Raised From The Wild-Chapter 422: She Remembered

Marx dismounted from Apollo with practiced grace, the stallion’s glossy coat shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. Instead of tethering the loyal horse to the sturdy tree nearby, he patted Apollo’s neck and said, "Go wander around. You must have missed the meadows as you were locked up in the stables in Uropa."

The horse snorted gently before turning around and wandering off. Marx trusted him to return when it was time.

He dropped onto the soft grass, hands folded behind his head, and gazed westward. The sun, dipping lower on the horizon, painted the sky with hues of gold and amber. Memories of sunsets shared with Amaya surfaced unbidden, their warmth now tinged with a quiet ache. He had watched that romantic scene together with Amaya a few times in the past.

A faint smile flickered across his lips, bittersweet. How ironic, he thought, that such beauty now deepened his loneliness. While he lay here in solitude, Amaya was in the palace, likely laughing with him. The bitterness twisted in his chest, but Marx pushed it down.

He sighed, closing his eyes. Was it wrong for him to not come back after regaining his memory? Returning to her had never been an option. His presence would only put her in danger—a risk he couldn’t take, no matter how much it tore at him.

Marx closed his eyes and reminisced about the time he spent with Amaya. She used to depend so much on him, but now she had become independent. She grew even more beautiful and amazing. He could not forget how she had shone brightly during the Battle of the Titans. She even brought the pharmaceutical company to new heights.

The first time he saw her when she bumped into him in the corridor, it took him considerable effort not to pull her into his arms and crush his lips over hers. He really missed her.

The soft thud of approaching hooves broke through his thoughts. Apollo must have come back early. He did not want to return to the palace and watch Raquim act cute toward Amaya. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

But then, a scent reached him, achingly familiar—the delicate fragrance that had haunted his dreams.

His eyes snapped open. Turning his head, he saw her.

"Aya," he whispered, voice trembling.

Princess Amaya walked toward him with unhurried grace, her silhouette framed by the fiery sunset. She stopped a few steps away, her gaze distant as it lingered on the horizon.

"A few months ago, the sunset was beautiful," she said softly, her tone calm but laden with emotion. "I took a picture that day. I’ve come here once a month since then. Whenever I missed you, I watched the sunset alone."

The quiet confession pierced him. Marx sat up, his heart clenching as he reached for her hand.

"A year after you disappeared," Amaya continued, her voice cracking, "I went back to that village—the one on the hill where we camped. I thought being there might ease the loneliness. But it didn’t. Even with Tamara and Raquim there, I felt so empty. I missed you, Marx."

Tears glistened in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks.

Marx couldn’t hold back anymore. He pulled her into a fierce embrace, his lips finding hers in a kiss that spoke the words he couldn’t say.

When they parted, he cradled her face in his hands, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "Aya, you don’t know how much I missed you too. A year ago, when my memory returned, I wanted to board the first flight to Lireya. But I couldn’t risk it. The Dark Phoenix has infiltrated even the strongest nations. If they knew about you—about us—" He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "I couldn’t put your life in danger."

Amaya’s eyes searched his, a mix of pain and accusation. "Then why didn’t you send me a sign? A hint? You gave me Exzee, didn’t you? I felt it being upgraded a few times. Wasn’t that your work? Was it because you were caught up with your fiancee?"

Marx stiffened. It took him some time before he calmed himself and gave her an answer.

"Yes, it was I who upgraded ExZee. But Aya, even when my memory was messed up, I felt nothing about Adelle. As Charles Gray, even though it was imprinted in my mind that she was the one I loved and my childhood sweetheart, my heart never stirred for her. Every night, I dreamed of someone else, —a woman with copper-brown hair and light brown eyes that sometimes turned amber. I dreamed of you." Marx looked into those beautiful orbs, his gaze intense.

Her breath hitched.

"Aya," Marx said, his voice barely a whisper. "Aren’t you happy I came back?"

"Of course, I’m happy." She looked away, her gaze complex as it returned to the horizon. "But I felt betrayed. I suspected Charles Gray was familiar—your scent gave you away. And those nights in the hotel, I dreamed someone came into my room. Was it you?"

Guilt flashed across his face.

"It was me," he admitted. "I could only watch you while you slept. Blowing my cover would have ruined everything I’d worked for."

She huffed, crossing her arms. "I’m still angry at you, Marx."

"I’m sorry, Aya," he said again, his voice heavy with regret.

She tried to hold on to her anger, but it crumbled under the weight of his sincerity. When he kissed her this time, it wasn’t just passion—it was desperation, longing, and love all rolled into one.

At first, she resisted, her body stiff against his. But as his warmth enveloped her, her defenses melted away. She locked eyes with Marx, discovering a fiery intensity there that mirrored the blaze burning deep within her own soul. Time seemed to pause, the vibrant sunset fading into the background. There was only Marx, only this moment, only them.

She opened her mouth and allowed him entry. As their tongues entwined, Marx laid her down on the grass.

When they broke apart, he traced her face with his fingers, his gaze soft yet intense.

As the last sliver of the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Marx took a deep breath.

"Aya," he said, his voice steady, "let’s get married."