Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 46

His words wouldn't stop echoing in my head.

'Over and over. Until there's no doubt whose child you'll be carrying.'

It was ridiculous. Utterly insane. But the way his voice had dropped, the rough edge of promise in it—it crawled under my skin like wildfire. My thighs pressed together before I could even stop myself, an involuntary movement that betrayed me, betraying the shield I kept trying to build between us.

Get yourself together, Emilia.

I coughed, forcing my thoughts to scatter, willing away the flashes of heat that his voice had ignited in me. The way his thumb had traced my palm lingered like a ghost, as though he'd branded me there with invisible fire.

Pulling my hand back at last, I sat straighter, masking the storm inside me. "So... what exactly am I expected to do now?" My voice came out steadier than I felt, though I caught the faintest curve tugging at the corner of his lips—like he knew, like he always knew, when I was off-balance.

His gaze pinned me, a predator's patience behind it, before he finally leaned back in his chair. "First," he said slowly, deliberately, "you'll join me for dinner tomorrow. We'll be welcoming the new doctor."

I frowned. "A doctor?"

He gave a small nod, fingers tapping once against the desk. "Yes."

My stomach twisted. Dinner with him was one thing. Dinner in his presence while surrounded by others, where I'd be expected to play... whatever role he thought I was? That was another entirely.

Still, I swallowed back the protest and only nodded. "Fine."

For a moment, he studied me with those piercing blue eyes, like he was weighing the truth behind my agreement. Then, with the faintest tilt of his head, he dismissed the subject.

I shifted in my seat, nerves skittering across my skin. "So... can I go now?"

There was this knowing look in his eyes. It was dangerous. "The maid will take you," he said at last, "to the room you'll be sleeping in from now on."

Relief almost slipped past my lips—until the rest of his words hit me like a brick.

"You'll be sleeping with me."

My breath stalled, the air catching in my throat. "What?"

He didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to. The way he leaned forward, hands folding atop the desk as his gaze held mine, made his meaning perfectly, painfully clear.

The silence stretched. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I forced myself to stand, not because I had the strength but because sitting any longer under his gaze felt like drowning.

I turned toward the door, hand trembling as I reached for the handle, but something in me—some stubborn flicker of rebellion—made me stop. Slowly, I turned back to face him.

"What about the other girls?" The question slipped out before I could cage it. My voice was soft, almost careful, but my eyes locked on his. "The ones that were brought here... for you."

For a long moment, he didn't move. Didn't blink. His face was unreadable, carved from stone. The silence pressed heavier with every second, until I felt the weight of it suffocating me.

Then, finally, his eyes narrowed the slightest fraction, a storm flickering just beneath the surface. His voice, when it came, was calm—too calm.

"Stop asking too many questions, Emilia."

The finality in his tone struck like a gavel. An order. A warning. Both.

I swallowed hard, lowering my eyes for just a second before forcing myself to look at him again. "Right." My lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, brittle but present. "I'll remember that."

Because I had to remember it. Because right now, survival depended on playing his game, on walking the razor's edge between submission and defiance.

I turned back to the door, my heart hammering against my ribs, and this time I opened it without hesitation. The woman was still waiting, standing tall with her hands folded neatly in front of her. She bowed again when she saw me, and I didn't say a word—just walked past her, my steps quick, my face carefully blank.

But inside, my mind was already racing.

I wasn't here to be his queen. I wasn't here to be his whore, no matter what label he dressed it up with. I wasn't here to give him a child.

No.

I was here to make him trust me. To get close enough, deep enough, that one day—when he least expected it—he'd drop his guard.

And when that day came, I'd be gone.

Gone, without a second thought, without ever looking back.

**The door clicked shut behind her, the faintest whisper of finality in its wake. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the chamber. Then I reached through the link.

Lucien.

'Yes, Your Majesty.'

'Keep eyes on her. Every second. Every step. Shadows only—she must never know. I want to feel her every breath through you.'

There was a brief pause, the soundless weight of obedience, before his answer came sharp and unwavering.'As you command.'

The link snapped closed. I leaned back in my chair, though there was no relief in it, no easing of the tension that had taken root deep in my chest. Emilia...I might have not known her for a long time—but I knew enough. Enough to recognize the iron beneath her softness, the defiance behind her silence. She wasn't the kind of woman to agree. Not without teeth hidden behind her tongue.

She was planning something. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones.

My eyes drifted back down to the spread of photographs littering the desk. Doctor Charles. His face stared up at me from the glossy prints, lifeless and slack, a rope still coiled like a serpent around his neck.

I narrowed my eyes. Suicide. That's what they said this is. That's what the convenient, neatly folded note had claimed. But Charles had been a man of conviction. Calculated. Measured. Not one to wake and decide his life was suddenly worth discarding. No—if he'd hung himself, someone had strung the rope for him.

My fingers tapped once against the wood, unbidden, as I studied the note again. A smear of ink. The strange words staring at me. And beneath all of it, the gnawing truth I couldn't shake:

What did you know, Charles?

And who was desperate enough to silence you?

The air shifted. Heavy. Oppressive. My beast stirred, restless beneath my skin. At first, it was a whisper—a low thrum against my ribs. Then, without warning, fire shot through my veins. My vision blurred, a violent heat ripping through every muscle, every sinew.

A snarl tore from my throat as my claws burst free, scoring deep into the desk. My breath came ragged, uneven. Control was slipping, my grip on the leash fraying with every heartbeat.

There was no reason. No trigger. And yet—my body trembled, buckling as I fell hard to my knees.

The sound of the door slamming open cut through the haze. Lucien stood there, his eyes wide, his face drained of color.

"My king..." he whispered, voice cracking on the words. His gaze locked on mine—on the feral light flooding my irises, on the storm I could no longer cage.

Then his lips parted, and with a terror I'd never heard in him before, he breathed:

"The Blood Moon."