Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 206

**Title: His Mercy Tastes Like Hunger**
**Chapter 206: Love Confession**

**Reginald’s POV**

“Come, let me help you wash your hair,” I offered gently to Fiona, guiding her toward the soothing waters of the stream. The sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground as we approached the small, glistening body of water.

We had stumbled upon this hidden stream, a serene oasis nestled close to the settlement. The village was bustling with life, but for both Allen and me, it was a place we could not afford to visit. Our faces were too well-known, and the risk of being recognized was far too great. Instead, we relied on others to fetch supplies, leaving us to find solace in this secluded spot.

“Watch your step,” I cautioned softly, as we neared the water’s edge. I began to wash her hair, the cool water contrasting with the warmth of the day. Fiona remained silent, her thoughts drifting like leaves on the surface of the stream.

Sometimes, she would gaze into the distance, her eyes clouded with memories, while at other times, she would snap back to the present, her mind alert enough for conversation. Yet, I could see the shadows of her past creeping in, causing her to falter. Fiona often experienced these mental collapses, moments when she would suddenly recall her brother, Draven, and plead with me to take her back to him.

“Please, Reginald, show me where you laid him to rest,” she would whisper, her voice thick with sorrow. “We need to hold a proper funeral for him.”

But we all understood the harsh reality: that was an impossibility while we were constantly on the run. Some among us knew the truth—that I had been forced to leave Draven’s body behind, unburied, due to our desperate circumstances—but they kept that knowledge to themselves, respecting the weight of our plight.

“I feel awful,” Fiona murmured, her gaze fixed on her hands, the water lapping gently against her skin. “I’m nauseous…”

It was true; Fiona had been suffering from morning sickness, a cruel reminder of her condition. Yet, the deeper issue lay in her frequent lapses of memory regarding her pregnancy. I dared not remind her, knowing it would spark an emotional storm. She would remember that the child she carried belonged to Allen, not me, and that realization would send her spiraling into despair.

In the eyes of everyone around us, the child was assumed to be mine.

“It’s alright,” I reassured her, my voice steady. “My mother is in the village. I’ve asked her to gather something for you. You’ll feel better soon.”

Fiona continued to stare at her fingers, her body exposed yet seemingly unfazed by her vulnerability. Once I finished rinsing her hair, I led her to the riverbank, where I tenderly dried her skin, the sun warming her as I dressed her in fresh clothes.

“Reginald,” she whispered my name, her voice barely above a breath as I knelt to tie her shoelaces. She reached out, her fingers brushing against my cheek, causing me to pause, caught in the tender moment.

“What is it?” I asked, lifting my gaze to meet her pale face. The toll of her difficult pregnancy and the weight of her grief had taken a visible toll on her.

“I love you, Reginald,” she confessed, her voice trembling with sincerity. “I love you, and I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

For a split second, I found myself at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the gravity of her declaration. But Fiona pressed on, her heart pouring out in a way I had never experienced before.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since we were children. You might not have noticed, or perhaps you don’t care, but I have always remembered you. I’ve always wanted you. Thank you for being my mate. Thank you for standing by me. Thank you for everything you’ve endured because of me.”

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