Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 99

Chapter 99: Consumed by His Wrath

Perry’s Perspective

Timothy wasn’t exaggerating when he described my current state as madness. There was no other way to put it. After regaining control following the attack, I methodically hunted down every name on that cursed list. The spies who had infiltrated the very core of the royal court were now nothing more than lifeless bodies scattered in the shadows.

Those foolish enough to conspire against me met a gruesome fate—their severed heads mounted on spears, displayed prominently outside the palace walls as a stark warning. The sight was horrifying, a brutal testament to my wrath.

The reaction from the people was immediate and intense. While rumors of my cruelty had circulated before, witnessing such savage acts firsthand was an entirely different experience. The gap between whispered stories and the harsh reality created a wave of fear that rippled through the kingdom like wildfire.

The palace reeked of blood once again, the metallic scent so thick it seemed to cling to the very air, wafting out to the streets where even strangers could detect it. Citizens trembled in terror, their eyes wide with dread as they imagined what horrors lay within those walls.

Flynn had been the lone voice urging caution, reminding me that I couldn’t simply slaughter my own people without discretion. I didn’t want to hear his words, but I forced myself to listen. I limited my vengeance strictly to those whose names appeared on that accursed list—no one else.

For days, crimson stains soaked the palace floors. Families of traitors fled the capital, abandoning homes and possessions in desperate attempts to escape my fury. The fear in the air was palpable.

In the midst of this chaos, I never once sought out Phoebe. My mind was consumed entirely by the hunt for traitors and the execution of justice as I saw fit.

After ten days of relentless bloodshed, Timothy finally reached his limit. He found me deep in the forest, silently observing my wolves as they tore into the flesh of our enemies. My face betrayed no emotion, unreadable and cold.

The warriors standing nearby were tense and pale, their expressions haunted by the cruelty they had witnessed over the past days. Though they were not the ones being punished, watching me carry out such ruthless acts had shaken them to their core.

They had even seen me smile—genuinely, almost with pleasure—at the suffering of those who had betrayed me.

“Perry,” Timothy called softly, approaching cautiously as the wolves continued their gruesome feast, their jaws crunching and tearing with sickening sounds.

Timothy deliberately avoided looking directly at the grisly scene, still unable to comprehend how I could remain so detached.

I didn’t acknowledge his presence outright, but I didn’t push him away either—a small sign that some part of me still welcomed his company.

“When will you visit Phoebe?” Timothy asked, moving to stand beside me. “She woke up two days ago.”

I already knew this. Timothy had kept me informed.

At first, he thought I was avoiding Phoebe because seeing her in such a fragile state—especially after losing our baby—would be unbearable.

But I knew the truth. I was responsible for everything that had happened. My pride had blinded me, fueling my anger instead of helping me understand the situation.

Phoebe had her share of blame in the betrayal too, but things could have turned out differently.

“Perry…” Timothy began.

“Did she ask for me?” I interrupted, my gaze fixed on the wolves, though Timothy could feel the turmoil beneath my calm exterior through our bond.

The mingling scent of blood and the crunching sounds made Timothy visibly uncomfortable.

“You’re not well, Perry,” he said quietly. “You need to see her. You used to get like this when you went too long without visiting her.”

My dark mood had only intensified, and my violent impulses were spiraling out of control.

I remained silent, not even acknowledging Timothy as he left to check on Phoebe once more.

Phoebe’s Perspective

My room was still under repair after Perry’s violent outburst had left it in ruins.

The king’s bedroom had suffered similar destruction—there was now a large hole in one of the walls.

So, I remained in the infirmary, where Marcela could keep a close eye on me.

“Phoebe,” Timothy called softly. Marcela wasn’t nearby—she must have stepped away to prepare some remedy.

As Timothy approached my bedside, a sharp, metallic scent hit him—my blood.

The palace had been saturated with that nauseating smell for days, so Timothy hadn’t realized at first that it was mine until he came close enough to see what was happening.