The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Thirty Five

Valka

The sound of hounds baying and armored soldiers crashing through the underbrush chase me. Arrows flies, edges dusted with silver aconite. Already, one sticks through my knee, forcing me into a hobbling run, the poison spreading through me quick as death, slowing my speed, blurring my vision.

Wet tears roll down my cheeks.

Lucien.

Oh gods, how could I have forgotten? How could I have spent so long retrieving my memories, dabbling with the mortals, living with them, dining with them, loving them, that I’d forgotten why I made a deal with the devil himself? That I’d forgotten what they stole from us? From me?

An arrow slams into my shoulder, taking me down with it and I cry out as I stumble, face and knees scraping against stones. Still, I rise, forcing myself forward.

Father warned me. He’d begged me to stay. Begged me to pretend to be what I wasn’t, to go ahead with the marriage with the mortal I’d fancied myself loving. I could live he normal life, he’d promised. I didn’t have to go back. Malachy loved me. He would take care of me.

But he didn’t understand that I had no future here in the Silver Kingdom. I could never be whole without Lucien. I would forever wander, looking for the missing piece in the puzzle until I reconnected with my Prince. Gods only know how long he’s waited for me. How long it’s been.

I have to find him. But even I knew the truth as I stumbled, the guards closing in on me, lead by no one other than the man who had professed love for me, promised to lay his life down for me and give me a life of pure happiness.

Malachy would never let me go. His affection was no love. It was a poison. A monster, he named me, but he wouldn’t let me leave or live.

The forest breaks open. The cliff yawns before me, jagged and merciless. I come to a chilling halt at the very edge. Stones fall overhead and trepidation sets my heart racing even faster as I stare at the black sea churning below, its wave crashing like a dirge. I whirl, a small so catching in my throat at the snarling guards in royal armour, the hounds frothing at the mouth.

Malachy pulls on the reins of his horse, his green gaze I used to get lost in now cold and merciless. His fingers clench tight on a spear. "Lyra," he calls, voice deceptively soft. "You have nowhere left to run. Surrender, come back with me to the dungeons and I will spare your life. Keep fleeing," I hear the twang of another bowstring, the hiss of another arrow slicing past my ear. "--and I cannot save you."

"Save me?" I cry. "YOU turned me in. I trusted you with my life, my secret and you sold me out for coin, for a seat at their table!"

His eyes flick to the cliff’s edge behind me, calculating. "You won’t make the fall. You must return back with us or you will die, Lyra."

My lips pull back from my teeth. "Then let me die."

Anything was better than returning.

So, I whirl and take the leap. But just as I step off, agony bursts through my my back, tearing through my chest with the thrown spear. My cry is broken up by my gurgling, blood filling my mouth. My legs give.

And I fall.

The wind howls, snatching the scream from my throat. My blood trails behind me in a glittering arc, painting the day. The sea rushes up fast, furious, endless.

And just before the water takes me, I see her.

I expect to see the face I’ve grown familiar with, the hair of flaming red and eyes like emeralds. But instead, I see a different face. Paler. Striking. Full lips streaked with blood. High cheekbones. The blush tinged hair of gold, richer than I’d ever seen it. Pain flickering in depths of rich amber.

And with horror, I realize I’m staring at my own face.

****

I wake up screaming, thrashing in the sheets and gasping for air as I remain in the hold of the sea that breaks and drowns me. I scramble through the sheets, sobbing, feeling for my face, my lips. "Oh gods," I cry, even if I don’t know why.

A door swings open and only then do I take full stock of my surroundings. Light pink sheets caress my skin. A Queen sized bed post looms above me with light drapes. A fully stocked armoire filled with hideous monstrosities of corsets and gossamer stares back at me. Beneath are shoes. Heeled, glittery slippers. Pink, shiny, girly things. The entire room is pink. I’m in a man’s nightmare.

And barging into the room is a face I’m not excited to see.

"Good," Margot says. "You’re awake. We feared Wyatt might have given you a concussion." She inclines her head towards the horde of women trailing behind her with bowed heads. "Get her out of bed. There is much to do."

"Hey!" I yell, scrambling back as hands reach for me. "Stop--Don’t touch--hey!"

I am dragged off the bed, Margot’s instructions louder than my protests as I am brought into the largest bath chamber I have ever been into and thrown into a green, luxury porcelain bathtub so hard, I nearly crack my spine.

"What the hell is happening?!" I squeal as a bowl of steaming water is dumped over my head. I hiss, hugging my naked chest, but my hand is pulled back by a different maid, a harsh brush scrubbing at my skin like I haven’t drawn a bath in years and stink worse than a horse.

Margot stands in the doorway of the bath chamber, already dressed and prepped for court, even if it’s only the crack of dawn outside. Her lips, forever in that red lip colour, rises into a sharp smile that reminds me of a shark. "Breakfast."

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