chapter 6

Lucia POV

“Okay, Your Majesty. I understand.”

My voice was barely a breath, fragile and completely hollowed out. I swallowed the thick, jagged lump of glass forming in my throat, forcing my expression into a mask of absolute submission. I had to hide the agonizing pain shredding my chest into pieces.

Why am I so cursed? I asked myself in the dark recesses of my mind, a quiet, desperate cry echoing into the void. What cosmic sin did I commit in another life to deserve this endless cycle of rejection?

First, my stepsister poisoned my world and stole my boyfriend. Then, my father traded me away without a second thought. And now, I was standing in the cold, forbidding suite of the most terrifying alpha in the realm, forced to accept that I would never know what it felt like to be cherished.

Maybe I should just accept my fate, I whispered internally, a numb resignation washing over my bones. I was born mute. I was born an omega meant to be overlooked. I will never find true love. I am destined to be a ghost.

I lowered my eyes, my hands trembling slightly as I folded them over my nightgown.

“Where… where would you like me to sleep tonight, Your Majesty?” I managed to ask, forcing my fingers to form the slow, deliberate shapes of sign language alongside my breathy whisper.

King Damian didn't even look at me. He unfastened the last clasp of his heavy armor, letting the dark metal clatter onto a velvet chair with a sharp, heavy thud.

“On the floor,” he snapped, his voice cold, flat, and absolute. “I have a long, grueling day ahead of me tomorrow, and I will not have any unwanted things polluting the air close to me.”

Unwanted things.

The words struck me like a physical blow to the stomach. I flinched, my eyes stinging with fresh, hot tears that threatened to overflow. But I didn't dare argue. I gave a small, defeated nod.

Okay, I signed bitterly, turning away from the magnificent, velvet-draped bed that mocked my misery.

I walked toward the edge of the room, my bare feet padding softly against the freezing hardwood floor. Spotting a spare, decorative throw blanket tossed over a mahogany chest, I reached out to grab it so I could at least soften the hard boards beneath me.

Clack.

A heavy, leather-clad hand suddenly shot out, clamping around my wrist with iron strength.

I gasped, freezing instantly. Slowly, I turned my head.

King Damian was standing right beside me. His touch sent a blinding, confusing jolt of static electricity shooting up my arm—a spark of raw, undeniable heat that contrasted violently with his frigid expression.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his silver eyes narrowing down at me.

I pointed down at the blanket in my hand, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“No,” he commanded coldly, yanking the blanket out of my grip and tossing it back onto the chest. “I said the floor. You will sleep on the bare ground.”

I stared up at him in sheer disbelief. The cruelty of it was breathtaking. Yet, even through the haze of humiliation and pain, my traitorous eyes lingered on his face. How come... my mind whispered in dazed bewilderment, how come a man so breathtakingly handsome can possess a heart carved entirely of ice?

His sharp cheekbones, the heavy sweep of dark hair across his brow, the fierce, chiseled perfection of his jaw—he looked like a god carved from marble, and yet he treated me like dirt beneath his boots.

“Okay, Your Majesty,” I whispered softly, letting my gaze fall to the floor.

A dark, patronizing smirk touched the corner of his lips. “Good girl.”

With those dismissive words, he turned his back on me, climbed into the massive, warm bed, pulled the heavy furs over his broad shoulders, and closed his eyes. Within minutes, the steady, rhythmic sound of his breathing filled the quiet room.

I lowered myself onto the bare, freezing wooden floorboards.

I pulled my knees tight against my chest, wrapping my thin arms around my shivering frame. The cold radiated upward from the timber, sinking straight into my bones. I bit down hard on my lower lip, desperately swallowing the sobs clawing at my throat, refusing to let him hear me cry.

With every ounce of my remaining strength, I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for unconsciousness to take me away from this waking nightmare.

Slowly, mercifully, exhaustion dragged me under. The darkness swallowed my pain, and I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

BAM.

A violent, feral roar exploded inside my skull.

My eyes flew wide open in absolute terror. I bolted upright, gasping for air, clutching my head as my brain felt like it was tearing apart at the seams.

No!

The voice wasn’t mine. It wasn't my quiet, submissive omega wolf at all. It was deep, guttural, and dripping with raw, animalistic agony.

‘Mate… our mate is hurting! Let me out!’

The voice echoed through the invisible, sacred corridors of the mate bond, vibrating so fiercely in my soul that my ears rang. It was Damian’s wolf—a massive, golden-eyed beast of myth and nightmare, screaming from the deepest cage of the King’s subconscious.

Panic seized my chest. I scrambled backward across the cold floor, lifting my terrified gaze toward the massive bed.

What I saw froze the blood in my veins.

King Damian wasn't sleeping anymore. He was thrashing violently beneath the heavy furs, his entire body locked in a brutal, silent war. Veins bulged against the pale skin of his neck and temples, glowing with an unholy, silver-white luminescence. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles bled, and muffled, agonizing groans tore from his throat as he fought with every ounce of his supernatural strength.

He was fighting his own beast. He was physically tearing himself apart from the inside out, refusing to let his wolf break free to claim me.

I sat there in the dark, shivering on the bare floor, staring at the man who had just called me an unwanted burden, watching him suffer a blinding agony just to keep away from me.

A breathless, trembling realization dawned on my shattered mind, echoing softly in the quiet room.

Does this mean… I pressed a shaking hand against the burning, glowing mark on my neck, tears spilling over my lashes. Does this mean I really am his true mate? And if I am… why is he fighting us so hard?