Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 50: Chapter 50
You are reading Auctioned to the Cruel King, Chapter 50: Chapter 50. Read more chapters of Auctioned to the Cruel King.
Kayla’s POV
The weight of meeting Lance now, after that chaos of talk days ago, clung to me as I descended the staircase, each step steady despite how much of my soul still felt like ash.
I could do this. Take my life back.
There was nothing to fear, if he wanted me dead I'd have been long ago which meant I could still change things…like Moira had said.
Moira walked beside me, and when we reached the looming double doors of the dining hall, she stopped.
“I don’t think I should go in with you,” she said, eyes uncertain for the first time.
She was right. If I was going to face Lance—face myself—I had to do it alone. No buffer. No shield. Just my battered dignity and whatever was left of my pride. I gave her a small smile. “You’ve done enough. I can take it from here.”
She nodded and turned, but I caught her hand. She stilled.
“Thank you again,” I said quietly. “I really needed to hear what you said, and... well, it's going to be a work in progress for me. But thank you for not letting me drown in that room."
Moira looked startled for a moment. Then I did something I hadn’t planned—perhaps the remnant of the girl who had learned to value kindness wherever she found it—made me reach out. I hugged her. Briefly. Fiercely.
“Take care of yourself, Luna.”
I nearly broke that when she called me that. It had come softer than duty.
And then she was gone.
I pushed open the doors.
The dining hall was nearly empty, save for an elderly maid gathering silverware. Platters of food sat untouched, as pristine as the moment they’d been served.
“Good evening, Luna,” the maid said, bobbing her head.
I straightened, trying to not look anything less than I should. “Evening. Um… where’s the king?”
She tidied with a sigh as if she'd been waiting for someone to ask. “Left a few minutes ago, barely touched his food. Just the wine, I think.”
My heart sank slightly. “I see. Do you know where he went?”
She shrugged. “His chambers, maybe. Or the garden path. That’s where he goes when he wants to take a walk.”
A walk sounds like it.
I glanced at the table again. Just as I had joked earlier, only the wine bottle showed signs of use—and even that looked more drained than savored.
“Oh. Okay, thank you..."
"Ruth," she supplied helpfully.
"Thank you, Ruth."
I checked his office first since it was near, which turned out to be empty, not even a guard at the door. Then I made my way down the corridor that opened to the garden that looked a little overgrown, and just a bit wild around the edges.
The night air was cool, clinging to my skin as I walked. The fountain loomed ahead, a silver blur beneath the moonlight. That’s when I heard the voices. Low, hushed. An argument, if the clipped tension was anything to go by.
Lance? No, that wasn't his voice.
I slowed, instinctively easing my steps. My bare feet barely made a sound on the gravel path, but still, I wasn’t invisible. A crack underfoot betrayed me, the brittle snap of a twig echoing too loudly.
Damn it. Just very good.
“Who’s there?” a woman’s voice snapped tight and brittle. Of course, it wouldn't kill me not to have Vivian anywhere I go.
There was no point in hiding now. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out from behind the garden wall, trying to project confidence I didn't feel.
Her posture shifted. From startled to irritated in a breath. “Gods, you're too old to be sneaking around like some woodland sprite,” she said, arms folded. Her tone was flaky, but her eyes… they were shaken. A flicker of panic she tried—and failed—to hide from me.
I knew that look.
Because I’d worn it too many times myself.
My gaze drifted beside her and landed on someone I didn’t recognize. A man. Tall. Bronze skin, low-shaved hair that gleamed like obsidian. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and a serpent tattoo curling up the side of his neck.
Alright, there is no need to feel small, I told myself.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said. “I was looking for the king. The old maid at his dining said he might be out here.”
Vivian clicked her tongue. “Ruth, no doubt. That hag’s got one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. That aside… you’ve come, you’ve looked. Your King is not here. So… bye-bye.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
My attention flicked again to the man beside her, who watched me with interest…too much interest.
I turned as if to leave, then stopped. Vivian had meddled in my business far too many times for me to simply walk away now. Whatever was happening here, her obvious discomfort told me it was significant.
I turned back around. "Actually, aren't you going to introduce me?" I asked lightly, though my spine stiffened. “Seems rude.”
Vivian’s smile was tight enough to cut glass. “Stay in your lane.”
"Come on, Vivian, introduce me. She looks... interesting." His gaze traveled over me. "I'm sorry we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Cleo—an acquaintance of Vivian's and the pack."
That name.
Cartier mentioned it before, and Vivian's reaction then had been just as agitated as it was now. So this was him.
“Pleasure,” I said, though the word felt like sand on my tongue.
Vivian reached for his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. “Don’t,” she said sharply. “Stay away from her.”
Cleo laughed. “Viv, come on. You’re being rude.”
He brushed her off easily and approached. His eyes dragged over me in a way I’d grown too familiar with…like I was a painting, or worse, a commodity.
“I can see why he chose you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Vivian. “Rumors didn’t do you justice.”
I swallowed a sigh. “Thank you. Though I’m not sure we’ve met before.”
“Not before now. But you’ve been… mentioned.”
I tried not to think about what in particular had been mentioned about me. “Oh, I’ve heard your name too,” I said. “Just in passing. Vivian’s mentioned it—hinted, assuming it’s the same person, really.”
Cleo’s grin widened. “I’m touched. You think of me that fondly, Viv?”
“Only in passing,” I added, meeting Vivian’s glare.
Vivian stalked toward us. “You don’t need to know him,” she hissed. “And like you said, assuming it’s the same person… it’s irrelevant.”
Something was happening between them. The way Vivian hovered. The way Cleo deflected. Something political. Dangerous, even. And I wasn’t stupid enough to press it—at least not here.
“We’re all friends here,” Cleo said, too easily.
“No,” Vivian snapped. “We’re not.”
I exhaled through my nose. Enough of this.
“Well. I’ve seen what I needed to. Lance isn't here as you claimed,” I said, turning to leave. “Have a good night.”
“You too, Luna,” Cleo called after me, and I didn’t like the way he said it.
I walked back toward the palace, not glancing back. Not even when I heard the low rumble of Vivian’s voice following me like smoke.
Inside, the air felt warmer.
I ran into a maid halfway up the stairs.
“Oh—Luna, I was just looking for you. The king asked that you come to him.”
I paused. “Where?”
“In his chambers.”
I nodded once. “Thank you.”
And then I climbed.
The weight of meeting Lance now, after that chaos of talk days ago, clung to me as I descended the staircase, each step steady despite how much of my soul still felt like ash.
I could do this. Take my life back.
There was nothing to fear, if he wanted me dead I'd have been long ago which meant I could still change things…like Moira had said.
Moira walked beside me, and when we reached the looming double doors of the dining hall, she stopped.
“I don’t think I should go in with you,” she said, eyes uncertain for the first time.
She was right. If I was going to face Lance—face myself—I had to do it alone. No buffer. No shield. Just my battered dignity and whatever was left of my pride. I gave her a small smile. “You’ve done enough. I can take it from here.”
She nodded and turned, but I caught her hand. She stilled.
“Thank you again,” I said quietly. “I really needed to hear what you said, and... well, it's going to be a work in progress for me. But thank you for not letting me drown in that room."
Moira looked startled for a moment. Then I did something I hadn’t planned—perhaps the remnant of the girl who had learned to value kindness wherever she found it—made me reach out. I hugged her. Briefly. Fiercely.
“Take care of yourself, Luna.”
I nearly broke that when she called me that. It had come softer than duty.
And then she was gone.
I pushed open the doors.
The dining hall was nearly empty, save for an elderly maid gathering silverware. Platters of food sat untouched, as pristine as the moment they’d been served.
“Good evening, Luna,” the maid said, bobbing her head.
I straightened, trying to not look anything less than I should. “Evening. Um… where’s the king?”
She tidied with a sigh as if she'd been waiting for someone to ask. “Left a few minutes ago, barely touched his food. Just the wine, I think.”
My heart sank slightly. “I see. Do you know where he went?”
She shrugged. “His chambers, maybe. Or the garden path. That’s where he goes when he wants to take a walk.”
A walk sounds like it.
I glanced at the table again. Just as I had joked earlier, only the wine bottle showed signs of use—and even that looked more drained than savored.
“Oh. Okay, thank you..."
"Ruth," she supplied helpfully.
"Thank you, Ruth."
I checked his office first since it was near, which turned out to be empty, not even a guard at the door. Then I made my way down the corridor that opened to the garden that looked a little overgrown, and just a bit wild around the edges.
The night air was cool, clinging to my skin as I walked. The fountain loomed ahead, a silver blur beneath the moonlight. That’s when I heard the voices. Low, hushed. An argument, if the clipped tension was anything to go by.
Lance? No, that wasn't his voice.
I slowed, instinctively easing my steps. My bare feet barely made a sound on the gravel path, but still, I wasn’t invisible. A crack underfoot betrayed me, the brittle snap of a twig echoing too loudly.
Damn it. Just very good.
“Who’s there?” a woman’s voice snapped tight and brittle. Of course, it wouldn't kill me not to have Vivian anywhere I go.
There was no point in hiding now. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out from behind the garden wall, trying to project confidence I didn't feel.
Her posture shifted. From startled to irritated in a breath. “Gods, you're too old to be sneaking around like some woodland sprite,” she said, arms folded. Her tone was flaky, but her eyes… they were shaken. A flicker of panic she tried—and failed—to hide from me.
I knew that look.
Because I’d worn it too many times myself.
My gaze drifted beside her and landed on someone I didn’t recognize. A man. Tall. Bronze skin, low-shaved hair that gleamed like obsidian. High cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and a serpent tattoo curling up the side of his neck.
Alright, there is no need to feel small, I told myself.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said. “I was looking for the king. The old maid at his dining said he might be out here.”
Vivian clicked her tongue. “Ruth, no doubt. That hag’s got one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. That aside… you’ve come, you’ve looked. Your King is not here. So… bye-bye.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
My attention flicked again to the man beside her, who watched me with interest…too much interest.
I turned as if to leave, then stopped. Vivian had meddled in my business far too many times for me to simply walk away now. Whatever was happening here, her obvious discomfort told me it was significant.
I turned back around. "Actually, aren't you going to introduce me?" I asked lightly, though my spine stiffened. “Seems rude.”
Vivian’s smile was tight enough to cut glass. “Stay in your lane.”
"Come on, Vivian, introduce me. She looks... interesting." His gaze traveled over me. "I'm sorry we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Cleo—an acquaintance of Vivian's and the pack."
That name.
Cartier mentioned it before, and Vivian's reaction then had been just as agitated as it was now. So this was him.
“Pleasure,” I said, though the word felt like sand on my tongue.
Vivian reached for his arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. “Don’t,” she said sharply. “Stay away from her.”
Cleo laughed. “Viv, come on. You’re being rude.”
He brushed her off easily and approached. His eyes dragged over me in a way I’d grown too familiar with…like I was a painting, or worse, a commodity.
“I can see why he chose you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Vivian. “Rumors didn’t do you justice.”
I swallowed a sigh. “Thank you. Though I’m not sure we’ve met before.”
“Not before now. But you’ve been… mentioned.”
I tried not to think about what in particular had been mentioned about me. “Oh, I’ve heard your name too,” I said. “Just in passing. Vivian’s mentioned it—hinted, assuming it’s the same person, really.”
Cleo’s grin widened. “I’m touched. You think of me that fondly, Viv?”
“Only in passing,” I added, meeting Vivian’s glare.
Vivian stalked toward us. “You don’t need to know him,” she hissed. “And like you said, assuming it’s the same person… it’s irrelevant.”
Something was happening between them. The way Vivian hovered. The way Cleo deflected. Something political. Dangerous, even. And I wasn’t stupid enough to press it—at least not here.
“We’re all friends here,” Cleo said, too easily.
“No,” Vivian snapped. “We’re not.”
I exhaled through my nose. Enough of this.
“Well. I’ve seen what I needed to. Lance isn't here as you claimed,” I said, turning to leave. “Have a good night.”
“You too, Luna,” Cleo called after me, and I didn’t like the way he said it.
I walked back toward the palace, not glancing back. Not even when I heard the low rumble of Vivian’s voice following me like smoke.
Inside, the air felt warmer.
I ran into a maid halfway up the stairs.
“Oh—Luna, I was just looking for you. The king asked that you come to him.”
I paused. “Where?”
“In his chambers.”
I nodded once. “Thank you.”
And then I climbed.
End of Auctioned to the Cruel King Chapter 50. Continue reading Chapter 51 or return to Auctioned to the Cruel King book page.