Chapter 55: In Pain

Maddox POV

The words had settled into his chest like stones dropped into still water, sending ripples through every corner of his mind.

Love is rare. If you feel this connection, do not let it slip away.

Emrich was not a man given to sentiment. He was practical, grounded, the kind of Beta who spoke only when he had something worth saying. His words carried weight. And today, they had struck Maddox with the force of a physical blow.

He had been a coward. For weeks, for months, he had danced around Hecate, stealing moments, taking what she offered, but never offering himself in return. He had been afraid. Afraid of rejection. Afraid of his own feelings. Afraid of what it would mean to truly open his heart to someone after Samantha.

But Emrich was right. Love was rare. And Maddox was tired of being afraid.

He left the council chamber with a sense of purpose he had not felt in years. His feet carried him through the corridors, past the guards, past the servants, past the portraits of kings who had ruled long before him. The castle was waking from its winter slumber, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, warming the cold stone.

He stopped by the gardens. The first blooms of spring were pushing through the melting snow, small and fragile, their petals pale pink against the white. He knelt and gathered a handful, tying them with a strand of grass. Not a grand bouquet. But honest. Simple. The kind of thing a man might give to a woman he loved.

He loved her.

The thought hit him as he stood, the flowers clutched in his hand. He loved Hecate. Not because she reminded him of Samantha. Not because she was beautiful or powerful or mysterious. He loved her because she was kind. Because she was strong. Because she looked at him and saw past the crown and the curse and the guilt.

Because she made him want to be better.

He smiled, a foolish, boyish smile, and walked toward her studio.

The corridor was quiet. The door to her workroom was slightly ajar, and he could hear the soft sounds of movement inside. He straightened his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and pushed the door open.

A maid looked up from the worktable, a cloth in her hand. She was wiping down the surface, clearing away the scattered herbs and glass vials.

"Your Majesty," she said, curtsying quickly. "Are you looking for the healer?"

"Where is she?" Maddox asked, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice.

"She went into the village, my king. To purchase more medicinal herbs. She said she would return before sunset."

Maddox nodded, his heart still full. "Which shop?"

"The apothecary on Market Street, I believe. The one run by the old blind woman."

He thanked the maid and left.

The village was bustling when he arrived, the streets crowded with merchants and farmers and children playing in the melting snow. Spring was in the air, and everyone seemed eager to shake off the grip of winter. Maddox pulled his hood low over his face, not wanting to attract attention. Today, he was not the king. He was just a man, walking through the market, carrying flowers for the woman he loved.

He stopped at a stall selling fresh flowers and bought a bundle of crimson roses. They were not as humble as the wild ones he had picked from the garden, but they were beautiful. Rich. A declaration.

He tucked them into his coat and continued toward the apothecary.

The shop was tucked into a narrow alley, its sign hanging crookedly above the door. The scent of dried herbs and incense drifted through the open doorway. Maddox approached, his heart pounding, rehearsing the words he would say.

I love you. I have been afraid to admit it, but I cannot hide from it any longer. I do not care about the consequences. I want to be with you. Whatever it takes. Whatever it costs.

He turned the corner.

And stopped.

Hecate stood outside the apothecary, her black robes pulled tight against the cold, her hood pushed back to reveal her dark hair. She was speaking to someone, a man, his back to Maddox. He was tall, broad shouldered, his hair the color of dark honey.

They were embracing.

The man's arms were wrapped around Hecate's waist, and her arms were around his neck. The embrace was not brief. It was not the quick hug of acquaintances or the formal greeting of allies. It was long. Significant. Intimate.

Maddox could not see the man's face. He could not hear what they were saying. But he saw the way Hecate's body relaxed into the embrace, the way her hands rested on the man's shoulders, the way her head tilted slightly, as if she was breathing him in.

The roses slipped from Maddox's fingers.

He stood frozen at the corner, his chest caving in, his heart shattering into pieces he did not know how to gather. The world around him faded. The noise of the market, the laughter of children, the calls of merchants. All of it dissolved into a dull roar in his ears.

He turned and walked away.

He did not run. He did not stumble. He placed one foot in front of the other, his face blank, his eyes fixed on some middle distance. The crowd parted around him, sensing something dangerous in his stillness.

This was why she always held back. This was why she told him to enjoy the moment without thinking about the future. This was why she would not let herself fall.

She already belonged to someone else.

The thought carved into him like a blade. He thought of the son she had mentioned, the boy waiting for her in the Midnight Pack. The father. Of course there was a father. A child did not appear from nowhere.

Maddox had assumed the father was absent, dead, or unworthy. He had assumed Hecate was alone, as alone as he was. But the man in the alley was none of those things. He was real. Present. Close enough to hold her.

The roses lay in the mud behind him, their petals already wilting.

---

The tavern was dark and smoky, the kind of place where kings did not go and where no one asked questions. Maddox pushed through the door and found a table in the back corner, away from the few patrons who nursed their drinks in the afternoon light.

The barmaid approached, her eyes widening when she recognized him. He pressed a coin into her palm before she could speak.

"Whiskey," he said. "Leave the bottle."

She returned with a dusty bottle and a glass. Maddox ignored the glass. He drank from the bottle, the whiskey burning his throat, warming his chest, dulling the edges of the pain.

He thought of Hecate. Of her dark eyes and her quiet strength. Of the way she had looked at him that morning, soft and unguarded. Of the way she had said his name, not Maddox the king, but Maddox the man.

He thought of the man in the alley. The way Hecate had melted into his arms. The way she had held him, as if she never wanted to let go.

Maddox drank more.

The afternoon faded into evening. The tavern grew louder, filled with workers and travelers and locals escaping their own sorrows. No one bothered the king in the corner. No one recognized him, or if they did, they had the sense to stay away.

He drank until the bottle was empty. He called for another.

The face of the man haunted him. The back of his head. The breadth of his shoulders. The way he had held Hecate like she was precious. Like she was his.

Maddox had no right to be jealous. Hecate was not his. She had never been his. He was married. He was cursed. He had no claim on her heart.

But the jealousy burned anyway, hot and ugly and consuming.

He thought of Emrich's words. Love is rare. Do not let it slip away.

What a fool he had been. What a blind, arrogant fool. He had walked through the streets with roses in his hands, ready to declare his love, and all along she had been holding someone else.

The second bottle emptied. Maddox called for a third.

He did not know when Emrich found him. The Beta's face swam into view, blurred at the edges, his expression a mixture of concern and disapproval.

"Maddox," Emrich said, his voice low. "What happened?"

Maddox laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "I am a fool."

"You are drunk."

"Both can be true."

Emrich pulled the bottle from his hands and set it on the table. "Come. I am taking you back to the castle."

Maddox did not resist. He let Emrich pull him to his feet, let him guide him through the tavern and out into the cold night air. The stars were out, bright and indifferent, watching him stumble through the streets like a shadow of the man he had been that morning.

He had gone to find love. He had found heartbreak instead.

And now all that was left was the whiskey and the silence and the long, empty walk back to the castle where Hecate waited, unaware that he had seen her in another man's arms.