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Chapter twenty
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2025-12-12 16:54:42
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Craving the alpha soldier Chapter sixty-five
Arthur’s POVThe summons comes without urgency.That alone tells me something is wrong.No alarms. No flare through the Mark. No sharp ripple in the Veil. Just a runner at dawn, breathless from climbing the palace steps too fast, holding out a sealed packet with hands that shake from effort, not fear.“From the north districts,” he says. “They asked for… perspective.”Not judgment.Not intervention.Perspective.I take the packet and dismiss him. The seal breaks easily. Inside are reports written in three different hands—contradictory, incomplete, honest.A slow failure.Anchor rotations missing shifts. Supplies arriving late. A council deadlocked over whether to draw from emergency reserves or wait another cycle. No surge yet. No catastrophe.Just erosion.This is the kind of problem I used to despise. Too quiet to fight. Too slow to conquer.I find Tyla in the small kitchen we claimed months ago, barefoot, sleeves rolled, arguing with a kettle that refuses to boil faster out of resp
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter sixty-four
Tyla’s POVThe first time I realize the world no longer flinches, it happens when I trip.It’s stupid. Ordinary. A raised stone on the east stair, one I’ve walked a hundred times. My foot catches, my balance goes, and I pitch forward with a sharp intake of breath already preparing for impact.Hands grab me.Not magic. Not a Mark-flare. Just people.A woman with paint-stained sleeves steadies my elbow. A boy barely past ten catches my basket before it spills. Someone laughs—not unkindly, just surprised—and asks if I’m all right.“I am,” I say, startled by how true it is.No one bows. No one stares.They go back to their lives.I stand there a moment longer than necessary, heart beating fast, and feel something loosen inside my ribs.The world caught me.—Arthur is in the lower archives when I find him, sleeves rolled, dust on his knuckles, scowling at a stack of ledgers like they’ve personally offended him.“You know,” I say, leaning against the doorway, “most rulers don’t reorganize
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter sixty -three
Arthur’s POVThe first time someone refuses me, it happens over bread.I’m in the west quarter, where the stone still smells new and the streets haven’t decided what kind of stories they want to hold yet. A bakery sits on the corner—windows fogged, laughter inside, a crooked sign that reads Still Warm.I point to a loaf through the glass. “That one.”The baker, flour-dusted and broad-shouldered, squints at me. “No.”I blink. “No?”He nods, utterly unapologetic. “That loaf’s spoken for. Come back in an hour.”There’s no fear in his eyes. No recognition. Just certainty.Something in my chest loosens, startled and almost giddy.“All right,” I say. “What do you recommend instead?”He grins and hands me a smaller round, darker, heavier. “That one’ll keep you standing longer.”I pay. I leave. I don’t tell him who I am.Outside, I tear the bread in half with my hands, steam curling into the cool air. I eat it leaning against the wall, crumbs falling to the street. No one stops me. No one bow
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter sixty-two
Arthur’s POVThe city does not bow when I pass through it anymore.That realization hits me hardest on the third day after the surge, when I walk the lower market without escort, coat unmarked, presence unannounced. People move around me—not away, not toward. A woman argues over grain prices. A child laughs too loudly near a fountain someone rebuilt crooked. Two men nearly collide and swear at each other with equal heat, then laugh and clap shoulders.No one freezes.No one kneels.The absence of reverence should feel like erasure. Instead, it feels like air returning to lungs I didn’t realize I’d been holding tight for decades.I stop at a stall selling carved stone charms—anchors, mostly. Not official sigils. Personal ones. Each different. Each imperfect.The merchant looks up, squints at me, then shrugs. “You buying or admiring?”“Both,” I say.She snorts. “That’ll cost extra.”I pick one shaped like a spiral fractured down the middle. The break isn’t clean—it veers, corrected mid-
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter sixty -one
Arthur’s POVPeace is louder than war.No one tells you that.They tell you peace is quiet—soft days, gentle nights, the absence of screams. But real peace? It hums. It argues. It demands attention in places where violence used to make decisions simple.I wake before dawn to the sound of the city thinking.Footsteps on stone. Early voices. A bell rung too soon because someone forgot the hour and didn’t apologize for it.Life, ungoverned by fear.It unnerves me more than any battlefield ever did.I dress slowly, fastening my coat with hands that no longer shake when they’re clean. The Mark sits warm and steady beneath my skin—present, not pulsing. It hasn’t tried to take over in weeks.Sometimes that still feels like loss.Most days, it feels like trust.—The Continuance doesn’t vanish.It fragments.Some leave the realm entirely. Some stay quiet, watching for failure the way scavengers watch for a dying thing. A few—more than I expect—step forward and ask how to help.That’s the hard
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter sixty
Tyla’s POVThe world does not end.That surprises everyone.After the anchors are established—after the Veil learns how to rest—people wait for catastrophe the way they always have. For backlash. For punishment. For the universe to demand repayment for a balance that didn’t involve blood.It doesn’t.Instead, things become… uneven.Some days are quiet enough to feel suspicious. Other days are loud with argument, grief, learning. The realm breathes irregularly, like a body recovering from a long illness. Nothing about it is graceful.But it’s real.I walk the palace grounds at dawn, bare feet on cold stone, feeling the threads of connection stretch and relax beneath the world’s skin. The Veil is present—not hovering over everything, not threaded through every choice—but accessible. Like a river with banks instead of a floodplain soaked in sacrifice.Arthur joins me by the eastern wall, two cups of steaming tea in his hands.“I still expect something to jump out at us,” he admits, passi
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