Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 71: Chapter 71

Kayla’s POV
When we reached my room, I didn’t hesitate. I stepped inside like I was escaping a storm, only to realize I’d brought the storm in with me.
Moira hovered near the threshold.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked softly.
I paused halfway into the room, hand on the curtain tie. “Sure.”
She didn’t believe me. I could tell. She tilted her head like she wanted to ask more but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded slowly.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll check back in later.”
“I’ll be fine,” I lied. I untied the curtain and dragged it shut, drowning the last of the afternoon light. “Just going to lie down for a bit.”
“Okay.” She lingered. I felt her eyes on me until the door clicked shut behind her.
Only then did I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I collapsed backward onto the bed. The sheets were cold against my spine, the silence louder now. Heavier. It felt like a weight had settled over my chest.
I was pregnant.
The words kept repeating themselves in my mind, over and over. And as insane as it sounded, part of me was happy. But the rest of me? The part that had been scarred, and shattered, and stitched together, started to have this ugly feeling I feared to think deeply about.
That part of me was terrified.
Landon had killed Kane…but then there was Cartier. Damn it. How did I get myself into this mess?
I pressed my palms against my stomach. It didn’t feel different and then I sighed.
I didn’t remember falling asleep.
But then I heard the knock.
“Go away,” I mumbled.
The knock came again. “Come in,” I managed to croak.
The door creaked open.
A voice, familiar and low, pierced the fog in my head. “Kayla? Are you okay?”
I didn’t answer.
I knew that voice. My lashes fluttered open, and I turned toward the sound. The shape standing near the bed blurred, haloed by shadows and light. I squinted. “Go away…”
But instead of obeying, the shape moved closer. Then— splash. A cold, wet drip landed squarely on my face. I shot up, gasping. “What the hell?!”
Lance stood beside my bed, a half-empty glass of water in his hand and a wickedly unapologetic smirk on his lips.
“What the actual—why’d you do that?!” I wiped at my face with the sleeve of my robe. “You ruined it!”
“Ruined what?”
I glared. “I haven’t been able to sleep—really sleep. But now I could. And you—” I exhaled, long and sharp. “You ruined it.”
“Oh,” he said, as if realizing something important. “I’m sorry. You’ve been asleep for nearly seven hours.”
I blinked. “What?”
He gestured to the window. “It’s night. No one’s seen you. I almost called a search party until Moira checked here. You didn’t even move when she opened the curtains for fresh air. She thought—well, she only knew you were alive when she poked you and you grunted.”
I frowned. “Hence you?”
“Hence me.” He looked far too pleased with himself.
I groaned and pulled the blanket tighter around me. “Great. What do you want?”
“Is it wrong to want to gaze upon the beauty of the woman who stands beside me?”
I stared at him. “That’s disgustingly cheeky.”
He laughed as I slipped out of bed and made my way to the small table near the window. I poured myself a glass of wine, held it up halfway, then paused.
Fuck. I lowered the glass back on the table.
Lance’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Kayla?”
He stepped closer. “Talk to me.” His fingers reached for mine, slow and careful. He brushed a stray curl behind my ear, his thumb grazing my cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
I looked at him, at the concern in his storm-gray eyes. And I thought about all the things I could say.
I’m pregnant and terrified.
You’re the father, and I don’t know how to tell you because I still don’t understand how I feel about you.
But instead, I said—
“Who is Cartier to you?”
There was a beat of silence. And then another. Lance’s jaw tensed as he stepped back, the glow from the hallway lantern catching the line of his cheekbone.
“What do you mean?” he asked finally, slowly, like he wasn’t sure he heard me right.
I didn’t look away. “I mean exactly what I said.”
His eyes searched mine, flickering with something unreadable. “Where is this question coming from?”
I crossed my arms, my voice low. “You heard me just fine. Don’t make me say it again.”
He let out a long breath, one hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “Cartier is... he’s a noble. A warrior of the Eastern quadrant. A commander of the sand border units. He’s—”
“Spare me the resume,” I cut in. He knew what I’d asked but chose to go on with that.
He paused, brows pinching.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I murmured, already feeling that familiar knot of irritation twist behind my ribs. “Forget it. Is it dinner time yet? I’ll be down in a bit.”
His voice honed. “No. Kayla. Don’t walk away from this. Talk to me. You just dropped that question like a dagger and now you expect me not to react?”
“I don’t know,” I said coolly. “Maybe I expected a little honesty.”
He exhaled harshly, pacing a short step before turning back to me. “This isn’t about honesty. It’s about where this is coming from. Why are you asking about him?”
I tilted my head. “The first time I mentioned Cartier—back when he showed up at the palace—you reacted like someone lit a match too close to your secrets. And the staff? They looked like ghosts were dragging their feet that day.”
His eyes narrowed. “Leave them out of it. The staff know what they’re supposed to know.”
“Which is clearly not the same as the truth,” I snapped. “You’re not very good at hiding things, you know. Not when Viv isn’t around to make excuses for you.”
That struck a nerve.
“Hey—stop.” His voice was sharp. “That’s enough.”
I held his gaze, refusing to apologize. “Just tell me the truth. Who is he to you?”
His jaw clenched, eyes flickering. But instead of answering, he turned toward the door. “Come down for dinner,” he said quietly. “I’m famished. That’s all I came up here to say.”
“I need to understand, Lance.”
He froze.
“Understand what?” he asked, turning to me. “Did he reach out to you? Speak to you? When? Where? Why?” His voice grew louder with every question. “What did he say? I barred him from coming near the palace unless I summoned him. So what the hell does he want with you?”
“None of that happened!” I shouted back. “And stop yelling!”
“I’m not yelling,” he barked—before grimacing at himself. “Gods.”
I rubbed a hand down my face, exhausted. Emotionally, physically. “It’s nothing. I just… I’ve seen the way you act around his name. I needed to ask.”
His eyes … usually so hard, so unmoved—looked… wary. “Stay away from him,” he said, tone low and serious. “Me and Cartier—”
“Have history,” I finished. “Yeah. I figured.”
He watched me for a beat. “I’ll deal with him.” Then he reached for the doorknob again, pausing just before he opened it. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I could still feel the phantom press of water he’d dropped on my face earlier, still remember the dreamless pull of sleep that had stolen my afternoon.
I nodded once. “I’m fine.”
His gaze lingered a second longer, then he left.