Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 27

At first, the ache in my abdomen was barely noticeable—just a faint throb I could easily ignore if I remained still. I had endured worse discomforts before. But within moments, that dull pain twisted sharply, transforming into a fierce blaze beneath my skin that tore through me relentlessly. I curled inward, drawing my body tight against the bed, cold sweat slicking my temples as my hands pressed helplessly against the source of the torment. The pain didn’t relent; instead, it deepened until my vision blurred and spots flickered before my eyes.

I bit down hard on my lip, stifling the scream that threatened to escape. I didn’t want anyone to hear me. Pain was nothing new—it was a reminder that I was still alive, still fighting. Yet, just as the world began to tilt sideways and my sight faded into a haze, I caught the sound of the door bursting open. Strong arms lifted me effortlessly from the mattress—steady, commanding, achingly familiar. I longed to see his face, to confirm what my instincts already whispered, but my body was too weak to respond. Still, the faint scent of his skin—like a storm mixed with cold steel—reached me, telling me everything I needed to know.

The king.

Even in the midst of agony, being held by him brought a strange, soothing calm. My cheek pressed against his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat steady and sure beneath my ear. For a brief, precious moment, the chaos inside me quieted.

When he gently set me back down, the softness of the bed offered no comfort like his arms had. Voices drifted to me—one sharp and furious, the other softer and more measured—but they blended into a fog of pain. Cool hands touched my forehead, and a gentle warmth spread through my body as healing energy pulsed beneath my skin. Gradually, mercifully, the torment began to loosen its grip. I could finally breathe deeply again.

Exhaustion claimed me fully, pulling me into a restless sleep, accompanied by the sound of the king’s voice—low, fierce, demanding answers. Even unconscious, the intensity of his tone made me flinch.

—

“What happened to her?” The words escaped me before I could hold them back.

Helen, the palace healer, kept her gaze lowered. She was older, her hair streaked with silver, and her eyes held a gentle kindness tinged with worry. I wasn’t surprised—most people trembled when my temper flared.

“I believe, Your Majesty,” she said carefully, “that she ingested something her stomach couldn’t tolerate. Her system simply couldn’t handle it.”

I frowned, replaying the events of the day: her light lunch, the untouched dinner, and the marshmallow stick Timothy had offered her that afternoon.

Helen’s voice softened as she continued, “She hasn’t eaten enough substantial food to counterbalance the spice or whatever else she consumed. I suspect she forced herself to eat it despite the discomfort.” Her tone shifted, almost reproachful before she quickly masked it. “Perhaps she didn’t want to seem rude. Still, Gamma Timothy should never have offered her something so strong when he himself wasn’t eating it.”

My jaw tightened. That fool.

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