Transmigrated Into The Body Of The Cursed Prince Wife-Chapter 270: End the war

The moment Caelan’s hands released her and she heard Lucian’s swift movement behind her as he killed him, Ave lost her footing and collapsed.

Before she could hit the blood-covered floor, Lucian’s arms were around her, pulling her firmly to his chest. She let herself fall into him, her body trembling as sobs wracked her. She hadn’t cried through the torture, but now, knowing she was out of danger and in the safe hold of her husband, the dam burst. Tears poured down her face, stinging her bruises, but she couldn’t stop.

Lucian’s throat clenched painfully as he held her, the sounds of her sobs twisting his heart into an unbearable knot. He had always seen her as a strong, unyielding woman, but now she was shaking uncontrollably, reduced to broken sobs that tore from her throat like shards of glass.

Her pain was his pain; he felt them like they were his. He couldn’t stop the storm of guilt and fury rising in him because he had failed to keep her safe, failed to protect her. The sight of her bruised, swollen face made his claws itch to tear Caelan apart again, piece by agonizing piece.

Lucian cradled her to him gently, allowing her to cry in his arms. His mother would always tell him when he was young that sometimes crying makes one feel better and clear-headed. He had no words to console her with, and he hated himself for it.

Wordlessly stretching out his hand to the bed, he yanked off the bedsheets to use them to cover her body when he realized her sobs had suddenly ceased and she’d gone limp in his arms.

Looking down, he saw she had fallen unconscious, her chest rising and falling softly. His eyes swayed to her bare breast, the white molded flesh red and a bit swollen with a small cut on the tip of her right nipple that must have been caused by a dagger.

His throat constricted in anger as his hands moved on their own to touch and trace the cut, rubbing her breast with his palm as if to clean away every trace of Caelan’s touch. He pulled her torn chemise to cover her chest before he pulled the bedsheets over her body.

The marks left on her skin—the mottled bruises, the dried blood at the corner of her mouth, and the faint cut across her neck—were like burns on his soul. His jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ached.

He could still hear her cries echoing in his head when he had been running up here to come to her but had been blocked by soldiers. She had been calling his name, begging him to hurry up, and though he’d tried his best to get to her on time, he couldn’t help but blame himself for arriving a bit too late. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

Caelan had gotten to abuse her and torture her to this point that her face was slightly unrecognizable as it was swollen. She hadn’t even looked into his eyes even after he’d saved her; she’d fallen unconscious without looking at him.

He tightened his hold on her body and wrapped the sheets to cover her and shield her, to shield her from everything, even his own anger and guilt.

"My love..." he murmured, his voice barely audible as his gaze dropped to her face. Her eyes were closed, her lashes damp with tears that still clung to her bruised skin. The sight made his heart ache even more.

She had fallen unconscious before he could console her, before he could whisper the words she deserved to hear: that she was safe now, that no one would ever hurt her again, not while he lived.

He would eliminate every little thing or person that would endanger her again. He would take the throne and ensure no danger would ever befall her. He could hear the raging war outside, but he knew it would soon come to an end the moment he announced he’d killed Caelan.

The throne was his—not if Alden, who he had briefly spotted among the men fighting on his side, wanted to fight him for it. He would kill anyone who would stand in the way of him being the Emperor to give his wife a safe world without any danger.

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek, careful not to touch the bruises.

His amber eyes darkened to an almost feral glow as he whispered hoarsely,

"I swear, love, no one will ever harm you again. I’ll kill them all before they can even come near you." Saying this, he gathered her in his arms and casually grabbed Caelan’s head along to put an end to the raging war so he could take care of his wife in one piece without the roaring noise outside.

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Ave’s eyes slowly opened. At first, she didn’t move and only stared up at the ceiling of a room she didn’t recognize, and she didn’t even bother to try to wonder or think about how she had gotten here and why everything around her felt eerily silent with not a sound out of place.

Normally, after falling unconscious and waking up, one’s mind tends to be foggy at first, but she vividly recalled everything that had happened until this very moment where she awoke in the fresh-scented room where the scent of lavender filled the air. Despite the sweet scent and the fresh, smooth bed she lay on, she couldn’t help but feel dirty internally. Blinking her eyes, she felt pain around her eyes and face and knew without a doubt that her face was still bruised.

She stared at the ceiling without moving as she recalled the humiliation she’d faced in that bastard’s hands. How he had touched her and almost raped her, the brutal way he had treated her. What she felt was beyond rage; she couldn’t put a name to her emotions, probably a rage that had turned to numbness.

She couldn’t help but wonder how Lucian had felt coming into that room, seeing his wife exposed to men and a man sitting astraddle her like that. Had he felt disgusted? Would he be able to touch her without the thought that she had been touched like that by another man after they’d always enjoyed their love making? Even if he wouldn’t mind it, she would; she felt dirty and impure.

Ave turned her head to the side to look out the window. It was closed, and the room was dim with only the cracking sounds of wood sparking to coals in the hearth, where the fire was burning to keep the chamber cozy.

The chamber was large and had a golden theme to it, but she couldn’t bring herself to even admire the room with the feelings she was having.

She managed to push herself up from the pillow and sat up despite the slight pain she was feeling all over her body. She pulled the blanket away from her legs and was not surprised to see that the injuries on her thighs had turned into a taut scab that wrinkled painfully when she moved her legs down from the bed.

Ignoring the pain and discomfort, she forced herself to stand up on her feet. She felt like a toddler taking her first-ever steps; she could barely stand on her own feet, and that made her clench her fingers into fists. She couldn’t even frown her face without feeling pain.

Walking towards the room’s vanity table took strong will and her stubbornness. But reaching the mirror, an involuntary gasp escaped her lips when she saw her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing a pale white, thin baggy dress that made her look like someone’s grandma in the reflection, but the dress wasn’t what made her gasp; it was her face. God, she looked utterly terrible!

She had a purplish-dark bruise around her left eye, and the side of her right cheek looked swollen and the skin had darkened. The skin of her face looked ugly and unhealthy. She could barely recognize herself in the reflection. She looked no different from someone who had been botched during a failed surgery.

She was still standing in front of the mirror, wondering if she would ever recover completely from this when the door of the room was suddenly slammed open. Surprisingly, she wasn’t startled by the sound as she knew who it was.

She slowly turned to the door and found her husband standing at the door, panting slightly like he had run all the way here. He was dressed in a formal brown attire she’d never seen on him before, his hair was tied in a perfect bun behind his head, giving his sharp jawline and high cheekbones more definition.

His amber eyes, though shadowed with faint dark circles, still burned with an intensity that could stop anyone in their tracks. The golden hue in them flickered like a dying ember, weary yet captivating, as they fixed on her unblinkingly.

His lips were pressed into a thin line. His attire and presence made him look both commanding and untouchably handsome. She felt like a toad compared to him, and it made her a bit embarrassed and ashamed of her appearance as he kept gazing at her without saying a word.

Even with the exhaustion etched into his features, he still looked every bit the striking man who would make any woman’s heart dislocate. He was handsome, okay, but she hated that she was feeling insecure and wished he would stop looking at her and leave her until she had gotten back to herself.

Without a word, he left the door and walked up to her in long strides and pulled her into his embrace before she could recoil from him. He pressed her head to his chest and stroked her head lovingly.

"Why did you get out of bed? You should have rung the bell at the nightstand to call for me," he whispered into her hair as he continued to hold her, but she wiggled against him and moved away.