Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 194

**His Mercy Tastes Like Hunger**
**Chapter 194: Claiming Another Man’s Son**

Fiona felt as if the world had crumbled around her, her body trembling under the weight of overwhelming emotions. The waves of release that had surged through her moments ago quickly dissipated, replaced by an aching grief that clawed at her insides. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, unbidden and relentless, as she grappled with the turmoil within.

Reginald, ever the steady presence, pressed soft kisses against her damp cheeks, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Please, stop crying,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against her sorrow. “We’ll face this together, I promise.” As he slowly withdrew from her, he felt her wince, a small but potent reminder of the emotional and physical turmoil they were both enduring. He pulled her tightly against his chest, wrapping her in the warmth of his embrace.

His hands began to move in slow, comforting circles across her back, while his lips brushed against her forehead in a tender rhythm. Each gentle caress was a silent promise, a vow to weather the storm together, and gradually, Fiona felt the tempest within her begin to quiet, if only slightly.

The sheen of sweat glistened on their bodies, a testament to their shared moment of vulnerability. In the hushed aftermath, Fiona could sense that fragile connection with her mate returning, like a flickering flame in the darkness.

“The king has entrusted the hunt to his royal gamma,” Reginald began, his tone soft yet laced with urgency. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us here. We need to act quickly, but first, we must locate Allen. I know I’ve asked a lot from you already. You’ve sacrificed so much, more than anyone should have to bear, but we can’t afford to stop now.”

Fiona’s heart sank as the harsh reality of their situation settled over her like a heavy shroud. Guilt gnawed at her insides like a relentless predator; the child growing within her was not Reginald’s. This burden of war, this thirst for vengeance, was not his to carry.

He could have easily walked away, chosen the path of safety and detachment, yet he remained by her side.

“I understand,” Fiona whispered, her voice barely above a breath, as she lifted her gaze to meet his, tears glistening like jewels in her eyes. “What will you say when people inquire about my pregnancy?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications.

“I can’t allow them to discover that Allen is the father of this child. I wouldn’t survive that kind of shame,” she confessed, her voice trembling with fear.

“I won’t let that happen,” Reginald replied firmly, his fingers weaving gently through her hair. “I will claim the child as my own. My mother already believes it to be mine, and she’s likely spread that story throughout the kingdom.”

Fiona pressed her lips together, her heart racing as she voiced her deepest concern. “But what happens after I give birth? I don’t want to keep this baby.”

The thought of motherhood filled her with dread. If Allen desired the child, that would be one thing. But if he rejected it—if their entire plan crumbled—Fiona knew she would abandon the infant without a second thought. She wouldn’t allow herself to be painted as heartless; she simply wanted no part in this child’s life, and that was final.

“Allen will definitely want it,” Reginald reassured her, confidence lacing his words. “You don’t need to worry about that. He has three daughters but no son; a male heir means everything to him, and he resents his mate for not giving him one. Once the baby arrives, we’ll announce that it died during childbirth, and then we’ll secretly deliver it to Allen.”

Fiona considered this plan, weighing its merits against her own fears. A sense of relief began to wash over her, easing the tension that had coiled tightly in her chest.

Feeling a surge of newfound determination, she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Reginald’s neck, igniting a spark of intimacy between them. Though he wasn’t particularly in the mood, Reginald couldn’t bear to dampen her spirits.

Fiona’s hand found its way to him, teasing and stroking until he hardened beneath her touch. Yet, Reginald craved something more, something different.

“Use your mouth,” he commanded softly as Fiona shifted to straddle him.

In this moment, Fiona felt empowered, eager to please him. She had so much to atone for, and this was her way of expressing it. Lowering herself, she began to lick his length, her movements drawing him in deeper. Reginald tangled his fingers in her hair, but as he closed his eyes, Fiona’s face began to fade, replaced by the image of another woman.

A woman with rich, brown curls and a radiant smile that haunted his thoughts. The longing for her was a sharp ache, one that had grown unbearable with time.

“Phoebe,” he whispered, the name slipping from his lips so softly that Fiona couldn’t catch it. His arousal peaked as she continued to work him toward completion, lost in her own world of devotion.

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