The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 77

Chapter 77: Seventy Seven

Valka

I pace the length of my bedchamber until the rug wears thin, panic hollowing my gut.

He knew. How could he know? When-- when had he--? No. If he’d always known, he wouldn’t have been angry that we slept together.

During the mating rite...

Had our slit palms touched then and sparked what? Memories for him? Then why couldn’t I remember it? The absurd claims he’s made, things I never could have done.

I stop in front of the mirror, staring at myself. That memory flashes again before my eyes and I try to pick it apart objectively, but it feels real. The feel of blood running down my fingers. The reek of rot and death. The grunt of pain.

Theirs? His?

Leave me for dead. Again.

My world tilts with the weight of it and I clutch the edge of the dressing table to keep from falling.

What have I done? To Lucien? Who else did I hurt? Who did I kill? Why can’t I remember more?

Come home with me...

Home? Where was home? What was he talking about? The harder I tried to remember, the deeper the claws of pain and before I could think it through, my hand closes around the vase of blue roses Lucien had sent this morning and hurl it at the mirror, shattering it along with the image of myself.

Who am I, really? Who is Valka? Where did the name Valka even come from? Was I innocent? Was I cunning? Was I cruel? What drove me? Am I the victim, or is everyone else, somehow, a victim of a situation I created?

The door of my chambers swing open and Margot pauses in the doorway, eyes taking in the mess of the broken furniture, my trembling stance and my heaving chest. She shuts the door behind her, crossing the room in long purposeful strides. "You called for me. And since you skipped Council again, I assumed it was urgent."

"Yes," I say, licking my dried lips. "Well, Mother, I--"

I do not note the word until it leaves me.

Margot clutches her fingers tightly, eyes momentarily wide.

I shake my head. "Sorry, I-- I called you because I was curious about something." I walk over to the couch, ignoring the way she still looks haunted by my calling her ’mother’. I swallow and steady myself. "Are there events that can undo a Whisper? Make a compulsion fail?"

She finally moves from the spot, joining me by the couch. She refills my cup of tea, extending it to me with a pointed look at my shaking hands. "It depends on the receiver of the command and the strength of their minds. Most thralls never break on normal, simpler minds. But a more complex, more powerful one might gain clarity in the event that they have a moment’s touch with something greater. Or divine. Or equally mind-boggling."

Her eyes of gold search mine. "Is this be about the King?"

How she always seems to know everything doesn’t faze me anymore. Not with the amount of maids in the castle who bring her information from every crevice of it. But I shake my head anyway, not wanting to tell her about Lucien. "No. I ask for myself. I’ve begun to suspect that... I may have blocked out my own memories. I now wish to remember everything, but it won’t come to me as swiftly as I need it to."

I tune out her bickering, having enough problems of my own to deal with.

***

The temperature was so low, the climate so harsh and unyielding, we delayed riding by a day. And even then, it didn’t improve. Already, our arrival to the Summit would be late, and Lucien couldn’t hold it off any longer.

My hands are covered in black gloves, a thick, dark velvet cloak clutched tightly around my body. "Has Lucien said... anything to you of late?"

Evadne’s grey hood slips back slightly from her hair as well watch the last of the trunks and exotic gifts for the Voss King loaded to the carriages. "No. Not that he ever tells me much."

"I assumed you were close," I murmur, getting a little distracted at the sight of Lucien’s arms as he shovels underneath the carriage’s wheel, mucking out the snow. It is out of character, dirtying himself like that, and more appealing than I’d have liked.

Wide shoulders tapered to a trim waist, snow falling against tattooed, pale-gold skin, that gods awful vee that makes me want to sin, gods have mercy. His hand plunges into his hair to push it back from his face and I expel a rough breath as his muscles ripple.

I have the irrational feeling to drop my head in my hands and sigh in defeat at my warring depraved thoughts.

And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Because every woman with eyes within the radius can see clearly and are swooning.

My lips twist with displeasure. It was cold enough to freeze all of our arses off and he thought now would be a good time to be shirtless.