Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 31

Damn it.

“The rumor…” I attempted to explain, but words lodged in my throat like stones. Every thought I wished to express tangled up, dying before they could escape my lips. “I didn’t…”

I longed to tell him that Kevin meant nothing to me. That I had come to terms with his rejection the moment it happened, accepting the bitter sting of his dismissal. I had fervently prayed to never feel the ghost of his touch again.

Yet, the words eluded me. My voice was a traitor, leaving me in silence.

Frustration ignited within me, burning hotter than the shame that clung to my skin. Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could summon the strength to hold them back. I despised crying—hated how vulnerable it made me appear in front of him.

Perry’s expression darkened further, a frown etched deep on his face. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the sound of his heavy sigh slicing through the tense air. That sound—so weighty and controlled—made the rest of my thoughts evaporate entirely.

“I’ll have someone take you back to your room after breakfast,” he said at last, his voice clipped, almost devoid of warmth.

Before I could muster the courage to try again, he turned away. I noticed the tension coiling in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists as he walked away. He was holding himself back, and I could feel the distance between us grow.

And then he was gone.

He hadn’t heard a single word of my truth—because I hadn’t found the strength to voice it.

Left alone, I sank onto the edge of the bed, the weight of my emotions crashing over me as I wept in silence. I desperately wished for him to understand the reality of my situation—that all the whispers surrounding me were nothing but lies, that Kevin had taken everything I held dear while I had pleaded with him to stop.

But even if I could find my voice, would he believe me? Probably not. The king of this realm had heard enough deceit to fill a lifetime. My words would only sound like feeble excuses, and he would hate me even more for them.

So I cried quietly until the tears dried on my skin, until the anguish faded into a weary numbness.

When Mason arrived with breakfast two hours later, she paused at the sight of my swollen eyes. Without uttering a word, she gently placed the tray down and remained beside me until I forced myself to eat.

Afterward, she guided me back to my room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, I collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted to even bother with undressing. My body throbbed with fatigue, my heart ached, and my mind felt like a blank canvas.

This time, when sleep finally embraced me, it was a gentle reprieve. No nightmares haunted my dreams. No pain clawed at my insides. Just a comforting silence enveloped me.

—

For three days, I was a storm that no one wanted to weather.

The warriors on the training grounds bore the brunt of my turmoil. Each morning, I arrived before the sun broke the horizon and didn’t leave until darkness cloaked the sky, sparring until the ground was slick with blood and sweat.

Half of my men ended up in the infirmary, yet none dared to voice their complaints.

I fought like a man possessed—because that’s exactly what I was.

Through the misty glass, her silhouette danced beneath the cascading water, her figure illuminated in a silver glow. My pulse quickened, heat flooding through me, igniting a fire I struggled to contain.

I faced a choice: walk away, or succumb to what my wolf craved.

Walking away would only lead to another sleepless night, perhaps even another fallen warrior by morning. Staying meant risking her fear—potentially undoing the fragile trust she had begun to build.

I was torn, standing there in limbo between instinct and restraint, until the water ceased.

She turned and froze upon seeing me.

In that moment, she appeared so serene, so unguarded, lost in the fragile peace she had cultivated these past few days—reading, resting, healing. She had believed I’d forgotten her.

How wrong she was.

Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, but I had already seen everything—the gentle curves, the pale scars, the fragility that stirred both fury and hunger within me.

“My king…” Her voice trembled, barely rising above a whisper. She glanced at the towel hanging nearby. To reach it, she would have to brush past me.

Her breath quickened, shallow and uneven. My restraint shattered.

“Fuck it,” I muttered under my breath, the sound escaping as a half-growl as I crossed the floor toward her.