Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 53: Chapter 53
You are reading Auctioned to the Cruel King, Chapter 53: Chapter 53. Read more chapters of Auctioned to the Cruel King.
Kayla’s POV
Lance moved like lightning.
One second he was sitting across from me, and the next he was on his feet, crossing the room. The lazy, controlled man from moments before had vanished, replaced by this demeanor I had long been familiar with.
That had always felt like he’d snap any moment, only that this time, I wasn't sure who it was directed to.
"Wait!" I called out, scrambling to follow him.
But he was already out the door, his long strides eating up the corridor. I had to practically run to keep up, my heels slapping against the cold stone floors.
The stairs were a nightmare. Lance glided down them like they weren't even there, while I gripped the railing, praying I wouldn't trip and break my neck. My heart hammered against my ribs, not just from the exertion but from the tension rolling off him in waves.
Something was very, very wrong.
“Lance!” I called again, breathless now.
He flung open the main doors of the palace, the cool air of the night washing over us. Alaric, standing near the guards at the entrance, turned sharply.
“My King,” Alaric frowned. Looking just as confused as I was, “What’s going on? Where are you off to at this hour?”
Lance walked past him like he hadn't spoken. Like he hadn't even seen him.
I followed behind, feeling awkward and out of place, but unable to stop myself.
“Is everything alright, Y-your Majesty?” one of the guards asked, stepping aside.
Still nothing. Just the low rumble of his boots as he moved like a force unchained.
I followed close behind, barely a step behind now, catching the taut line of his shoulders. He wasn’t just angry—he was unmoored.
He reached the edge of the garden path. The air was scented with crushed roses and wet stone even though it hadn't rained in days now. Moonlight spilled over the curved archways and carved benches. It should have been peaceful.
But it wasn’t.
Even though Lance hadn't given Alaric a word, the male followed anyway. And just as we made it to the corner, my heart froze as I saw Vivian there. Curled up on a stone bench by the fountain, motionless. The so called Cleo wasn't there, and though she wasn't someone I gave a fuck about, I kind of prayed she was alive.
Lance didn’t hesitate. He hurried to her, crouched low, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey, Viv.” He looked around, like trying to find the male. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “But not for long.”
Lance’s jaw clenched. “How long has it been? Which way did he go?”
She shook her head faintly. “It doesn’t matter. The fact is—he’s gone. Lance, what we did… what we made him do to cover it all up…” Her voice cracked. “Even if we give him what he wants, I don’t know if he’ll ever stop.”
I swallowed hard. What the hell had they done?
“Ric,” Lance barked. “Get the guards. Search the grounds. Every corner. No stone left unturned. Arrest anyone suspicious on sight.”
Alaric didn’t question it. “Yes, my King.” And he was gone in a heartbeat.
Lance turned back to Vivian. “Are you alright?”
She gave a broken laugh. “Not like you care.”
“Then sit up and let me see you.”
I watched the exchange with growing confusion and something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy. The way he spoke to her, the familiarity, the concern—it was different from how he'd ever spoken to me. There was history there, deep and complicated. He’d said it himself.
They were something to each other that I can never be.
Vivian struggled to sit up properly, still cradling her right arm. Her long auburn hair fell like a curtain, hiding her face and whatever damage had been done.
I stepped closer, standing just behind Lance, unable to look away.
"Stop being stubborn," Lance said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "Let me see."
With careful hands, he brushed her hair back behind her ears. What I saw made me gasp.
Oh my god.
Her fingers—all of them on her right hand—were bent at unnatural angles. Broken. Every single one.
Vivian looked in my direction but returned her attention to Lance.
"I've missed you doing that," she said to him, referring to the way he'd touched her hair.
Lance examined her fingers with barely restrained fury.
“You need a doctor.”
“I’d get up right now and go find one myself,” she mumbled, “if I could walk.”
Lance looked down at her legs and went very still. Following his gaze, I saw what he'd noticed—a long, deep slash running down her thigh, still bleeding.
My stomach churned. Whatever this Cleo person had done to her, it was brutal. Methodical. The kind of violence that spoke of personal hatred. And…and somehow no one had seen or heard her scream?
I should be—
"Lance," I said, finding my voice. “She needs help. Now.”
Vivian tried to lie back, her body sagging, and Lance moved instantly—scooping her into his arms with effortless strength.
I didn't mind.
I followed as he carried her back into the palace.
“Get Falco,” Lance barked to one of the stunned guards. “Now.”
“Yes, my King!” The man ran, boots clattering down the corridor.
We ascended the stairs. Lance carried her as if she weighed nothing, as if she were not the very woman who had made my life hell. But even I couldn’t deny it—seeing her like that did something strange to my chest.
He set her down gently in one of the guest chambers, probably the one she’d been occupying judging by the things around, adjusting the pillows behind her. Blood stained the white linen.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a middle-aged man with kind eyes and steady hands—clearly the doctor. But not Helen.
"Falco," he said with a slight bow. "My king."
"Look at her," Lance ordered, stepping back from the bed.
"Yes, my king."
Lance and I left the room, closing the door behind us. In the corridor, the silence was deafening. I'd always known Vivian was important to him, but seeing them together like this... it hurt in a way I hadn't expected. Still, I wanted her to be alright.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
He didn't respond, just stared at the closed door with a frown that could have cut glass.
I moved closer, close enough to smell the cedar and wine scent that always seemed to cling to him. Carefully, I reached out and touched his shoulder.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he said, but his voice was rough around the edges.
But I didn’t believe him.
Alaric reappeared at that moment, eyes serious.
“My King,” he said. “We searched everything. Every nook and cranny, every damn corridor. He’s not here.”
Lance’s voice was ice. “Mobilize your best scouts. Send them into the town. I want updates every hour. Every inn, brothel, lounge, bar, gathering spot—Cleo thrives in chaos. He blends with crowds. Find him.”
“Yes, my King.”
Alaric left again.
I stood there, arms crossed, trying to make sense of it all. What kind of man could break Vivian’s bones and leave her bleeding in the gardens?
And what the hell had they done?
Lance didn’t speak. But I could see it—whatever past existed between him, Vivian, and this Cleo… it was something I might not wish to know.
Lance moved like lightning.
One second he was sitting across from me, and the next he was on his feet, crossing the room. The lazy, controlled man from moments before had vanished, replaced by this demeanor I had long been familiar with.
That had always felt like he’d snap any moment, only that this time, I wasn't sure who it was directed to.
"Wait!" I called out, scrambling to follow him.
But he was already out the door, his long strides eating up the corridor. I had to practically run to keep up, my heels slapping against the cold stone floors.
The stairs were a nightmare. Lance glided down them like they weren't even there, while I gripped the railing, praying I wouldn't trip and break my neck. My heart hammered against my ribs, not just from the exertion but from the tension rolling off him in waves.
Something was very, very wrong.
“Lance!” I called again, breathless now.
He flung open the main doors of the palace, the cool air of the night washing over us. Alaric, standing near the guards at the entrance, turned sharply.
“My King,” Alaric frowned. Looking just as confused as I was, “What’s going on? Where are you off to at this hour?”
Lance walked past him like he hadn't spoken. Like he hadn't even seen him.
I followed behind, feeling awkward and out of place, but unable to stop myself.
“Is everything alright, Y-your Majesty?” one of the guards asked, stepping aside.
Still nothing. Just the low rumble of his boots as he moved like a force unchained.
I followed close behind, barely a step behind now, catching the taut line of his shoulders. He wasn’t just angry—he was unmoored.
He reached the edge of the garden path. The air was scented with crushed roses and wet stone even though it hadn't rained in days now. Moonlight spilled over the curved archways and carved benches. It should have been peaceful.
But it wasn’t.
Even though Lance hadn't given Alaric a word, the male followed anyway. And just as we made it to the corner, my heart froze as I saw Vivian there. Curled up on a stone bench by the fountain, motionless. The so called Cleo wasn't there, and though she wasn't someone I gave a fuck about, I kind of prayed she was alive.
Lance didn’t hesitate. He hurried to her, crouched low, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey, Viv.” He looked around, like trying to find the male. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “But not for long.”
Lance’s jaw clenched. “How long has it been? Which way did he go?”
She shook her head faintly. “It doesn’t matter. The fact is—he’s gone. Lance, what we did… what we made him do to cover it all up…” Her voice cracked. “Even if we give him what he wants, I don’t know if he’ll ever stop.”
I swallowed hard. What the hell had they done?
“Ric,” Lance barked. “Get the guards. Search the grounds. Every corner. No stone left unturned. Arrest anyone suspicious on sight.”
Alaric didn’t question it. “Yes, my King.” And he was gone in a heartbeat.
Lance turned back to Vivian. “Are you alright?”
She gave a broken laugh. “Not like you care.”
“Then sit up and let me see you.”
I watched the exchange with growing confusion and something that felt uncomfortably like jealousy. The way he spoke to her, the familiarity, the concern—it was different from how he'd ever spoken to me. There was history there, deep and complicated. He’d said it himself.
They were something to each other that I can never be.
Vivian struggled to sit up properly, still cradling her right arm. Her long auburn hair fell like a curtain, hiding her face and whatever damage had been done.
I stepped closer, standing just behind Lance, unable to look away.
"Stop being stubborn," Lance said, his voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "Let me see."
With careful hands, he brushed her hair back behind her ears. What I saw made me gasp.
Oh my god.
Her fingers—all of them on her right hand—were bent at unnatural angles. Broken. Every single one.
Vivian looked in my direction but returned her attention to Lance.
"I've missed you doing that," she said to him, referring to the way he'd touched her hair.
Lance examined her fingers with barely restrained fury.
“You need a doctor.”
“I’d get up right now and go find one myself,” she mumbled, “if I could walk.”
Lance looked down at her legs and went very still. Following his gaze, I saw what he'd noticed—a long, deep slash running down her thigh, still bleeding.
My stomach churned. Whatever this Cleo person had done to her, it was brutal. Methodical. The kind of violence that spoke of personal hatred. And…and somehow no one had seen or heard her scream?
I should be—
"Lance," I said, finding my voice. “She needs help. Now.”
Vivian tried to lie back, her body sagging, and Lance moved instantly—scooping her into his arms with effortless strength.
I didn't mind.
I followed as he carried her back into the palace.
“Get Falco,” Lance barked to one of the stunned guards. “Now.”
“Yes, my King!” The man ran, boots clattering down the corridor.
We ascended the stairs. Lance carried her as if she weighed nothing, as if she were not the very woman who had made my life hell. But even I couldn’t deny it—seeing her like that did something strange to my chest.
He set her down gently in one of the guest chambers, probably the one she’d been occupying judging by the things around, adjusting the pillows behind her. Blood stained the white linen.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a middle-aged man with kind eyes and steady hands—clearly the doctor. But not Helen.
"Falco," he said with a slight bow. "My king."
"Look at her," Lance ordered, stepping back from the bed.
"Yes, my king."
Lance and I left the room, closing the door behind us. In the corridor, the silence was deafening. I'd always known Vivian was important to him, but seeing them together like this... it hurt in a way I hadn't expected. Still, I wanted her to be alright.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
He didn't respond, just stared at the closed door with a frown that could have cut glass.
I moved closer, close enough to smell the cedar and wine scent that always seemed to cling to him. Carefully, I reached out and touched his shoulder.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he said, but his voice was rough around the edges.
But I didn’t believe him.
Alaric reappeared at that moment, eyes serious.
“My King,” he said. “We searched everything. Every nook and cranny, every damn corridor. He’s not here.”
Lance’s voice was ice. “Mobilize your best scouts. Send them into the town. I want updates every hour. Every inn, brothel, lounge, bar, gathering spot—Cleo thrives in chaos. He blends with crowds. Find him.”
“Yes, my King.”
Alaric left again.
I stood there, arms crossed, trying to make sense of it all. What kind of man could break Vivian’s bones and leave her bleeding in the gardens?
And what the hell had they done?
Lance didn’t speak. But I could see it—whatever past existed between him, Vivian, and this Cleo… it was something I might not wish to know.
End of Auctioned to the Cruel King Chapter 53. Continue reading Chapter 54 or return to Auctioned to the Cruel King book page.