Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King (Emilia) novel Chapter 27

I moved closer, careful not to draw attention. Beyond the crack, I caught a glimpse of green. Trees. The woods. Freedom. For a wild second, my instincts screamed at me to bolt. To throw the door wide and run until my lungs burned and my legs gave out, until the stench of this cursed palace and the echo of my sister’s venom were nothing but fading ghosts behind me.

But reason dug its claws into me.

Not now. Not yet.

I forced myself to breathe, to think. Running blind in the middle of the day would be suicide.

I pressed my palm against the wall, steadying myself. Nightfall. That was the only way. When everyone would be too busy to notice, I’d slip out through this door. And then I would run. I wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t look back. I’d vanish into the trees and create a new life far from here, far from him, far from all of them. 1

My chest tightened at the thought. For the first time in forever, hope flickered inside me, fragile but real.

I turned away from the door, tucking the knowledge deep inside me like a secret flame I couldn’t let anyone see.

Tonight.

Just one more night, and I’d finally be free.

*****

Do y’all think she’ll be able to escape?

Then my gaze shifted.

“Gregor.”

His name came out like a blade sliding free of its sheath.

He straightened slightly, his jaw tightening before he spoke.

“We’ve done the same,” he said, his tone clipped, businesslike. “Increased security at the borders. Added surveillance. Cameras to cover the blind spots.”

I didn’t answer.

I just stared at him.

Watched the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. Watched the way his fingers twitched once against the table, then went still again.

He was saying all the right things. He was doing all the right things.

But he was Emilia’s father.

And I didn’t like him.

The silence thickened again, pressing in like a storm cloud. The other Alphas shifted uneasily, their eyes darting between Gregor and me. No one dared break it.

Until someone did.

Alpha Jack.

Arrogant bastard.

He leaned back in his chair, one arm slung carelessly over the rest, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. His scent carried no fear, only bravado and cheap amusement.

“You know, Your Majesty,” he drawled, his tone mocking, “maybe all of this wouldn’t be happening if you weren’t so busy trying to get laid—and actually did your job as king.”

The words slammed into the room like a thunderclap.

Every wolf stiffened. Eyes widened, some in shock, some in horror. A few darted immediately to me, waiting for the explosion they knew was coming.

Because there would be one.

My beast surged up with a roar, so sudden, so violent, I nearly snapped the arms of the chair beneath my hands. The scent of fear spiked across the table, sharp and pungent, except for Jack-Jack, who still smirked, though his heartbeat betrayed him, quickening just slightly.

The chains I’d worn last night might as well have been around my wrists again, because that was what it took not to tear him limb from limb. My vision tinged red, my claws slicing out before I could stop them, digging crescents into the polished wood of the table.

Every instinct screamed to let go.

Paint the room red.

Show them what it meant to insult their king.

The silence in the room was thick enough to choke on.

Every Alpha sat rigid around the long oak table, their gazes darting, their postures deceptively still, but I could hear the truth beneath the surface. Their hearts drummed in uneven rhythms. Their wolves whispered restlessly inside them, tails tucked, ears flattened, every instinct screaming at them to tread carefully.

And I sat at the head, watching.

My hands rested loosely on the arms of my chair, but my stillness was a mask. Beneath it, my beast prowled. Every flicker of movement, every shift of breath, every scent of fear-they all scraped across my nerves like claws on stone.

The air carried tension and the faint musk of dominance, layered with undertones of sweat. Wolves did not lie, not in scent, not in presence. And I could smell every crack in their armor.

Especially his.

My gaze lingered on Alpha Gregor.

The bastard.

He sat across from me, broad-shouldered, gray streaks cutting through his black beard, eyes sharp as broken glass. The others saw authority, experience, and a strong Alpha. I saw rot. I saw the man who had handed Emilia over like she was nothing more than spare cattle to be bartered. Trash.

Every time my eyes cut to him, my beast surged, snarling at the back of my throat, urging me to break the table in half and show him exactly what kind of king he sat before.

Not yet.

I leaned back in my chair, let the silence stretch, let the unease build. Wolves grew impatient with silence; their instincts pushed them to fill it, to posture, to prove strength. That was when they made mistakes.

Finally, I let my voice roll out, low and cutting.

“Rogues have been attacking packs and borders.”

My words fell like iron into water. The room stiffened, wolves shifting in their seats.

I let my gaze sweep the table, slow and deliberate, catching every flicker of eye contact, every nervous swallow. “Tell me,” I continued, each word edged with ice, “what are you doing to make sure it stops?”

The silence that followed was brittle, sharp. No one moved at first. No one wanted to be the first to speak, the first to risk my displeasure.

Good. Let them squirm.

Finally, Alpha Green cleared her throat.

She was young-too young by most standards to wear an Alpha’s title, but she carried herself with quiet steel. Her golden hair was tied back in a tight braid, her green eyes steady even as her pulse quickened.

“We’ve increased patrols across the borders,” she said carefully, her voice firm but respectful. “Every warrior is training harder. We’re preparing for any breach before it happens.’

My eyes narrowed, searching her. No tremor of deceit in her words, no stench of cowardice. She believed what she said.

I gave her a slow nod. Just enough acknowledgment to loosen the coil of fear in her shoulders.

One breath. Two. My fangs cut my lip when I spoke.

“Careful,” I said, my voice a guttural rasp, not entirely my own. “You tread on the edge of death.”

He didn’t flinch. But the silence that followed carried the weight of every other Alpha’s fear. None of them breathed too loudly. None of them dared to move.

I was seconds away.

Seconds from losing the tight grip on my control, from letting the beast off its leash.

And then-clarity struck.

I knew exactly what would stop me.

Exactly what would put an end to this dangerous spiral before blood slicked the floor.

I reached through the mind link to Lucien, cold and sharp.

“Bring the girl. In here. Now.”

“Let me go!”

My voice cracked down the corridor, low but sharp, my pulse beating so loud I was certain he could hear it. My wrist twisted under his grip, but it was like steel wrapped around me.

“I said let go!”

The beta didn’t so much as flinch. His eyes narrowed, dark and commanding, his voice dropping to a low warning growl that coiled around my spine like a whip.

“Listen to me, woman,” he snapped, dragging me close enough that I had no choice but to look at him. “The King might tolerate anything—anything—but being disrespected? Not in there. Not in front of Alphas. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep that attitude in check and behave yourself.”

My lips parted, ready to fire back, but the steel in his gaze made the words shrivel on my tongue. He wasn’t bluffing. One wrong move from me, and it wouldn’t just be me who paid for it.

His grip tightened, fingers biting into my skin, not cruel but firm, unyielding. He wanted me to understand.

“Are we clear?” he pressed, voice hard as stone.

I bit back a curse, exhaling sharply through my nose. “Crystal.”

Only then did he release my arm. Not gently, not roughly-just with the same sense of control he carried everywhere. Without another word, he turned, pushing open the heavy double doors of the meeting room.

The moment they swung wide, the air shifted.

I stepped inside, and the first thing I felt was the weight.

It pressed down on me like a physical force-thick, suffocating, charged with barely leashed violence. The silence wasn’t silence at all; it was the brittle edge of a blade held to the throat of every man and woman in that room. The kind of silence that came right before blood spilled.

And all eyes turned to me.

Every single one.

Dozens of gazes, sharp and unrelenting, pinned me where I stood. But none were as heavy, as piercing, as his.

The King.

He sat at the head of the table, his presence swallowing the room whole. His shoulders were squared, his hands braced against the carved arms of his chair, but it wasn’t the posture that froze me-it was the look.