Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 23

The moment I crossed the threshold into the dining hall, an oppressive silence swallowed the entire space. The grand table stretched out before me like a dark, polished river of mahogany, its surface gleaming under the cold, unforgiving light of the chandelier hanging overhead. At the head of the table sat the king, his presence commanding and unyielding. Beside him was a man I didn’t recognize—his hair a striking silver-blond, his eyes a softer, gentler shade of the king’s piercing electric blue.

As soon as I entered, the stranger’s gaze lifted to meet mine. The intensity of his stare twisted my stomach into knots. There was something deeply unnerving about being scrutinized so thoroughly, as if he were silently weighing my worth with every passing second.

I halted at the far end of the table, clasping my hands tightly in front of me, trying to mask the trembling I couldn’t quite control. The air felt thick, saturated with unspoken power and heavy expectations.

Like every other chamber in this ancient palace, the dining hall was steeped in history. The marble floors gleamed underfoot, and towering pillars rose like sentinels, whispering tales of a long-forgotten era—when the Supreme Kingdom ruled over all wolfkind and every pack, every alpha, bowed to a single monarch. That empire had crumbled centuries ago, fracturing into seven separate kingdoms, yet this palace remained, a haunting relic of its former majesty. Standing there, I felt as though I’d stepped into a living memory.

“You can leave,” Perry said flatly, his voice cutting through the silence without even sparing the blond man another glance.

The stranger hesitated, clearly holding back words he wanted to say. Then, with a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he rose. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

He brushed past me on his way out, his gaze bold and unapologetic, sending a shiver down my spine. My throat tightened painfully until he vanished behind the heavy double doors, leaving only the sound of my pounding pulse ringing in my ears.

“Come here.”

The king’s command made the floor beneath me feel unstable, as if I were about to lose my footing. His eyes locked onto mine, and every step I took toward him felt like edging closer to a cliff’s precipice. My instinct screamed at me to run, to escape—but instinct had never been my savior before.

I obeyed.

I stopped two seats away, hoping that distance would give me room to breathe.

“I said here,” he growled, nudging the chair directly beside him.

My heart skipped a beat. I moved, pulling the chair out silently and settling down at his side. The scent of his skin enveloped me—earthy, smoky, with a darker undertone that made the air thick around me. My hands folded tightly in my lap, refusing to move.

“Eat,” he ordered.

I did as I was told. Fork to plate. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Yet, no flavor reached me. My stomach was knotted tight, my mind a chaotic storm of noise.

So focused on finishing quickly, on escaping this suffocating moment, I failed to notice what I was doing until his hand suddenly shot out, gripping my wrist.

“Are you actually going to eat that?”

Startled, I blinked and followed his gaze. On my spoon sat a decorative candle garnish—pure wax molded into the shape of fruit. I had been moments away from putting it in my mouth.

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