Todos os capítulos de The Alpha King's Last Breeder : Capítulo 31 - Capítulo 40

Four days of the intensified cycle blurred into each other. Blood every morning. Questions I answered the same way until the answers started to feel like a lie I had not chosen. Attempts at night when the panels stayed clean enough to continue. Oliver came to the room, used the terms, and left with the same rebuilt control each time. No kiss. No hand lingering at my throat. No conversation that risked the edge of the clause. He treated the schedule like a campaign that could only be won by refusing to look at anything except the objective. I stopped expecting him to stay. On the fifth morning the older physician paused longer than usual over the slate. She drew an extra vial. Ran a second check against a different reagent plate from the case. The younger attendant watched without speaking. The room felt smaller while they worked. "When did the fatigue start?" the older woman asked. I had not reported fatigue. I had been calling it the weight of the cycle and the unbroken tensio

The restrictions landed the same day the confirmation was logged. No unsupervised movement beyond the inner corridor. Meals measured and timed. Rest enforced in blocks the younger attendant tracked on a slate. The observation fittings felt closer. I was no longer only a contracted body on a schedule. I was a preliminary result that had to be kept from collapsing. I hated how quickly the palace could turn a person into a protocol. Two days after the markers were confirmed, the lock turned in the late morning and a woman I had never seen entered ahead of the usual physician. She was older than the Crownlands medical staff, not by much, but the difference sat in the way she carried herself. Practical coat. Worn leather case. Dark hair bound back without ornament. She looked at the room first, then at me, then at the fittings in the corners, and her mouth tightened as if she had already decided the setup was adequate and also wrong. “Solveig Christensen,” she said. “Rimeholt. I was

The pain started in the dark before dawn and did not ask permission. It was low and sharp, a sudden twist deep under my navel that pulled the breath out of me before I fully woke. I curled onto my side and waited for it to pass. It did not pass. It tightened again, harder, and a warm wetness followed between my thighs that had nothing to do with the contract nights. I put my hand there. My fingers came away dark. Fear moved through me clean and absolute. I got off the bed carefully, one hand braced on the wall, and made it to the door. The doubled watch was still in the corridor. I hit the wood with my palm because my voice would not come out steady on the first try. “Get Solveig. Now.” The guard did not ask questions. Boots moved. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold stone with my back against the doorframe and both hands pressed low against my abdomen as if pressure alone could hold what was trying to leave. The second wave of pain bent me forward. I tasted m

The stabilizers arrived after dark on the second day and still were not enough. Solveig mixed the first dose herself at the side table, hands steady, mouth set in a line that had stopped offering odds out loud. I took what she gave me. The pain had settled into a low constant grind. The packing stayed mostly clean. Oliver received reports at the door and did not push into the room unless Solveig allowed it. The wing had gone quiet in the particular way places go quiet when everyone is waiting to learn whether a body will hold or open. Near midnight the grind became a tear again. It started under the left side and ripped across as if something inside had decided the fight was over. Heat flooded low and fast. I felt the wetness before I saw it, a sudden heavy release that soaked through the packing and the sheet beneath me in one awful rush. "Solveig—" She was already moving. The calm she wore for smaller crises stripped off. She shouted for the emergency kit, for pressur

I woke to the smell of clean cloth and the dull knowledge that something essential had been cut out of the dark. The pain was different now. Not the tearing flood of the hemorrhage. A deep, hollow ache that sat low in my body and radiated into my back and thighs. Every shift of weight reminded me that the bed had been a battlefield and that I had only half won. Solveig's face appeared above me when I turned my head. She checked my pulse, lifted the edge of the fresh packing, and nodded once to herself. "You held through the night," she said. "Color is better. Bleeding is minimal. You will drink what I give you. You will not sit up without help. If you feel cold or dizzy you speak immediately." I drank. The water tasted like metal and dust. When she eased me higher against the pillows the room swam and then settled. Morning light cut through the reinforced shutters in a thin gray bar. Oliver was in the chair near the wall. He had not changed out of the clothes from the emergency