Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 223

**His Mercy Tastes Like Hunger**
**Chapter 223: Do You Love Her?**

**Reginald’s POV**

There’s an unsettling shift in Fiona, and I can sense it deep within me, a gnawing instinct that something is amiss. I catch glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye, and every time I attempt to lock eyes with her, she diverts her gaze as if avoiding a collision with the truth. What the hell is happening here?

This is not how it should be.

As we take a break for lunch, desperately needed after our relentless journey, I pull Fiona aside, feeling the urgency to confront whatever is brewing beneath her surface.

“Don’t even think about spinning me some nonsense about how everything’s fine. Something is seriously wrong here. What’s going on?”

I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing her expression for any hint of vulnerability beneath her impenetrable facade. But she remains an enigma, offering nothing in return.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she states flatly.

Frustration surges through me as I slam my palms against the wall on either side of her head, effectively trapping her. I lean in, close enough to see the flecks of gold swirling in her irises, a stark contrast to the icy demeanor she’s projecting.

“I’ve already warned you—don’t lie to me. Don’t pretend there’s nothing wrong when it’s so glaringly obvious. You’re going to tell me what the hell is gnawing at you.”

She takes a sharp breath, her chest rising against mine, but her response remains unchanged. “There’s nothing.”

My patience snaps, fraying like an old rope. “I’m done with this attitude, Fiona. Did you expect a five-star experience and a red carpet? We’re in hostile territory, and trust isn’t a luxury we have right now. Stop acting like a spoiled princess. I can’t handle this any longer.”

But instead of responding, she merely presses her lips together in that infuriatingly stubborn way that makes me want to shake her. Her chin lifts defiantly, and she stands her ground, unyielding.

“I’m asking you one last time—tell me the truth. What’s really going on?” My voice drops to a dangerous whisper as a wild thought pierces through my mind. “Did you sleep with Allen again? Did he force you, or were you willing to spread your legs for some drugs?”

The slap comes so swiftly that I barely register it; the sound reverberates in the confined space, leaving me momentarily stunned. It doesn’t hurt as much as it leaves me in shock, frozen in place.

“Did you just fucking slap me?” I manage to stammer, disbelief etched across my face.

“You crossed the line, Reginald. Is that really what you think of me? Is that how you’ve perceived me all this time?”

Desperate to respond, to defend myself, I find my words trapped in my throat as she shoves me away, storming off before I can gather my thoughts.

A strange twist forms in my chest, an unfamiliar sensation that I loathe. I’ve never cared this much about Fiona’s cold shoulder before; it gnaws at me more than I’d like to admit.

We barely touch our food before we’re back on the road, heading toward the capital city of the Valerium kingdom, the tension between us palpable.

That night, confined within another pack house, Fiona continues to give me the cold shoulder. At least the sheets here are devoid of mystery stains; they appear clean enough to sleep on. She looks utterly drained, on the brink of collapse.

But I refuse to let her rest until she reveals whatever torment has been plaguing her all day.

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