Mated To The Cruel Prince-Chapter 783: Outshine The Queen

Islinda’s fingers twitched as she fought the overwhelming urge to reach for the pendant hanging around her neck. It was a reflex, a desperate instinct to protect the one thing that could expose her for what she truly was.

But she knew better—any sudden movement would only draw suspicion, and Andre was not someone to miss even the slightest detail. Instead, she forced herself to remain still, holding her breath as his fingers brushed against it.

The room seemed to shrink around her, every second stretching into an eternity as Andre’s hand lingered on the pendant. He was so close, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he examined the necklace. Islinda’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing in her ears like a drum. She was taking a massive gamble by letting him touch it, praying silently that he wouldn’t attempt to remove it. Or worse, feel something.

Andre’s brows furrowed slightly, his fingers moving to scrutinize the pendant further. Islinda knew she had to act—now. "I never took you for a jewelry enthusiast, Andre," she said, her voice laced with casual amusement despite the storm brewing inside her.

Her words had the desired effect. Andre paused, his hand freezing mid-motion as he looked up at her, surprise flickering in his eyes. Islinda held her breath, her heart racing as she waited to see if her distraction had worked.

After what felt like an eternity, Andre finally smiled. But there was something in that smile—something darker, more calculating than usual. "You’re right, I’m not," he said, letting go of the pendant. "I just can’t help but notice that necklace wasn’t on you when you first arrived."

Islinda’s mind raced, scrambling to come up with a plausible explanation. "I wasn’t wearing it then," she lied smoothly, hoping her voice didn’t betray her. "It’s a gift from Aldric. I only put it on today to show my support for him."

"Hmm," was all Andre said in response, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be mulling over her words, weighing them against some unspoken thought. Islinda fought the urge to squirm under his gaze, knowing that any sign of discomfort could tip him off.

But then, to her relief, Andre shifted the conversation. "So you’re rooting for Aldric and hoping that Valerie dies?" he asked, his tone almost casual but with an undercurrent that made Islinda uneasy.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, considering her response carefully. "I don’t wish to be on any side," she said with a sigh. "I just wish it didn’t have to be this way. But Valerie started the death duel, not Aldric. So yes, I’m on Aldric’s side. If only some miracle could happen and this whole death thing gets canceled..."

"Hmmm." Andre’s response was noncommittal, his expression still unreadable. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with tension that made Islinda’s skin prickle.

She decided to try and end the conversation before it could turn back to more dangerous territory. "So, if that’s all..." she began, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice, "I should go prepare for the death duel."

"About that," Andre interrupted, his tone shifting to something lighter, more playful. "You’ll be with me throughout the match, and that’s why I’ve prepared a little something. After all, if you’re going to be with me, you’d have to match my style." He winked at her, his usual mischievous grin returning. "And everyone knows I like to go in style."

Islinda rolled her eyes, both relieved and exasperated by his sudden change in demeanor. His pride was overwhelming, but at that moment, she was just glad he wasn’t still interrogating her. Whatever doubts he might have had seemed to have been set aside for now.

Andre clapped his hands twice, the sharp sound echoing through the chamber. The door opened, and several servants entered, struggling to move a large object that was completely covered by a heavy curtain. Islinda watched with growing curiosity as the servants positioned the object in front of them, its true form still hidden.

A grin spread across Andre’s face as he snapped his fingers. The servants quickly removed the curtain, revealing what lay beneath. Islinda’s jaw dropped to the ground..

Before her stood a magnificent outfit—a gown, but not just any gown. It was grand with a regal and opulent design. It featured a striking deep red color that dominates the entire dress, giving it a bold and dramatic appearance.

The gown has an off-the-shoulder neckline that was made to elegantly frame her shoulders and collarbone. The bodice is form-fitting and intricately decorated with an embroidery that continues down the dress, blending seamlessly into the voluminous skirt.

The skirt is full and flowing, creating a soft and graceful movement as it cascades to the floor. The hem and the bottom part of the skirt are adorned with the same intricate detailing as the bodice, adding a cohesive and sophisticated touch. The long train, added to its grandeur and fit for royalty. Which she was not.

"How in the world..." Islinda whispered, completely taken aback. The gown was unlike anything she had ever seen, a true masterpiece that screamed power and elegance. It was clear that Andre had spared no expense in its creation.

"Impressive, isn’t it?" Andre said, his pride evident in his voice. "I had it made just for you. If you’re going to be by my side, we need to steal the show."

Islinda could only nod, still speechless. She had no idea what to make of this gesture. Was it simply Andre’s way of flaunting his wealth and influence? Or was there something more to it, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on? Something told her Andre was up to something.

******

The arena was packed to the brim, a sea of Faeries from every corner of the realm, all gathered to witness the historic duel between Prince Aldric and Prince Valerie.

The air buzzed with excitement, anticipation rippling through the crowd as they awaited the royal procession. Suddenly, a hush fell over the arena as the grand gates swung open, revealing the entrance of King Oberon and Queen Maeve.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, their cheers echoing through the arena like a tidal wave. King Oberon, resplendent in his royal armor, led the way with a regal grace that spoke of his long reign.

Queen Maeve followed closely behind, her magnificent red gown catching the light and shimmering like fire. The train of her dress, carried by three maidservants, trailed behind her like a river of molten lava.

As they entered, Maeve basked in the adoration of the crowd. She lifted her chin high, her lips curling into a satisfied smile as she absorbed the attention. Every head turned toward her, every gaze fixated on her regal figure. She could feel the power of their admiration, their reverence, and she reveled in it. This was her moment, and she intended to make the most of it.

King Oberon and Queen Maeve made their way to the exclusive seats reserved for the highest of royalty. The seats were elevated above the rest, providing a perfect view of the entire arena.

Maeve gracefully took her place beside Oberon, her posture impeccable, exuding both authority and elegance. She glanced at her fellow wife, Queen Victoria, seated not far from them.

It was Queen Nirvana who caught Maeve’s attention. Seated among the other queens, Nirvana’s face was a mask of envy, her eyes burning with jealousy as she watched Maeve settle into the seat of honor.

The sight brought a smirk to Maeve’s lips, a silent triumph exciting her. Maeve knew that, despite the tension between her and Oberon, they still presented a united front to the people. In the public eye, they were the ultimate power couple, the rulers of Astaria, and Nirvana’s envy only sweetened the victory.

As they waited for the arrival of the two princes, the arena buzzed with excitement. The crowd’s energy was palpable, every spectator eager for the duel to begin. But just as the anticipation reached its peak, a slight commotion rippled through the stands. Maeve’s sharp eyes darted to the source of the disturbance, her senses on high alert.

Her gaze settled on Prince Andre, who had just entered the arena. The young handsome prince was waving enthusiastically at the crowd, his charming smile and playful demeanor winning over the masses in an instant. The cheers grew louder, the crowd responding to Andre’s infectious energy with equal enthusiasm. Maeve’s eyes narrowed, but it was not Andre’s entrance that caught her attention.

It was the woman by his side.

Islinda.

That pest.

Maeve’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of Islinda. She looked absolutely stunning, more radiant than Maeve had ever seen her before.

A wave of fury surged through Maeve, her chest tightening with rage. How dare she? How dare Islinda, of all people, attempt to outshine her on this day, in this arena, before these people?

Maeve’s fingers dug into the armrests of her seat, her nails biting into the plush fabric as she fought to maintain her composure. Every fiber of her being screamed with indignation, the fire within her threatening to consume her entirely.

She forced herself to breathe, to keep her expression neutral, but it was a monumental effort. Maeve could feel the eyes of her fellow wives on her, waiting to see her reaction to this new arrival. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose control. Instead, she lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing as she fixed her gaze on Islinda, silently seething with resentment.

As Islinda and Andre took their seats, the crowd’s attention gradually returned to the center of the arena, where the duel was soon to begin. Maeve forced herself to focus on the task at hand, though the image of Islinda’s triumphant entrance continued to burn in her mind. She would not forget this slight, nor would she forgive it.