Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 55: Chapter 55

Kayla’s POV
A knock woke me.
I sat up slowly, bleary-eyed and still wrapped in the strange haze of restless sleep. My limbs felt too heavy. My thoughts, too scattered. But this was the first peaceful night since the incident with Lance.
Even though I hadn't slept much. I wasn't disturbed by that dream.
"Come in," I called, voice hoarse.
The door opened, and in walked Moira.
She paused just inside the room, her eyes studying me with quiet assessment. She looked… thinner? Her skin was paler than usual and there were faint shadows under her eyes.
“You’re up early,” she said softly, stepping in.
I moaned, moving the sheets. “So are you. You look…”
“Tired?” she offered, managing a dry smile.
I gave a small nod, rising to sit at the edge of the bed. “Yeah. That.”
She crossed the room and did the routine of opening the drapes. Warm sunlight poured in, golden and heavy, casting slanted rays across the marble floor. “It’s a beautiful day,” she murmured. “Too beautiful, considering everything.”
I didn’t answer that.
She turned to me then, hands folding in front of her. “Sorry, I couldn’t serve you last night.”
“I heard,” I said, smoothing down the creased fabric of my nightgown. “Caught a flu?”
Moira chuckled softly. “More like a demon. Nearly knocked me out of existence. But I survived.”
“You don’t look like you did,” I muttered, and we both laughed quietly.
But then her eyes narrowed, as if only just noticing. “You didn’t sleep well, did you?”
“Still better than before.”
She said nothing on that.
Only moved about the room. “Want to talk about it?” she asked without looking at me.
I knew what she meant, and there was no need to hide it. I sighed, tying my hair up. “It was going well. With Lance, I mean. We talked. I told him everything—about Landon and why, about… me. And he listened.”
Moira stopped fluffing a pillow and glanced over her shoulder. “He did?”
My hands fell to my lap once done. I nodded. “Yeah. And then he opened up too. About Vivian. What they were. What she meant. And for a moment, I thought we were getting somewhere.”
Moira resumed moving, quieter now. Gathering linens.
“And then last night happened, you heard” I added, voice dry, “everything from there went downhill.”
A long silence stretched.
“He’s been in the council room since,” she revealed. “All night. Didn’t return to his quarters.”
That surprised me.
“He wasn’t with her?” I asked.
“No,” Moira said, loading folded garments into a small basket. “That’s where he goes when he needs to think. Says it helps him feel like he’s still ruling something, even when he’s not sure of himself.”
I stayed quiet, turning the words over like stones in my hand.
I didn’t know what I felt.
But more than that—there was this gnawing at my insides, this splintering ache of not knowing my place in all of this. Of being surrounded by people who carried shared pasts like armor while I tried to understand where I fit.
Still watching her arrange the supper dishes from last night, I asked, “Moira… this Cleo… do you know anything about him?” The last time I meant to ask, Alaric had interrupted.
Her hands didn’t pause. “Not much,” she said. “Only that he was an acquaintance of the king’s. Nothing official.”
“And Vivian? What’s her connection?”
She gave a small shrug. “The same, I suppose. You heard what he said. She and the King have… history. Same as Cleo.”
I snorted under my breath. “That much is obvious.”
“She’s been in his life since they were children,” Moira added. “Not a love story, from what I gathered. But a deep connection. Trauma bonds, maybe.”
“You’ve been working here how long?” I asked suddenly.
She blinked at me. “Eight years now, give or take.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
That young? Well, she’d mentioned something about her mother being a servant before. I stared at her. “So you’ve known Lance since then.”
“Not really. Not in the way you’re thinking. He wasn’t King then, just the prince. Kept to himself.”
I frowned. “And you never bothered to tell me about his connection with… Vivian?”
Moira looked faintly amused. “I figured you already knew. With the way she taunted you, spoke so boldly. Any other lycan would’ve been flayed alive for talking to the Luna like that. The fact that she’s still breathing says everything.”
Well, for starters, I had believed her father was high up in rank. I sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “I think we need to go on a date.”
Moira blinked. “What?”
I shrugged. “You and me. Just out. Talking. Somewhere that isn’t this gods-damned palace.”
Her face turned red—brilliantly, beautifully red.
“I… uh… forgive me, Luna Kayla, are you into… that kind of thing?”
I tilted my head. “What kind of thing?”
She dropped the basket and started flailing in every sense of the word.
“Oh—you know, girl to girl? Like, I mean I don’t judge, I really don’t, but you're the Luna and if the King found out—oh Goddess, I’m not saying it’s wrong, just that—”
I gapped stupidly.
And then cursed under my breath, realizing exactly what she was thinking.
“Oh gods, no, Moira. Not that kind of date.”
She stopped mid-panic.
“Not that?” she echoed, eyes wide.
I laughed then, the first real laugh in days. “No. Just… to talk. I’ve never left these walls. Aside from hunting once with Lance, I haven’t stepped beyond the gardens.”
She breathed a sigh of relief so deep I thought she might collapse. “Oh. Okay. Good. I mean, not that I wouldn’t—if I were—but I’m not—I mean I like men. Mostly. Usually. Oh gods, kill me now.”
I grinned. “Don’t die. I need a friend.”
She flushed all over again, picking up the basket. “Alright. Fine. Consider yourself taken out, Luna.”
But then her eyes flicked to the corner of the room—and stopped.
“What’s this?” she asked.
Shit.
I turned sharply and saw her reaching for the envelope I’d left carelessly on the vanity. My stomach dropped.
She picked it up and turned it over in her fingers.
I darted forward and snatched it from her. “It’s nothing. I was… going to send it. But then I changed my mind.”
Moira’s brow arched. “It says, ‘Come alone.’” Her voice was too calm.
“You read fast.” I tried to joke, but she didn't laugh, and neither did I.
“You’re not going, are you?” she asked.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Kayla,” she said firmly. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not lying.” I folded the letter, crumpling it in my palm. “Nothing’s happening.”
“I don’t know if that’s right,” she admitted. “But what I do know is this—nothing in this palace comes free. Not from Lycans. They don’t give without taking.”
My hands clenched tighter.
“Besides,” she added, voice soft, “how do you plan to get past the guards? The King’s orders were clear. You’re not to leave without an escort.”
So she didn’t see the time or place. Just the last line? Good.
I forced a smile. “I’m not going. I’ve decided.”
I ripped the letter, quickly, in front of her, feeding the pieces into the metal tray beside the bed. Then I lit a match. Flames danced in my palm for a second, then consumed the paper.
Moira watched me, eyes searching. Then for some reason, she decided to ignore the letter now being burned.
“Where’d you get that match?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”
She grinned. “Just kidding. Good. I’m glad. You did the right thing.”
“Yeah,” I whispered, staring at the ash.
Moira picked up the basket again and headed for the door.
“I’ll be back later,” she said. “And Kayla?”
“Yes?”
“Next time you want to go on a date… just don’t suggest it while I’m holding breakables.”