Alpha's Regret: The Mad King's Precious Breeder

LL

ll has never

somewhere between the forest and here. One of Azriel's guards caught me before I hit the groun

. I smell like dirt and river water and dried blood, and every person in this hall can see exactly

lls, fill the floor, and stand with their heads bowed lower than I'

traight, eyes careful. My father is somewhere behind them. I don't look for him. I

t Azriel

attendants who move like shadows-and the moment he wa

ugh that's there too, pressing down on th

alls thicker. Suddenly, Azrie

behind his back, dark eyes moving slowly across t

my second-chance mate. Would he a

oing to reject me,

m the borderlands-that's a liability, not an asset. He won't

ead snaps up, my gaze darting around the ha

is already s

o open and unapologetic that it twists something inside me. His curled lip

I'd been holding ont

s Azriel act

now, suddenly, with a desperation that surprises me. I push toward him

th

absolute, like pressing my hands flat against stone. I've never hit anything like

t

omach

el s

hout effort-not loud, just impossible to ignore. "I arrived early because I wan

ence is

oing her first transformation without support, after a mate bond rejection, after being held in your dungeon." His gaze mo

n my chest

way it does-like a hand pressed briefly against a bruise-but it does, and

zriel says. "Someone will be held accountable. One pers

ence st

n Julia

already know. I've always known Julia. Her thoughts arriv

othing. Let her finally be useful-let her be the thing

d points dir

e stole from Dylan, she ran, she caused a chase that endangered pack resources and shamed us before the Alpha King's arrival. She is my father's daughter

oves throu

op it-the thoughts push in

lf-blood was always

her t

Bad blood f

, quieter, from some

. Everyone knows

I was there. But if I say som

. I do. The ones who know the truth have p

cross the

ook

walking

and I tip my head back to meet his eyes because I am done with looking at floors. His face gives me

to die for these

a real question, like h

something small pres

ok d

h dried mud on her cheek and a boy whose hands are fisted so hard in the fabric of my leggings

rs. Lia. I know her-I've seen her in t

esn't speak. He jus

the cold math of survival. I reach down and cover their hands with min

"You're not going

k has turned on me, and no one in this hall will go home

ack up a

ng keeps them safe-the children, the ones who ha

all e

N

him-a sudden, desperate motion-and cross the open floor. He's breathing hard when he stops.

"She didn't cause this. I di

. Three more. A dozen. Faces I know-the woman who sometimes left extra bread near my door, the man who helped me carry water in the dead of winter without being

me ins

ife fo

d m

s across all of i

ry single one of you, do you understand? Stop protecting her. Let he

raises

follows is immedi

e by one-and something passes through his expression. Brief and

not be execu

catches loud

its shape. "Why? You said

, his words are meant for the room as much as for me. Each one land

red herself to me. I accept

s through the crowd

i

r it's a cage, a shield, or both, how it can feel like salvation an

tight. "Yours. You're goi

eeder," A

she reaches for composure. "Fine. Take her. But Dylan

his pack. That position carries responsibility." He holds her gaze. "Step forward and accept tha

oes ver

her face-not grief, not gui

arrange everyone's lives like we're pieces on a board and y

ove before s

quietly-she keeps talking, keeps fighting, her voice bouncing off the stone walls as they pull her back to

red. Tired in a way tha

all s

rent in it-not warmer, exactly, but more deliberate. His eyes move across my face,

eople who spent years making your li

pa

he says, "you