Chosen By The Cursed Alpha King Chapter 71

EMILIA'S POV

I shouldn't have asked the question.

The instant the words left my mouth, I saw it—the way his body stilled, the way his shoulders locked like stone, the way the air itself seemed to freeze around him. His eyes darkened, not with rage, but with something heavier. Something old.

Shame. Pain. Memories that still had teeth.

I shifted in my chair, guilt rising thick in my throat. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to," I whispered, almost wishing I could snatch the words back.

His gaze flicked to me then, sharp and unflinching, before sliding away. For a moment, I thought he might stay silent forever. Then, slowly, like pulling each word from a wound, he spoke.

"I was born on the night of the blood moon."

The room went silent except for the quiet clink of cutlery as I set my fork down. My pulse hammered in my ears.

"They thought I was like every other wolf pup," he continued, his voice low, steady, too steady. "But I wasn't. My first shift happened when I was four."

"Four?" I gasped. "That's—"

"Impossible. I know." His lips curled, but there was no humor in it. "My parents thought it was because I carried royal blood. They celebrated it. They thought I was chosen. Special. A sign of strength. But the older I grew, the more they realized something was wrong. Very wrong."

His fists clenched on the table, the tendons straining. I had the urge to reach across and cover his hand with mine, but I didn't dare interrupt.

"When I was young, I lost my temper over the smallest things. Food not cooked the way I liked. A servant speaking too loudly. A guard not bowing fast enough. And when I lost my temper..." His jaw worked, muscles twitching. "It was like someone else took over. Someone darker. Someone cruel. I would wake up with blood on my hands and no memory of what I had done."

A chill danced over my skin.

"Several times I was stopped just short of killing a maid. Or a guard. Or anyone unlucky enough to be near me. But it didn't feel like me. It felt like... the beast. Separate. Feral. Savage."

His gaze met mine then, blazing with intensity. "And when I was thirteen, they discovered the truth. I wasn't just any wolf. I was a Lycan."

The word dropped heavy between us. My lips parted, but I said nothing. I knew enough to understand the weight behind it. Lycans were the stuff of legend—bigger, stronger, faster, nearly immortal. A gift. A glory. But in his voice, I heard no pride.

"It was supposed to be a good thing," he said bitterly. "Lycans are revered as the strongest of our kind. The fastest. The fiercest. But mine..." He laughed once, harsh and humorless. "Mine was uncontrollable. Savage. My beast destroyed everything. And the worst part?" He leaned closer, his voice a rasp that scraped across my heart. "Every time I touched a woman, she died."

His eyes burned into mine. "Not just once. Every single time. The moment my skin met theirs, the beast inside me ripped them apart. I never meant to. I never wanted to. But it happened. Again and again. Until they branded me with the name that still follows me." His lips curled with disgust. "The Cursed King."

I sat frozen, breath trapped in my lungs.

"They think my curse is that I cannot touch a woman without killing her," he said, his tone sharp, cutting. "But that's not it. The truth is worse. My curse is this—" His hand slammed against his chest. "An uncontrollable beast. Feral. Bloodthirsty. A monster that wears my skin. Because of the women I've killed, the people whisper that I'm cursed by the goddess. But the truth?" His voice dropped to a low growl. "The truth is, I'm nothing more than a danger to everyone around me."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "So... you're saying... there's no magical curse on you? Nothing placed on you by a witch or an enemy?"

"Not really," he said quietly. "No spell. No chains of fate. Just me. My beast. And the blood it craves."

I stared at him, my heart pounding. The weight of his words pressed down on me until I thought I might break under it.

"Wow," I whispered. My voice trembled. "So what this means... is that you just have to learn to control your beast."

For the first time since his confession began, he barked a laugh. A real one, but bitter. "Control? Emilia, my beast cannot be controlled. I've spent my entire life trying. Nothing works. Rage. Chains. Blood. Nothing holds it back. Nothing stops it."

I shook my head. "That's not true."

His brows rose.

"I calmed it down," I said firmly. "Last night. In the forest—I stopped your beast from leaving. I've done it before too. Maybe what you need isn't chains or rage. Maybe what you need is to learn how."

He shook his head slowly, disbelief shadowing his eyes. "You don't understand. I'm stuck like this forever. The witch told me..." His voice faltered, low, haunted. "The only person who can calm my beast is my second chance mate. And I still haven't found her."

My chest squeezed painfully.

He leaned back, studying me with something like confusion. "And I don't know why you, Emilia—why you—always seem to calm my beast down. Why your presence makes the monster still. Why you can reach him when no one else can."

I forced a shaky smile, though inside, something cracked open. "Maybe... maybe because I'm special."

His lips twitched, almost a smirk. "Yeah. That's crazy."

Silence followed, thick and heavy. I stared at the table, at the wood grain, at anything but him. Because if I looked at him, I'd break.

Something twisted in my chest. Something sharp and cruel.

The moment he found his mate—his real mate—I would be nothing. He'd push me aside, like a shadow that had outlived its usefulness. The thought hollowed me, carved me out until all that was left was an ache I couldn't name.

I pushed my chair back abruptly, the scrape loud in the silence. "We should probably head back to the palace," I said quickly, before my voice could betray me.

He blinked, startled. "Now?"

"Yes." I stood, forcing steadiness into my limbs. "Thank you for the food."

His eyes narrowed slightly, confusion flickering in their depths. He opened his mouth to speak, but I couldn't bear it. I turned away.

I didn't let him see the way my heart cracked.

Because I knew—knew with a certainty that made me want to scream—that this wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. Not the cursed king. Not the man who belonged to someone else.

But I had.

And the thought of him finding his mate, of turning those dark, piercing eyes on her the way he had on me—

It tore something inside me wide open.

I walked toward the door, my eyes stinging, my chest tight, every step heavier than the last.

Behind me, his voice came low and quiet. "Emilia..."

But I didn't turn back.

Because if I did, I wasn't sure I'd survive it.