Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 69: Chapter 69

Kayla’s POV
He’s playing you … I could literally hear the voice in the back of my mind say. But I couldn’t walk away.
“Tell me what you know,” I said. “About the attack. About Landon.”
Cartier picked up his fork again, slow and intentional.
“I heard things aren’t so harmonious between you and your Lycan king lately. I thought you might want something a little different. And I could provide... alternatives.”
My jaw tightened. “What happens between Lance and me is none of your business.”
He grinned. “Of course it is. Everything in that palace is my business.”
There was something darker in his gaze now. Something hungry.
“What do you want, Cartier?” I asked flatly.
His eyes glittered like obsidian. “Are you sure you want to know? Because once I say it—there’s no going back. You’re in.”
“I’m already in,” I lied. “Say it.”
Cartier leaned in, voice a whisper against the candlelight. “I want Alpha Lance gone.”
I stared at him.
“Dead or... dethroned. Makes no difference to me,” he added casually.
My lips parted, a breath stalling in my chest. “You’re insane.”
“I prefer visionary.”
“You want to become Alpha?” I laughed—a raw, bitter sound. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in my life.”
Cartier’s expression didn’t change—but his hand lashed out, snatching mine across the table. He slammed his fist down over my fingers. Pain bloomed up my arm and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked, voice ice. “Destiny?”
From the shadows, Destiny stepped closer. “My lord?”
Cartier didn’t look at him. “Did I tell a joke?”
“No, my lord.”
“Then why was she laughing?”
I bared my teeth at him. “Because it’s impossible. The council would never allow it. You’re an outsider. You don’t belong in this pack fully, let alone at its helm.”
Moira did well to give me that information. I should’ve probably asked how crazy he could be too—
Cartier’s eyes burned through me. “And yet... here I am. Still breathing. Still making waves. Ever wonder why?” My pulse thundered in my ears. “Did Lance ever tell you,” he continued, “what really happened to his parents?”
My stomach dropped.
“Who do you think I am, little Luna?” He smiled. Not kindly.
Something in my chest twisted. Whatever I’d thought of Cartier before—whatever rumors or stories I’d dismissed—none of them had prepared me for this version of him. This darkness laced in velvet.
“I think we’re done,” he said suddenly, letting go of my hand. “You look disoriented.”
He nodded once. “Destiny.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“See her out.”
Destiny stepped toward me, hand outstretched to assist.
I shook him off. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.”
Cartier stood, stretching. “Oh, and Kayla?”
I turned slowly.
“You’re in now,” he said, smiling like he hadn’t just threatened me. “And if you breathe a word of this... if I hear even a whisper—just remember. I’ve got eyes in your palace. Everywhere.”
He tapped his finger against his lips.
“I wonder what Lunas go for in the auctions these days.”
My blood iced over.
He looked at Destiny. “Make sure she gets back safe.”
Destiny didn’t say anything after Cartier dismissed me. He didn’t have to. His silence did enough damage. That strange, haunting silence that stretched between each footstep, heavy like fog clinging to skin. The kind that makes you feel watched and owned.
I could only blame myself.
He walked me back the way we came. Out the side entrance of the bar, across the open field now whispering with wind, down toward the ivy-cloaked gate that separated this side of the pack from the palace grounds.
When we reached it, he finally stopped.
“We’ll reach out to you,” he said simply.
I didn't want to think about the mess I’d gotten myself into. Had the throne he was after been Landon, I would’ve been all in—
I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak. My hand still throbbed faintly where Cartier had slammed his fist into it. I kept my fingers curled tightly around my cloak, the ache grounding me.
Destiny waited until the gate fully swung shut behind me.
I was alone again.
And gods, I felt it.
I inhaled, long and slow, trying to calm the chaos swimming in my chest. But it didn’t help. My mind kept replaying the conversation. His eyes. His questions. That smile, smug and bloodless, when he’d asked if I knew what really happened to Lance’s parents.
What did he mean by that?
What game was I being dragged into?
I pushed through the low hedges and slipped in through the rear corridor of the palace. A narrow hallway led past the servants’ washroom, then into the laundry wing. The scent of starch and lavender clung to the air. A few maids looked up as I passed, blinking in surprise.
I tried to walk steadily. Unshaken. Like I hadn’t just made a deal with the devil without even realizing it.
And then—
“Kayla!”
I looked up.
Moira stood at the edge of the linen racks, holding a stack of folded towels against her chest. Her brown curls were slightly frazzled and her cheeks flushed from rushing, but her eyes—the way they searched mine—told me she knew something was off.
I forced a smile. Or something like it.
“There you are,” she said, hurrying over. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. No one had seen you since mid-morning.”
“Oh,” I said, pulling a soft shrug from my shoulders, “I was just out in the fields.”
I’d never been there before. Never even known they existed.
Moira blinked. “The fields?”
“Yeah,” I said, airily. “There was this funny little bird perched on the hickory tree… tweeting its lungs out. I think it was calling for its mother. It looked so small—just a little puffball with wings. Made me think of… I don’t know. Simpler things.”
Moira frowned. “Since when are you into birds?”
I laughed. “Since today, I guess.”
But the truth was I didn’t give a damn about birds. Had never noticed them before, never cared for their songs or feathers or whether they were calling for anyone. I’d only said it to give my wandering a name. Something safe and sweet and painfully, believably mundane.
Something that would distract her from the truth.
“Anyway,” she said slowly, “you’re gonna be late for your appointment.”
I blinked. “Appointment?”
“With Dr. Helene,” Moira clarified, adjusting the towels. “You were scheduled.”
No. I hadn’t remembered. I hadn’t even thought about it since the last time I blew it off.
I sighed. “Moira, I don’t think I—”
“No,” she interrupted, gently but firmly. “You need to go. You’ve looked pale all morning. And flushed. Like you’re burning up. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, honestly.”
I opened my mouth to protest—then closed it again.
Because maybe I had.
Maybe ghosts weren’t just the dead. Maybe they were living, breathing things with names like Cartier and voices like silk-wrapped blades.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”