The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl-Chapter 161: Extra - s (Valka & Lucien) XIII

Valka

For a long time, I don’t move. I just stare at Lucien. "You can’t be serious. That is Rafael’s daughter--"

He cups my cheeks. He does this every time I am this close to losing my cool. He tracks every movement of my eyes with his. "I know that--"

I jerk my chin from his warm hands. "If you did, if you understood the gravity of the situation, you would have spoken to me about it first. Asked me if I was fine with it. You plan on riding out and returning with the child of a man that tortured me. You will bring her here and I will see her everyday and remember..." My voice breaks off.

"I’m sorry," he says, shifting forward. "I planned on scoping the truth of the situation first. If I didn’t have to, I didn’t want to place the burden on your shoulders. It took years to get over it, the nightmares, the trauma. I thought it best to hold off on possibly triggering you unless I knew for sure that the situation was inevitable, and I see now that I was being an airhead. I’m sorry."

He kisses the tip of my nose. And then my cheeks. And then my ears. It’s hard, I’ve realized, to stay mad at Lucien.

Perhaps, it is because he’s old as shit, but he always knows the right things to say and do when I’m agitated. It makes for easy conflict resolution.

I sigh. "When are we leaving?"

He tilts his head. "You mean when am ’I’ leaving? Because you’re staying here, Valka. I will go. You will stay. And no, this is not an argument."

My lips press firm. "I’m not letting you walk off into possible enemy territory alone. And I dare you to give me that order and see where it gets you. If I am to take in her child, I must see her and speak with her first." His eyes narrow, but he says nothing. "The children will be fine with Margot for a couple of days. We need the break anyway. It’s been years since we’ve been alone. Just us."

That last bit seems to be the only part of what I said that he likes. Pervert. "But we have to tell Evadne---"

"Tell me what? And please, put your fucking clothes on, children."

Lucien and I jerk towards the doorway where Evadne stands with Drustan still sitting on her hips, chewing on the dyed streaks at the ends of her hair. Her blue eyes flick back and forth between us and it hurts me to know I’m about to strip her of that carefree smile. "It’s Astrea."

***

We all end up riding out. Me, Lucien, Evadne, Sebastian. We brought the children along because Drustan and Jessamine just wouldn’t have it that they were being left behind. Asterin very well didn’t care, more interested in the puzzle he was fixing up, breaking it apart only to restart and reset it in many different ways throughout the ride.

Tristan, however, couldn’t stop trying to jump out of the carriage. I have no idea what it is that makes him always so euphoric, but holding Tristan automatically makes you feel like life shouldn’t be difficult. It’s in the way he cups my cheeks and giggles, eyes twinkling with delight. And then he’d gnaw on my skin like it’s candy and squeal excitedly if I so much as breathed. It’s like he is deeply amused by everything, as though experiencing even the things he was used to with new eyes.

I was tempted to hand him to Evadne, who hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since we told her Astrea was dying, just so he could rub off some of his giddiness onto her. She took the news in stride with an "Oh" and left abruptly. And when she reappeared with Sebastian at the carriage, her nose was slightly reddened and her eyes puffy. Sebastian didn’t look any better. His nose was broken and he had a split lip. And I could only guess who had gifted him that. Though, Lucien and I knew better than to interfere or ask questions.

***

Cyrus looks... older. Weary.

It’s only been a few years since he became king but he looks like he’s been wearing that crown for a long time and wishes to be rid of it. His blue eyes are as sharp as ever, but there are dark circles underneath them. His hair is less glossy and looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in ages.

He is still an attractive man, but he looks very... human.

Sometimes, we Lycans tend to forget what a blessing it is that we can all still look younger, even when we’re exhausted. That a simple smile is enough to hide that we’re falling apart. Humans don’t have that luxury. They wear it all on their faces, and it leaves marks. Their grief, their fatigue, their happiness. It always leaves a mark on them.

Cyrus smiles, his black cape billowing out behind him. "I’m happy you could make it."

He won’t look me in the eye, not even when he nods, "Lyra."

I guess that friendship is gone. I’m not mad at him anymore, but I suppose that doesn’t account for the guilt he’ll always feel when he looks at me. Either way, it’s really not my problem.

"Cyrus," I nod.

His eyes drop to Tristan, who stretches out his arms, practically throwing himself at Cyrus like he is in desperate need to get away from me. A small smile creeps onto Cyrus’s cheek and he flicks Tristan’s nose. "Hello, you."

Tristan squeals again, earning a soft laugh from Cyrus and the familiar woman behind him, who lurches forward in adoration.

Wait. I know that face.

Cyrus wraps an arm around the woman’s shoulder, bringing her to his side, and her cheeks burn red when she steals a shy peek at us, at Lucien in particular. "This is Melene. I believe you remember her from the Summit. She is my wife."

For a long while neither of us speak.

That is Melene Marakech, the fourteen year old girl Rafael had tried to make into Lucien’s breeder. I always did wonder why she was never at the castle in Silvermoor. I suppose it does make sense that in exchange for Voss’s alliance with Silvermoor, Cyrus would have been made to wed Melene instead.

Considering the time frames, she’d be seventeen or eighteen now. I can never understand the human and werewolf tradition of marrying off children.

She still has that innocent, doey-eyed, shy look about her. Like if someone so much as yelled at her, she’d start wailing. But her back is a tad straighter now and she doesn’t keep glancing to the ground when being spoken to.

Instead, she suddenly lurches forward, startling me when she grasps my elbow. "I know we started off the wrong foot... and I’m sorry about... about my cousin..." Her voice is rather high-pitched, her black eyes big and wide. "I promise I didn’t want to marry your husband--"

Cyrus clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably. "Melene." 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"Not that I wouldn’t if I were given a chance," she continues. "I mean, he is terribly handsome and nice and... I suppose I did want to marry him..."

Lucien has an infuriating smug smile on his face and I can tell what he’s thinking. "I’m amazing. I know."

"Melene!" Cyrus snaps, but he isn’t unkind. He just looks exasperated.

She tilts her copper dusted head, a small diadem gleaming on top of it. "Cy is really nice, too. I... Well..." Her cheeks flush red again. "We haven’t really--"

"Where is Astrea?" Evadne cuts in sharply, throwing tension back into the air, but Cyrus seems grateful for the interruption.

"Ah, yes," Cyrus says. "Mel will take you to the infirmary. Though, I suggest you keep the children away. We cannot diagnose yet that what she has isn’t contagious. The nursemaid will look after them." He notes our reluctance and adds tiredly, "You may leave a guard or two with them if it makes you feel better."

Mel leads us to the playroom first, and she doesn’t stop rambling along the way. She talks about everything. About Voss. About how the war had been for them. About her relationship with Cyrus. About how she was happy when she heard Celine had died because she did think she was an awful woman.

"Oh," she says when we walk into the hall with children running about excitedly. Sons and daughters of royalty and important ministers, Melene tells us. But she makes a beeline for one. A little girl with brownish-red hair and grey eyes, who seems to watch the children with a sense of detachment.

I still, my chest constricting as the girl notes us walking in, and her serene face twists into something harsh. Something hot burns behind her eyes. It is hateful. Too much hate for a four year old to carry in such a tiny body.

Before Melene nudges her forward and introduces her to us, I already know she is Rafael’s. She took nothing from Astrea. Nothing.

"These are the King and Queen of Ebonheart," Melene says slowly, voice sweet as she brushes her fingers through the girl’s hair. "They’re your mother’s friends. You’ll be leaving with them in a couple of days." She nudges her forward. "Go on, introduce yourself."

The girls lips are pressed firmly together. But when she opens her mouth, Lucien goes very still. I suddenly understand why Astrea was very adamant on us taking her daughter.

The wolf has fangs.

It would seem the strength in Lucien’s bloodline skipped an entire generation of Draemirs, and found home in Rafael’s daughter.

How... ironic.