Raised From The Wild-Chapter 435: His White Moonlight

After only two days in Princess Amaya’s presence, Vitara found it harder and harder to summon the bitterness she’d once clung to. Despite herself, she couldn’t hate the princess. She was impossible to dislike — disarming in her sincerity, her joy so pure that it was like watching sunlight pour through stained glass. She was genuinely happy for her and Raquim to be together. When Raquim paid the princess more attention, Amaya did everything to turn that attention into opportunities for her and the crown prince to become more intimate.

Now she understood why Tamara adored her, and why Amaya was Raquim’s "white moonlight." There was something in her — a brightness, a gentleness — that made people gravitate toward her without realizing it. Her smile wasn’t calculated; it was simply real. And when she laughed, her eyes sparkled with an innocence untouched by the world’s malice.

Vitara’s thoughts fractured as her phone rang, the display blinking with an unknown number. She almost ignored it — but the insistence of the ringing frayed her nerves. On the fourth ring, she answered.

"Hello, Lady Vitara," came a voice — low, gravelly, threatening. "I know you don’t like Princess Amaya. If you want... I can make sure she never comes between you and the crown prince again."

The phone slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a sharp clatter, the pink case flashing like a dropped petal in the dark.

...

The next day, Vitara, Prince Raquim, and Princess Amaya set out together on a quiet, solemn journey — one Amaya had dreamed of taking for years. Their destination: the ancient burial grounds of King Lakan, the revered patriarch of Lireya and the first monarch of its bloodline. His tomb, located in a tranquil valley nestled deep within the Azalon mountain range, now lay within the borders of Albanya, claimed when Lireya fractured into four kingdoms.

It had been two years since Amaya first wished to visit the tomb. When Tamara invited her to the capital for her godson’s wedding, Amaya had asked—gently, wistfully—if she could finally pay her respects. Tamara had agreed, though she couldn’t come with them.

After travelling for an hour along the main highway, they veered off onto a narrow but well-paved road that wove like a silver ribbon through steep cliffs and lush mountain terrain. Eventually, the cars descended into a valley hidden between the peaks of the Azalon mountain ranges — a natural cradle of wild, blooming beauty.

It was said that King Lakan first buried his beloved wife there. To protect her for eternity, he built a temple made from high-quality white marble mined from the nearby mountains. Two great stone wolves, protectors of the sacred site, stood vigil at the temple’s gates. When Lakan died, he too was laid beside his queen.

From the upper trail, Amaya gazed down in wonder. The valley unfurled below her like a living tapestry — brilliant hues of violet, crimson, and gold forming a meadow so beautiful it looked like a dream.

"Were those flowers intentionally planted there, or are they wild?" She could not help but ask.

"They’re wild," Vitara replied, her tone quiet, respectful.

Amaya asked the convoy to stop. Stepping out, she drank in the view as though it were water in a desert. Her eyes gleamed with childlike delight.

"Exzee, can you take a photo and identify every flower you can find?" she asked, speaking to her smartwatch. A gentle chime echoed, and a holographic girl in blue light appeared, scanning the valley with precision.

Once the task was complete, the journey resumed. But soon they had to disembark and walk the final kilometer, for the path was too narrow, too sacred, to allow the presence of machines.

At first, they walked together — Amaya, Raquim, and Vitara — flanked at a distance by vigilant guards. Then a breeze stirred the meadow, and the flowers swayed in graceful harmony. Amaya’s eyes lit up. She picked up her pace. Then she ran.

"Princess!" Raquim called after her, worry in his voice.

"I’m fine, Raquim. I just missed the meadows in Miraga," she replied, her voice carried like a song by the wind.

Raquim and the guards could only let her be. He paused, took out his cell phone, and took a photo of her twirling in the field of flowers, her silhouette kissed by sunlight.

A shadow passed over his expression.

"Must be difficult to play the loyal friend while your heart betrays you," Vitara said, voice tinged with sarcasm, though her eyes lingered on the princess, wistful and wounded.

Prince Raquim put away his cell phone and faced Vitara. He could see the hurt in her eyes, and he felt guilty.

"What can I do, Lady Vitara?" he said softly. "My heart beats for her. I’ve tried to deny it, to forget it... but I can’t. Still, her heart belongs elsewhere. She could never be mine. We are engaged, you and I — and I will honor that."

Vitara felt like her chest had been squeezed tight. Should she feel relief... or despair?

"Does she know?" she whispered.

"No. It’s better that she doesn’t. Let us remain as we are."

...

When Princess Amaya reached the temple, some of her and Prince Raquim’s guards were already there to ensure their security. The temple guards also kept watch of Lakan’s burial site and ensured the tourists’ safety.

The Valley of Lakan had become a tourist destination due to the beautiful temple and the mystical sarcophagus of Lakan and his beloved wife. The temple was built in the heart of the valley, and the colorful flowers surrounding it added to its allure.

Tourists from across the globe came to the Valley of Lakan, enchanted by the temple’s mystique and the love story carved into its very stones. Surrounding Mount Latvana had become a luxurious resort area, fueling Albanya’s economy.

Amaya stood at the foot of the temple, gazing up at the statue of King Lakan — tall, commanding, dressed in hunting garb that mirrored the statue she had seen at the entrance Asteria Palace.

He was wearing the same hunting garb as the sculpture in the Asteria Palace. With his shoulder-length hair, he had the same rugged look as her Daddy Ibrahim, the same spirited and intense eyes.

"Daddy... he looks like you," she murmured into the wind.

Moments later, Raquim and Vitara joined her, climbing the temple steps.

The temple was not large, not over 200 square meters. The sarcophagus inside the temple was made from a massive, intricately carved stone coffin that housed the remains of Lakan and his wife Harana.

Carvings on the temples’ walls depicted Lakan’s life and triumphs, including how he defended the Lireyan island from invaders across the sea. Amaya had seen those carvings in the history book in the museum at the Asteria palace, but seeing them in reality gave her a different feeling that the first King and her Daddy Ibrahim were similar in so many ways. Whoever carved the pictographs was a great artist. They captured the king’s expressions well.

By the time they emerged, the sun had begun to set. The sun had bathed the valley in gold and crimson, transforming it into something magical, something ethereal, a scenery intended for the gods and goddesses. It must have been the effect of the sunset reflected on the valley.

That night, they stayed at the royal chalet in Mount Latvana — the crown jewel of the resort, often used to host foreign dignitaries and honored guests.

But just past midnight, the stillness of the mountains was shattered.

A shrill siren tore through the quiet.

Then came a scream — sharp, panicked, full of terror.

"Princess Amaya is missing!"