetrating stares, and Damon’s calculated distance, more painful than any closeness—made anyone feel unwell under such pressure. I rinsed my mouth, splashed some water on my face, and stood up a little