Raised From The Wild-Chapter 446: Zanzara’s Little Prince

The kingdom of Ra-Iya awoke to the tolling of the palace bells.

By dawn, the news regarding the premature birth of the Queen’s son and her health conditions had spread all throughout the country. The people were both joyful and sad at the same time. After years of whispers and failed hopes, the people were ecstatic—their king finally had an heir.

But their joy was tempered with sorrow. The royal announcement also revealed that the queen’s health had taken a grave turn, that she now rested under the vigilant care of the royal physicians.

In the crowded streets, joy and unease mingled like oil and water.

For years, dark rumors had clung to King Ralden like a second shadow. It was said that he was cursed—that no son of his blood would ever live to manhood. His previous heirs had all perished, some stillborn, others gone before their first breath had even cooled.

Now that the curse seemed broken, the people rejoiced. Banners fluttered from windows, prayers were murmured in temples, and merchants offered free fruit to celebrate the birth of the long-awaited prince.

Yet, as word spread that the queen had suffered terribly—perhaps fatally—during childbirth, old fears began to stir once more.

"If not the child, then the mother," people whispered in hushed tones. "The curse still clings to him."

And soon, reverence replaced gossip. They began to praise their suffering queen, a woman who had endured the wrath of fate itself to give the kingdom its heir.

If only they knew the truth behind the deaths of Ralden’s sons. If only they knew what had truly transpired in the royal chamber. They would not celebrate. They would curse his name.

...

The following morning, the palace gates opened for Prince Sapiro of Lireya.

He arrived with his retinue—a line of armored guards and courtiers draped in blue and silver. His face was carved from stone, grim and unreadable, though his eyes burned with restrained fury.

King Ralden met him in the marble hall, flanked by his own soldiers. His gaze flicked over Sapiro’s entourage until it settled briefly on a tall man at the prince’s side—broad-shouldered, plain face, yet radiating an unmistakable aura. A warrior, not a courtier.

"Father-in-law," Ralden greeted smoothly, bowing just enough to be courteous. "You must be weary from your journey. Come—I will take you to see Zanzara. She is in intensive care."

Sapiro’s jaw tightened. Without a word, he followed.

The walk through the northern wing felt endless. The corridors were silent save for the echo of boots and the rhythmic hum of the palace machines that now kept the queen alive. When they reached the chamber, Sapiro halted in the doorway.

There she was—his daughter.

She lay beneath a canopy of white gauze, her face serene, almost peaceful, as though she merely slept. But the cold gleam of the medical apparatus that surrounded her told another story. Tubes ran from her veins to humming devices, and her chest rose and fell only by mechanical will.

A father’s instinct screamed within him.

"What happened?" His voice was rough, restrained. "Why did she go into premature labor? Was she not under constant care? You had doctors monitoring her, didn’t you?"

Ralden’s expression remained perfectly composed. "She slipped," he said evenly. "A tragic accident that triggered the early birth. The servants responsible have already been punished."

King Ralded lied without batting his eyelashes. Lies that were smooth and practiced.

Sapiro turned, meeting the king’s gaze fully for the first time. His instincts, honed by decades in court and on the battlefield, whispered that something was amiss. "How is my daughter’s condition now? Will she... will she wake?"

Ralden exhaled softly, the picture of solemn regret. "The physicians are uncertain. The strain of childbirth was too great. For now, she rests between life and death. But she is receiving the best care possible."

Sapiro’s fists clenched, the veins in his hands straining. Ralden watched him carefully, weighing each flicker of emotion. Then, as if sensing the need to divert him, the king’s tone softened.

"Come," he said. "Let me show you your grandson. A strong boy, despite his early arrival. Remarkably so. He doesn’t even need an incubator."

At that, Sapiro’s hard gaze faltered—hope flickered across his face.

Ralden noticed. And smiled.

He led the prince to the eastern wing, where the royal nursery awaited. The heavy tension seemed to melt as they entered the room, bathed in gentle light.

It was a place built for wonder: a vast chamber adorned in cool hues of blue and silver, the scent of lavender lingering in the air. Shelves lined the walls, filled with toys—hand-carved animals, crystal mobiles, and silken cloths embroidered with gold thread. The ceiling was painted with swirling galaxies, each star brushed in luminous paint that glowed softly when the lamps dimmed.

And in the center of the room, wrapped in a blanket of pale blue silk, lay the newborn prince.

Prince Sapiro stood motionless before the cradle. The newborn slept soundly, his tiny chest rising and falling with fragile rhythm. A shock of dark hair crowned his small head—Zanzara’s hair. His lips were soft and pink, his skin pale as milk, yet there was strength in the way he clutched his own blanket, as if defying the weakness that had claimed his brothers before him.

Sapiro’s breath caught. His vision blurred for an instant. This was his daughter’s son—the legacy she had given the world at the cost of her health.

He leaned and his trembling hands reached for the child, his expression softening with awe and grief in equal measure.

He glanced again at the child. "And this little one... born so early, yet already thriving. That’s rare. He’s strong," Sapiro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "He has the eyebrows and eyes of the Rocas."

Ralden’s lips curved faintly. "Yes. He will grow to be a fine heir."

The words my heir lingered unspoken, heavy with possession.

Ralden watched him quietly, his arms clasped behind his back. His expression was serene, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. Every flicker of emotion on the old prince’s face was a page he read and memorized

Ralden stood behind him, smiling faintly.

A king.

A liar.

A man satisfied that his deception was complete.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. The ticking of a golden clock filled the nursery, each click as deliberate as a heartbeat.

Then Sapiro spoke again, in a low, deliberate tone. "When Zanzara wrote to me last, she said she was well cared for. That she was safe here." He turned slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Tell me, King Ralden—how could a queen slip in her own chambers?"