The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 132

Chapter 132: One Hundred & Thirty Two

Valka

The pitcher smashes into the wall, shattering against the marble. Rafael staggers, his clothes rumpled, his eyes bruised purple from sleepless nights, the grey of them blown so wide they’re almost black. "You all laugh at me!" he bellows, spinning in a wild circle, pointing at the trembling faces of his court. "All of you! You’ve all betrayed me!"

Lilith casts a sharp glance at the crowd. "The King has had too much to drink and must retire to his chambers to rest. You’re all dismissed--"

"No!" Rafael snarls, seizing the massive vase beside his throne. He hurls it across the hall.

Lilith barely dodges as it explodes against the pillar behind her, shards flying. Her command might have sent the courtiers scattering, but fear finishes the job. They flee, tripping over gowns and chairs, desperate to escape the path of the next thing he throws.

Still, Lilith lunges forward, catching him by his torso before he hits the ground.

He pushes her off him. "Don’t touch me." His gaze flicks wildly, unfocused, searching for something or someone. "Valka will do it." His eyes land on me, but he somehow doesn’t see me. A distressed growl slips from him. "Where is she?"

They say madness is a slow rot, that it creeps in like mildew, soft and damp, until you forget what it used to feel like to wade through clarity.

But watching Rafael fall apart, I learn that madness can also be a detonation. A single spark, and the whole thing burns.

Perhaps, it was the blood on the walls.

Or maybe it was the fact that the King was unnervingly close enough to make such a dastard display. Or maybe it was the fact that Rafael couldn’t stand not having things go his way.

But he began to spiral.

At first, it’s the unrelenting pacing. The finger stuck to his chin as he muttered, stared too long at nothing, then whispered, conversations with ghosts no one else could see. And then, it was the distrust of every one around him. Someone must have betrayed him. Someone had to have sold him out to the enemy. It was worsened yet when word reached that Voss had pulled out of the fight.

His Council advised that he sent his men to join the army at the Velyric, because without Voss, it was a lost battle.

Paranoia drove him into refusing. The people were now so frightened, they rarely ever left their homes. And those who remained at court were those who were stuck when Lucien’s berserking began. They couldn’t leave, not when new bodies hung up the walls every day. So naturally, when the king started to seem more concerned with his own safety, putting into play the very soldiers derived from all the houses in Silvermoor to protect himself only, the Council began to rebel.

And Rafael Draemir began killing them.

On what terms? Treachery. Treason. Mockery.

The servants who hesitated too long. The guards whose jaws ticked at his orders. The heralds who were unfortunate to deliver the bad news. Council members who dared to express their displeasure.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

The throne room reeks of fresh blood that hasn’t had time to dry. No one dares breathe too loudly. No one dares oppose him.

And every morning, he looks thinner. The bags beneath his eyes sink deeper, purple as bruises. He still dresses like a king, but the crown keeps slipping.

His hair is tangled, his beard unkempt, his clothes a ruin of silk and wine stains.

And still, he laughs sometimes, softly, to himself. Like he knows a secret none of us do.

I step out from where the rest of the women are, my skirts lifted by my hands, and I ignore Lilith’s narrowed gaze as I hedge my arm under his shoulder and take on the most of his weight. "Here," I say softly as he leans against me. "I’m here."

He is a mess of garbled gibberish as I follow the hallways leading up to his chambers.

"No. Take me to yours," he slurs. "It’s... cold. Always... been..."

My fingertips tighten on his arm as I turn around the corner, leading him to my bedroom instead. He says nothing, his weight near crushing, his breaths slow and steady as he shifts in and out of unconsciousness, forcing us into lethal staggers that nearly sends us over the railings.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify