Raised From The Wild-Chapter 445: Zanzara’s Last Sacrifice

Meanwhile, in the heart of the royal palace, the heavy doors to King Ralden’s chamber burst open with a deafening crash.

"Enough!"

A woman strode in—regal, even with her stomach round and heavy as a watermelon. Her silken gown hung in disarray, torn from haste; her dark hair streamed loose over her shoulders. Yet her presence blazed with a fire that could shame the sun.

Queen Zanzara of Ra-Iya—Amaya’s cousin.

Her eyes blazed as she fixed them on the king. "My King! She is the first princess of Lireya, my blood! How can you do that to her? Aren’t you scared of retribution?"

Ralden’s expression twisted, rage flashing across his features. "Zanzara," he growled, "this is no concern of yours. You forget your place."

But Zanzara did not waver. She rushed to Amaya’s side, seizing her cousin’s cold hand. "Wake up, Amaya. Open your eyes. He is not Marx. He is King Ralden. Wake up!" Her voice cut through the fog like a blade, fierce and desperate.

Something cracked in Amaya’s mind. The haze wavered. Her chest heaved, her fingers twitching as Zanzara’s words tore through the trance.

Ralden’s fury erupted. "No!"

He lunged forward, his arm swinging with brutal force. Zanzara was hurled backward—her body slammed against a marble pillar with a sickening thud that echoed through the gilded hall. She crumpled to the floor, clutching her belly, her cry piercing and raw.

"Aaaahhhh..."

"Cousin!" Amaya’s voice broke free, raw and terrified. She struggled to rise, the trance unraveling at last.

But it was too late.

Blood spread beneath Zanzara in a widening crimson pool. Servants screamed and rushed to her side as her body convulsed with the agony of premature labor. Her cries echoed off the vaulted ceiling, mingling with the chaos of shouts and frantic footsteps.

Amaya clung to her cousin’s hand, tears blinding her eyes, whispering prayers she wasn’t sure the gods still heard.

Amaya knelt beside her, tears spilling freely as she clung to her cousin’s trembling hand. "Hold on, Zanzara. Please—hold on. The doctors are coming," she whispered, though her voice broke with helplessness.

Ralden stood motionless for a moment, his eyes cold and assessing. She deserved it, he thought. She should have known her place.

In a calm voice, "Call the royal physicians. Tell them that the queen is having premature labor pains."

He stooped, gathering Zanzara’s frail body into his arms and laying her gently on the bed where Amaya had lain moments before. Then, with a subtle flick of his hand, he signaled one of his shadow guards to take Amaya away—to that place. But Amaya struggled.

The guard looked at the king and when he signalled, he stepped back and let the princess be.

There would be time to deal with her later. For now, appearances must be maintained. The queen—his queen—was carrying his first son after all.

If Sofia could not bear him an heir, then this child would be the one. His other sons—born too soon, too fragile—had all died before their first birthdays. Now, age was creeping in like frost on the edges of his strength, and he could not afford not to bear an heir.

But now he was growing old, and he needed a son to train.

Hours blurred into a feverish nightmare. The palace doctors worked desperately, their hands slick with sweat and blood, their faces pale under the torchlight as Zanzara’s life ebbed with every contraction.

And then, at last, the cry of a newborn pierced the night.

A baby boy.

But Zanzara’s breaths grew shallow, her eyes dimming even as the child’s first wails echoed through the chamber. With her last strength, she turned her head to Amaya, pressing her cousin’s hand weakly.

"Protect him," she whispered, voice fading like a dying flame. "Protect my son..."

Her body went still.

Amaya’s cry shattered the air. She wept openly, cradling both the child and the hand of the woman who had given her life to save her.

From the shadows of the chamber, Ralden’s voice calm and collected laced with cold triumph, announced "Ra-Iya has its heir."

Amaya’s grief burned into resolve. She held the newborn tighter, tears still wet on her cheeks. In that moment, one truth crystallized in her heart:

Zanzara had died because of her.

The doctors took the baby away, and someone took Amaya away.

Moments later, when the chamber emptied, Ralden summoned his personal physician. Without a word, the man injected a clear liquid into Zanzara’s veins. Her pallor softened, color returning faintly to her cheeks—as though she merely slept.

"Take her to the medical wing," Ralden instructed. "Place her on life support. Then announce that the queen has suffered greatly but lives—recuperating."

When Zanzara’s limped body was lifted and transferred to the gurney, Ralden’s lip curled in disgust. "Replace the bed. Clean everything. I want no trace of this mess."

He turned toward the door—and froze as a soft, honeyed voice greeted him.

"My King."

Sofia stood framed in the doorway, draped in a flowing white gown that clung to her like mist. Her smile glowed like moonlight, though her eyes betrayed the storm beneath.

"Congratulations on having, a son, My King." Sofia’s smile was radiant but King Ralden knew the jealousy brewing behind those smiles.

Ralden’s gaze lingered on her. He reached out, pinching her cheek with mock affection. "You’ll have to work harder, my dear. Bear me a son of your own. Until then, don’t do anything foolish concerning that baby. He is, for now, my only heir."

Sofia shivered. While Ralden’s voice was seductive and gentle, she could sense the underlying threat beneath it. Sofia had tried several times to conceive, but even with the advancement in reproductive medicine her womb had failed her, and the failure gnawed at her soul.

"My King," she murmured, lowering her lashes, "since the queen is so weak, may I care for the little prince in her stead?"

Ralden smiled indulgently. "Your duty, my dear, is to remain beautiful and please me. Others will tend to him."

Sofia frowned and was unhappy with the king’s response.

"When he is old enough," Ralden added after a pause, "he may call you Queen Mother."

That, at last, rekindled her radiance. She tiptoed up and kissed him softly.

"Oh, and My King," she said sweetly, "the chief of staff reports that Prince Sapiro—your father-in-law—will arrive tomorrow to visit his daughter."

Ralden’s eyes flickered for a moment. His decision to have his personal doctor administer that special medicine to Zanzara was, in fact, right after all.

"Then, please handle the accommodation for my father-in-law. His visit is just timely; we will announce the birth of my son tomorrow."

Sofia’s eyes darkened but only for a moment. It was her fault that she couldn’t bear a child for him.

"Of course, My King!"