Chapter 113: Chapter 113 The Answer Is Die
DIE...
That woman served no purpose. She’d made Perry abandon his responsibilities. Just look at their current situation.
Civil war loomed on the horizon, yet their king had conveniently fled the palace for some romantic getaway with his mate.
Flynn dragged his hands down his face. He hated what he was about to do, but someone had to make the hard choices.
The woman was nothing but a dangerous distraction, keeping the king from ruling properly. After everything Perry had endured to claim his throne, Flynn refused to watch anyone destroy it all.
"You look like hell."
Flynn’s eyes snapped open as he jerked upright. Timothy had strolled into his study without invitation. A growl rumbled in Flynn’s throat.
"Ever heard of knocking?"
His pulse hammered against his ribs like he’d been caught red-handed.
Timothy’s brows pulled together. "What are you talking about? I damn near broke the door down knocking. When you didn’t answer, I figured you weren’t here. But your scent was all over the place." He studied Flynn with sharp eyes. "Were you actually sleeping?"
"He had plenty on his mind."
Flynn waved dismissively, hoping Timothy would take the hint and leave.
"You always do," Timothy shot back with a smirk.
His earlier irritation had faded now that he’d delivered his news. This would be their final strategy session before he marched off to crush the Obsidian Claw pack and every other rebel faction stupid enough to challenge their king.
Nothing too complicated—just logistics and supply coordination that needed Flynn’s approval.
——
Perry’s POV
I kept several paces behind Phoebe as she wandered along the shoreline. She’d kicked off her shoes somewhere, and the floral dress I’d packed for her fluttered around her legs in the ocean breeze. Her dark hair streamed behind her like silk.
The dying sun painted everything crimson, and she looked absolutely stunning. Otherworldly. Like some divine being who’d chosen to bless this ordinary beach with her presence.
I could walk behind her like this forever.
God, I wanted to freeze this moment.
Then I spotted the blood trailing from her footsteps, and my heart stopped. I rushed forward, catching her arm as she turned to face me with those empty, distant eyes.
"Don’t move. What happened to your feet?" I guided her down onto the sand and lifted her foot to examine it.
A sharp stone had sliced deep into her sole. "Shit!" The curse exploded from my lips before I could stop it.
Phoebe flinched, but not from pain—from me. From my anger.
"We need to get this cleaned up. Come on." I yanked my shirt over my head and wound it around her bleeding foot, pulling the makeshift bandage tight before scooping her into my arms.
She didn’t resist. Just let me handle her like a doll while she stared off at nothing, her mind floating somewhere I couldn’t reach. Somewhere that didn’t hurt her.
Back at the house, I immediately summoned Marcela to tend to the wound.
"How bad is it?"
"She’ll heal fine, but keep it dry," Marcela replied, packing up her supplies. "I’ll return regularly to change the dressing."
"Why doesn’t she feel it?" I watched Phoebe’s blank expression. She hadn’t reacted to the pain at all. Hadn’t even noticed she was bleeding all over the sand.
Marcela glanced toward the balcony where Phoebe now sat, watching the sunset fade. It was her ritual—she’d stay there for hours if I didn’t eventually carry her inside.
"I suspect it’s like when she lost her sense of taste. She’s retreated so far into her mind that her body barely registers anymore."
Marcela frowned, clearly out of her depth. She could stitch wounds and cure fevers, but this was different territory. "You promised this trip would help her. Why is she getting worse?"
I shouldn’t have snapped at Marcela—I knew her limitations—but frustration clawed at my chest.
"Sorry, my king, but this is beyond—" Marcela fumbled for words. "I don’t—"
I cut her off with a gesture. "Just go. Think of something else we can try."
"Of course, my king." She hurried out, leaving me alone with my broken mate.
I grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Phoebe’s shoulders before settling behind her on the balcony. My arms encircled her waist, and I buried my face against her neck, breathing in her familiar scent.
"Please come back to me." My voice cracked. "I don’t know what else to do."
She remained perfectly still, letting me hold her without any response. The thought that terrified me most crept in—if I tried to take her right now, she probably wouldn’t react to that either.
The idea made my blood run cold.
"I’ll do anything you want. Just tell me what you need."
She whispered something so quietly I almost missed it. I leaned closer, my ear nearly touching her lips.
"What did you say? Please, say it again."
Her answer hit me like ice water.
"Die..."
She wanted me dead. Of all the things she could have asked for, she chose my death.
