Chapter 26

“Take it off—wash your makeover!” Alpha Karl’s voice cracked like thunder, reverberating through the room with a command that pierced straight into Lois’s chest. Her heart thudded violently, pounding faster than her own breath, panic igniting every nerve as if her body had been set aflame.

A maid stepped forward with a bowl of water and a dry napkin, her hands trembling as though she, too, feared the storm brewing in her Alpha’s eyes. Karl had ordered it in advance—he was suspicious of Lois. He could smell her secrets, feel her trickery crawling under her skin.

Lois swallowed hard. The heat inside her belly was unbearable, like a slow match being struck beneath her center, burning her alive from within.

“Wash yourself—or I’ll do it for you,” the maid muttered, voice hushed but sharp.

Lois froze, her throat tightening. She dared not move.

“Wash. Your. Face,” Alpha Karl growled, each word low, guttural, heavy with anticipation. His sharp gaze devoured every flicker of her unease, every bead of sweat glistening on her brow.

Lois dipped her trembling hands into the water, splashing her face. The cold sting bit into her skin, smearing away the heavy layers of the extravagant makeover. Again and again, she scrubbed until the mask dissolved, revealing the raw, dangerous truth beneath.

Her face.

Her true face.

Alluring. Surreal. Glowing as though the gods themselves had carved her beauty from forbidden flame.

Gasps erupted around the chamber. The maids recoiled, Wolfe’s breath hitched audibly. Alpha Karl’s eyes widened, his world halting as though time itself bent before the sight. For a heartbeat, she was a fantasy made flesh.

“How have you been, Your Majesty?” Lois smirked faintly, her voice edged with poison and pride.

Karl’s brows knitted, his chest tightening. “You—wretched, bloody murderer, how da—”

“How dare you!” Lois snapped, slicing through his growl before he could finish. Her voice dripped venom.

In a flash, Wolfe’s sword pressed against her throat, cold steel biting her tender skin. But Lois only smirked, leaning into the blade until it nicked her flesh. A thin stream of crimson trickled down, staining her neck. Wolfe staggered back, shocked, lowering his weapon.

Karl’s eyes flared. What woman dares step into the sword meant to slay her?

The Lois he knew—his slave, his bed-worn toy—would never. She would have bowed, begged, suffocated herself if he commanded it. But this Lois? Bold. Unyielding. Reckless. And it ignited a fresh blaze of fury inside him.

“You birthed my sextuplets, didn’t you?” His voice lashed out, urgent, demanding.

Lois’s lips twisted into a bitter laugh. “Your sextuplets? Have you forgotten what you are, Karl? A cursed king who cannot sire an heir. And yet you dream so high?” Her tone was icy, cutting deep.

Rage thundered across his face. His jaw tightened, veins pulsed along his neck, his lips curled back, teeth grinding.

“You bloody wench!” he bellowed, the sound reverberating like a beast’s roar. Hatred dripped from his eyes, swirling like a vortex of black fire.

Lois’s fury snapped. She charged at him, fists striking his chest, her voice a shrill cry of defiance. “Do not call me wench! I am not your wench!”

Her blows rained down, but his broad chest barely flinched. She hit harder, desperate, venting years of torment, her body trembling with pent-up rage.

Wolfe, tense, stood ready to sever her head if Karl but gave the order.

Karl seized her jaw, squeezing until the bones beneath her skin felt like they might splinter. His eyes bore into hers, noting the rigid tension in her posture—the raised chin, squared shoulders, a woman daring him to challenge her.

Beautiful, yes. But dangerous. A rose with thorns.

Her eyes burned with such feral rage that he half believed she’d stab him dead if she held a sword.

Wolfe’s blade rose again, sharp, deadly, waiting. Lois continued clawing at Karl’s chest, unrelenting, until Karl’s hand clamped around her throat.

“You want death?!” she tried to scream, but his grip choked her words.

“Get away from me, wench!” Karl roared, his fiery red eyes blazing like molten coals, mist-like vapor rolling in their depths. His brute force hurled her backward, crashing her onto the floor.

She gasped, clutching her bruised neck, her gaze lifting to the monster towering over her.

He stalked closer, his large, rugged hand gripping her throat once more, cutting her air, suffocating her.

“I hate you. I loathe you with every fiber of my being,” his voice thundered, cold and merciless. “You are not my mate. You are filth. A cursed distraction. Nothing more than my thing. My chattel. My slave. My pleasure. Do you understand, wench?”

His words lashed at her like chains, each syllable embedding deeper than his grip. The same cruelty. The same torment. The memories she had tried to bury now dragged her back into the abyss.

At last, he released her. Lois collapsed forward, heaving, lungs clawing for air. Her hatred surged hotter than fire, filling her chest until it nearly consumed her.

Was this man truly her fated mate—the one meant to protect her from the world’s cruelties? Or was he the devil himself, destined to damn her?

“What do you want from me?” she spat, her voice trembling but strong.

“Where are my sextuplets?” His demand cracked the air, his eyes dark, brooding, devouring her soul like a demon’s hunger.

The instant he spoke, Lois stiffened. Fear flashed in her eyes. She rose, defensive, fierce, like a lioness guarding her cubs.

“I never birthed sextuplets for you!” she snapped. “I never birthed anything that belongs to you! You rejected me—claimed my stepsister in my place! What more do you want from me? Let me go!”

Karl’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade.

“Conall. Coen. Ciri. Conan. Cahir. Cera.”

Her breath hitched.

One by one, their names spilled from his lips, each syllable a dagger slicing into her heart. Lois froze, her blood running cold, her eyes widening in horror as a chilling dread swept over her.