Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 43: Chapter 43

Kayla’s POV
Warmth.
That was the first thing I noticed. The soft cocoon of blankets pulled over my body, the faint smell of lavender clinging to the pillows, the distant cold wind from my window. For a heartbeat, it felt like I’d dreamed it all. The council. The question. The shame that had peeled back my skin and exposed the rawest part of me to the world.
But then—
A soft clink. The sound of glass against porcelain.
I stirred. My head pounded, not from wine this time, but from the sheer weight of everything pressing down on my chest like an anvil.
“Easy,” a familiar voice murmured.
I blinked and turned my head. Dr. Helene sat in the corner of the room, perched elegantly on the velvet-cushioned stool with a calm expression. She was pouring tea. Her long, brown hair was bound back, and her robes were pristine like they’ve always turned out to be.
What was she doing here?
I might have flinched because she added, “You’re safe,” setting the teacup on the nightstand beside me. “You passed out. Your body simply gave out.”
I tried to sit up, but the sheets tangled around me. “What…?” My voice cracked. “The council… What happened?”
Helene’s calmness didn’t waver. “The Alpha King ended the session before anything else could unfold. He carried you here himself.”
Himself. He’d found out about me and he—
My breath stilled. “Where is he?” I was already trying to leave the bed when she stopped me.
She hesitated, and that single pause was enough to send ice splintering through my veins.
I turned my head too fast, searching the room. My heart dropped. Moira wasn’t here. But just as I thought no one else was, my eyes caught Alaric. He leaned against the door, arms folded, his presence as cold and still as a statue carved from obsidian. The room felt smaller with him in it. His gaze, when it met mine, didn’t hold its nonchalant or patient condescension that was starting to be a frequent look on him recently.
There was nothing soft in him now.
I shoved the covers back, nearly tripping over the sheets as I climbed out of bed. “Where is Lance?”
Alaric didn’t move. “You don’t get to ask that.”
I froze. “What?”
He pushed off the wall, voice flat, clipped, and cutting. “You want to know where he is after everything you’ve done? After pretending all was alright? Keeping such a secret? After sitting in front of the council and letting them dig into his honor—into our kingdom—and letting another feed them that truth you were supposed to give the moment you were brought here?!”
I flinched.
“You let him stand beside you,” he went on, tone sharpening with every word, “while the council accused you of lying to secure your place at his side. You let them imply he’s a fool. That he’s been manipulated.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“But that’s what it looked like.”
Silence.
A dangerous kind of silence.
“You think because the king didn’t gut you in front of them, you’re safe?” Alaric asked, taking a slow step toward me. “You think mercy means forgiveness?”
I swallowed hard.
“He didn’t kill you, Kayla,” Alaric said, no honorific, just plain Kayla, stopping inches from me. “Not because you didn’t deserve it in their eyes. Not because of any innocence. He didn’t kill you for one reason only.”
I stared at him.
Alaric’s expression didn’t change. “And that reason may not save you the next moment he walks through this door.”
I felt the crack inside me widen. My knees wobbled.
“I’m telling you this once.” His voice was ice. “You want to speak the king’s name again in my presence, you better have something to say that might make him think twice about finishing what he didn’t start in that chamber. Because whatever you want?” He scoffed. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
I couldn't breathe. Guilt slithered up my spine, wrapping around my ribs until my lungs were too tight to draw breath.
“I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“And yet you did,” Alaric snapped. “You had all the time. But you let another—know something that could destroy him. And you think we should what? Applaud you? Let you cry into his arms?”
I flinched again.
“Grow up, girl. This is power. This is the throne. His heir. If you want fairy tales, you should’ve stayed with the bastard who sold you.”
The slap of his words echoed louder than any strike. And every doubt about him knowing of my past was answered.
“I only came to warn you not to think of fleeing.”
He turned, ready to leave.
“Please,” I whispered. My voice cracked under the weight of everything breaking inside me. “Just tell me where he is.”
Alaric stopped at the door. Didn’t turn.
“I have to—please—I need to see him.”
His fingers twitched. Then he slowly peeled my hand from his sleeve. His gaze fell on it as if it were something fragile, something pathetic.
“You think you can ask me because I was beginning to tolerate you?” he murmured, finally looking at me. “Because I humored the king when he couldn’t stop watching you like you were some mystery worth solving?”
I didn’t answer.
And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, and I stared at the space he’d filled—feeling emptier than I ever had before. My body moved on its own. I turned, leaning back against the door, and slowly slid down, knees folding. My fingers covered my face. Shame licked at my skin.
The room spun. Everything was crashing in.
I didn’t even hear Dr. Helene move until she crouched beside me and placed a cool hand on my shoulder.
“I ruined everything,” I whispered.
“You survived,” she said gently. “And you’re still here. That counts for something.”
“Not to him. Not after this.”
She didn’t respond.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. My voice came out softer—almost fragile. “Is there… any change?”
Dr. Helene gave me a gentle look, the kind that made me feel seen and pitied all at once. She nodded. “Yes, actually. There has been a change.”
My heart skipped. I didn’t move. This could be—
“Your womb has healed beautifully, Kayla. The scarring is gone, and your hormone levels look much better than before. From a medical standpoint, your chances of conceiving have significantly improved.”
I should’ve felt relief. Gratitude, even. But instead… all I felt was this sinking, twisting emptiness.
“So…” I cleared my throat. “So if everything’s okay now… why am I not…?”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t bring myself to say the word.
Her eyes softened further. “There’s no sign of a fetus, no,” she said gently. “But please understand, just because your body is ready doesn’t mean it happens instantly. Even with perfect timing, it can take a few cycles. That’s completely normal.”
I nodded slowly, but it felt robotic. The words didn’t register.
“I had sex,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. “Twice. After my last treatment. I thought—God, I hoped—that maybe…” My voice cracked, and I looked away before the sting in my eyes turned to tears. “I thought that was it. That I’d finally done it.”
She reached out, placing a comforting hand on mine. “You’re not doing anything wrong. Your chances are better now than ever before. And that’s a big deal, Kayla. It means hope is real this time. This will be explained to the king once I get the chance.”
But all I could think was: it didn’t work. Again.
And I could be dead by then.
Even after everything, even now that I was “ready,” it still wasn’t enough. My body had finally decided to cooperate—only to remind me that hope didn’t mean promise.
Maybe I was stupid to believe it ever would.