Transmigrated as the Crown Prince's Mate Chapter 4: Jealous Ex or Family Ally?

"I didn't rember asking a question, witch."

Eve's cheek still stung, but the fiery look she gave Selene was far from submissive.

She slowly stepped back, crossing her arms as she leaned against the cell wall with feigned casualness. "You know, for soone so confident, you seem awfully desperate. Do you normally visit dungeons to harass people, or am I just special?"

Selene's eyes flashed dangerously and her composure slipped for a mont. "You may have fooled him with your little bond trick, but I see right through you." Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "I don't care what he claims you are. Damian is mine."

Eve raised an eyebrow, trying her best to mask the unease bubbling in her stomach. "Oh, I see. So, this is a territorial thing. That's cute. You must be really insecure to feel threatened by soone chained up in a dungeon."

Selene's lips curled into a snarl, her claws briefly extending as her wolf stirred. "Listen closely, witch," she hissed, stepping forward. Her hand shot out, gripping Eve's chin tightly, forcing her to et her cold green gaze. "I don't care what bond you think you have. I will make sure you regret ever crossing paths with the prince."

Eve wrenched herself free, rubbing her jaw where Selene's nails had dug in. "Big talk for soone who had to sneak down here to make threats. What's the matter? Can't handle one-on-one where people can actually see you?"

Selene's nostrils flared as she took another step forward, but before she could respond, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Instinctively, both won turned toward the source.

Damian appeared, his tall fra giving off an unmistakable aura of power. His silver eyes blazed with fury as they darted between the two won. "Selene," he growled. "What do you think you're doing?"

For a brief mont, Selene faltered. Her confident posture wavered under Damian's intense glare. "Damian, I—"

"Leave," Damian commanded, cutting her off sharply. His tone left no room for argunt.

Selene's lips parted as though to protest, but whatever she intended to say died in her throat. With a sharp glare at Eve, she spun on her heel and stord out, her heels clicking angrily against the stone floor.

The silence she left behind was heavy, almost suffocating. Damian turned his attention to Eve, his gaze softening slightly though the tight set of his jaw betrayed his irritation. "What was that about?" he asked firmly.

Eve crossed her arms again, her blue eyes narrowing. "How should I know? She ca out of nowhere, calling a witch and threatening . Maybe you should ask your jealous ex or whatever she is to you, why she felt the need to play prison guard."

Damian's brow furrowed, and for a mont, he looked genuinely confused. "She's not my ex," he muttered. "She's... a family ally."

Eve gave him a disbelieving look, arching one brow. "Right. Because sneaking into dungeons to slap prisoners is a very ally-like thing to do."

Damian exhaled sharply, clearly holding back whatever retort had ford on his tongue. "Selene won't bother you again," he said simply. "I'll deal with her."

Eve shrugged nonchalantly, though her heart was still racing from the encounter. "Fine by . Just keep her claws to herself next ti."

Damian's lips twitched, almost as though he wanted to smile, but the tension in the air held it at bay.

Instead, he stepped closer, his presence filling the small cell. "You're being moved," he announced.

Eve tilted her head, eyeing him warily. "What, to a better dungeon?"

"Don't push your luck," Damian warned, though there was a flicker of amusent in his silver eyes. "You'll be under my watch from now on. Consider it... protective custody."

Eve rolled her eyes. "Protective custody? Sounds a lot like house arrest to ."

"Call it whatever you want," Damian said in a clipped tone as he stepped back toward the door. "But you'll have the chance to prove your innocence. One moon cycle. Don't waste it."

His words struck her hard and Eve swallowed, feeling the weight of her situation. There was no true freedom and she had limited ti. "And what happens if I can't?" she asked in a quieter tone. "What if I don't have proof by then?"

Damian's gaze t hers, and for the first ti, she saw sothing in his eyes that almost looked like regret. But his answer was firm. "Then I'll execute you myself."

A cold shiver ran down Eve's spine, but she refused to let him see her falter. She straightened, her chin tilting upward defiantly. "Well, that's reassuring," she said dryly. "Good to know where we stand."

Damian's expression didn't change, though a flicker of sothing—was it admiration?—crossed his features. "Let's go," he said, motioning for her to follow.

As the guards moved to escort her, Damian raised a hand to stop them. "I'll take her myself," he said firmly.

The guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances, but stepped back, allowing him to take her arm. Eve stiffened at the contact, the heat of his hand against her skin sending a strange jolt through her body.

"Try anything," Damian warned as he led her out of the cell, "and I'll make good on my promise."

Eve smirked, her steps echoing alongside his as they made their way down the dim corridor. "Charming," she muttered. "You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet."

For the first ti, Damian's lips moved slightly as if he might smile, but he said nothing.

He led the way up the twisting staircase from the dungeons, with Eve close behind and a guard following. The chilly stone walls of the castle felt damp, echoing odd noises with every step taken.

Upon reaching the upper halls, the oppressive atmosphere vanished; polished wood adorned the walls, and the brightly shining floors reflected the gentle light of the chandeliers.

Yet, the atmosphere didn't feel any lighter for Eve.

People in the hallway stopped and stared, their curious gazes filled with suspicion. A few whispered behind their hands, their expressions ranging from confusion to outright hostility. Eve tried to keep her head high, but she could still feel them staring daggers at her.

"Well," she muttered dryly under her breath, "it's not every day the condemned walks free because of a mate bond."

Damian didn't look back, but she caught the slight twitch of his jaw, indicating that he'd heard her.

They turned down a corridor, and Eve felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

The layout, the intricate designs, the decorated columns—it all felt oddly familiar. Her heart raced as they approached a door at the end of the hall, a door she recognized from Evelina's fragnted mories.

This was Evelina's room—or rather, her room now.

Damian stopped in front of the door and gestured toward it. "Go in. Get changed. Then we'll see if you're innocent or just an excellent liar."

Eve folded her arms across her chest, her blue eyes narrowing at his dictatorial tone. "Are you always this grumpy?... Your Highness," she added the last part after a quick thought.

Damian's expression didn't change, though his lips twitched slightly. He stepped back and inclined his head toward the door. "Go on."

Rolling her eyes, Eve reached for the doorknob. As soon as her fingers touched the cold tal, a sharp jolt shot up her arm. She gasped, jerking her hand back as if she'd been burned.

But instead, she couldn't let go.

Her breath hitched and the next second, white flashed before her eyes. She saw an image—a hand, not her own, reaching for the sa knob. It felt foreign yet eerily familiar, leaving her heart racing.

The vision vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving her shaken. The hand she saw... it didn't belong to her, nor to Evelina.

Was it so mory or sothing from her imagination?