Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 45

Standard POV Format

The blank page stared back at me, daring me to write something—anything. But my thoughts were chaos.
What could I possibly say that wouldn’t damn me?

Mason’s voice still whispered in my head: “Do what he instructed. You’re not alone.”

They wanted me to end this war. They wanted me to kill the king.
And a small, fractured part of me—the part that had seen mothers bury their sons—almost understood why.

But understanding wasn’t the same as agreeing.

I looked up from the page and scribbled one question instead:
Why do you keep waging war?

When Perry read it, his brow furrowed. “What’s this about?” His tone wasn’t angry yet, but the tension beneath it coiled like a blade waiting to strike.

I wrote again, Too many people have died because of it.

He crouched in front of me, forcing eye contact. “Did Cameron put this in your head?”

I shook my head, but his suspicion didn’t ease.

“What’s this sudden interest in war?” His grip found my shoulder—not harsh at first, but heavy, firm enough to make escape impossible.

He searched my face, trying to read me. I could feel his breath, sharp and impatient.

“Talk,” he demanded. “You’ll question me in writing, but you won’t speak a word aloud?!”

My throat locked. No matter how I tried, the sound refused to come.

His hand slammed down on the desk beside me, and the ink bottle tipped over, spilling black trails across the wood. “Talk to me!” he shouted again.

His anger wasn’t new—it had always been part of him—but this time it carried something else. Desperation. Fear.

I flinched backward, shaking my head, and he misunderstood.

“So it was him,” Perry snapped. “Your father’s still poisoning your mind, isn’t he?”

“No,” I tried to whisper, but it came out broken.

“I can’t—” His voice cracked before he masked it again. “You drive me insane, Phoebe.”

He turned away, pacing to the far side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair. His breaths came sharp and uneven.

“Leave,” he muttered finally, not looking at me. “Before I say something I’ll regret.”

I didn’t move at first. I just watched him—this man who’d been both my protector and my destroyer—then forced myself to rise.

As I reached the door, I glanced back once. Perry stood with his hands pressed to the table, shoulders rigid, every line of his body carved with restraint.

He wasn’t the Mad King everyone feared. Not entirely.
He was a man caught between his demons and his heart.

And I was the spark that made both burn brighter.