บททั้งหมดของ Mated to the Alpha King : บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

EsmeThe tray is too light. I know it the moment I lift it from the sideboard. Two empty cups and a folded cloth don’t weigh enough to steady my hands. My fingers look clean, but there’s a fine tremor along the knuckles I can’t hide. I pick up a third cup, add it to the tray, and test the balance again. Better, but not quite enough.“Lower ring, then the dais,” Marek says, voice even at my shoulder. “Don’t rush. If anyone calls you with a title that isn’t mine or the king’s, you don’t hear it.”“Yes, sir.”The dagger sits where I tied it this morning, leather tight against my thigh. I feel the grain on the hilt through layers of cloth when my leg flexes. The vial rides in the pocket of my apron, the curve of the glass pressing the inside of my wrist each time I switch the tray from one hand to the other. Father’s words climb up the back of my neck and settle there like weight. Three nights. Tonight is one of them. I pull air deep enough to steady my chest and step out.When I reach th

Ardon The council hall hums with argument. The beam is gone, the debris cleared, yet the air still tastes of dust and fear. Voices overlap, Varick blaming builders, Thalos blaming guards and Maelis speaking sense no one hears. I listen, but not to them. My eyes keep finding the girl at the edge of the chamber.Esme.She is going out of the hall as I ordered, her head lowered, her shoulders tense. She is trying very hard to still give the impression she is nobody, and should not be noticed. But I have, and the matebond to her is becoming stronger the more she in my presence. Korrath presses close, the edge of his growl sliding through my mind. ‘No omega moves like that. She’s something else.’‘She’s a servant,’ I answer. ‘And she saved your life.’‘Ours,’ he corrects. ‘That speed was instinct. Not learned.’The voices in the hall rise again, but I raise my hand and the sound cuts. “Enough,” I say. “We’ll inspect every beam and every chain in this fortress before nightfall. Darian a

Esme Dawn touches the high windows before the bell. I wake to a room that tilts, my skin is damp and cold at once and the blanket sticks to my back. When I sit up, my stomach pulls tight and lets go in waves that leave my jaw clenched. The bucket in the corner holds the worst of the night. The air smells faintly of bile and iron.I wash my face at the basin and the water is warm from the pitcher Marla left at the second watch. My hands shake so hard the cloth slaps water onto the floor, so I breathe slowly until the tremor eases to a small shiver. The dress fights me at the laces and when it’s on, the weight of it drags across my shoulders like a wet towel. My boots feel heavy but I stand anyway.The corridor outside is quiet. Stone presses cool against my palm as I steady myself and a guard nods from the post near the stair. I nod back and make the turn toward the service passage. The climb up to the King’s hall takes the air from my chest, so I stop once at the landing and wait for

SeleneThe memory of him carrying her will not leave my mind. Every whisper in the hall feeds it, each servant repeating the same words with awe they don’t deserve to feel. The King lifted her. He carried her like she mattered. Their mouths move around her name like it’s holy. It makes my stomach turn.I keep my smile fixed because rage must never show in public. Rage is for corridors and rooms with locked doors. In the council chamber, the morning light cuts across the table and I glide to my seat as if nothing is wrong. My gown rustles, silk layered thick enough to armor me. The men rise when I pass as they always do. Power has its habits.Mirelle leans close when I sit. “The gossip is wild already,” she says, soft but eager. “Half the maids say he kept her in his own room.”“He didn’t,” I answer, too quickly. The denial slips like blood through a cut and Mirelle smiles at that.“She won’t last long,” she purrs. “They never do.” Her voice is smooth and her perfume heavy. It should

EsmeGuilt waits the moment I close my eyes. My mother’s face fills the dark, the bruise under her left eye the last time I saw her, the way she held her breath when Baldric walked past. I open my eyes again and scrub trays until the sting in my palms drowns the rest. Steam lifts from the wash basin, the metal groans when I press hot pans too hard against its sides. My sleeves stick to my arms and the hiss of water covers the churn in my stomach long enough to think straight.'You didn’t cut her chain today by cutting yourself,' Nysera says, steady and close.'He’ll hurt her anyway,' I answer. 'He’ll do it because I didn’t bow when Rastin smiled.''Truth isn’t changed by looking away,' she says. 'But action must be chosen well.'I set a clean tray on the rack and reach for the next as the kitchen moves in a tight rhythm around me. Knives knock, ovens thrum and Marek’s voice pushes everything forward.“Salt,” he calls. “And someone watches the back entrance. We’re not a market stall.”