Marked By The Mad King Alpha (Phoebe and Perry) novel Chapter 33

TITLE: His Mercy Tastes Like Hunger
Chapter 33

“She declined both lunch and dinner, Your Majesty. When I brought the tray in the evening, the food was still there—cold and untouched,” Mason reported, her voice quivering slightly as she spoke. Her gaze remained firmly fixed on the polished marble floor, as if its surface held the answers to the universe. She must have feared I would lash out at her for someone else’s failings.

“She’s just throwing a fit,” Flynn commented, barely lifting his eyes from the mountain of paperwork that cluttered his desk. He rubbed his weary eyes, the shadows beneath them deepening in the flickering candlelight. “She’s trying to get your attention.”

The pile of documents seemed to loom over him like a dark cloud, threatening to bury him alive. I despised paperwork; no amount of written words could mend the turmoil that churned within me.

“What is she doing at this moment?” I inquired, my voice sharper than I had intended.

Mason swallowed hard, her throat constricting. “She’s asleep, Your Majesty.”

With a dismissive wave of my hand, I sent her away. She bowed deeply and hurried out, relief evident in her hurried steps.

Flynn let out a heavy sigh. “She’s playing you. She wants to provoke you into sending her back to that pack, back to the man she truly desires.”

Silence hung thickly in the air, stretching between us like a taut string. He should have known better than to misinterpret my quietude as agreement.

“I warned you to reject her,” Flynn pressed, his voice firm. “Look where we are now. What’s the point of keeping her around?”

“She’ll perish if I do,” I replied flatly, my eyes drawn to the night sky beyond the window. The haunting memory of her crumpled form on the bathroom floor seared into my mind, and for once, I couldn’t discern whether the fire in my chest stemmed from guilt or something far more sinister.

Flynn leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t be certain. It’s all just conjecture—because she lost her wolf.”

“Conjecture,” I echoed, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “Do you want me to put that theory to the test?”

His silence spoke volumes. Flynn had been attempting to guide me toward restraint lately, rather than pushing me further into chaos. Murder was never a solution, and we both understood that my excuses for it were dwindling.

He shifted the topic. “Regarding the formal introduction—the council is waiting. You marked her publicly, remember? They expect to meet their queen.”

I remained motionless, my expression unchanging.

“Let them wait,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion.

And just like that, our conversation drew to a close.

**Phoebe’s POV**

I couldn’t pinpoint the moment I drifted off to sleep; all I knew was that I awoke to an enveloping darkness—and the familiar, suffocating grip of panic that accompanied it.

My lungs felt constricted, as if the darkness itself were a living entity, pressing in on me.

Mason must have turned off the lights, believing she was doing me a kindness. She couldn’t possibly understand that darkness and silence were my fiercest adversaries.

Kevin had ensured I would never forget that.

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