Chapter 250: Chapter 250 A Storm Held Within
Perry’s POV
"What do you mean by ’was’?" The words came out low and dangerous, my Alpha authority bleeding through despite my attempts at control. I already knew the answer—could see it written in the guilt consuming Marcela’s face—but I needed her to say it. Needed confirmation that my worst fears were justified.
Something had happened to my mate while I was gone. Something devastating that would explain the careful way she’d been avoiding certain topics, the shadows that sometimes flickered across her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Marcela’s composure cracked entirely under the weight of my stare. Her hands shook as she twisted them together, and when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
"My king... the queen was pregnant." The words fell between us like stones. "But as you know, given her condition, she couldn’t carry the pregnancy to term safely."
"My king," Marcela whispered, "I meant no harm to the queen. But her obsession with providing an heir... it will kill her if she keeps trying. Her body simply cannot—"
"You will not tell her I know about this. Do you understand me?" My eyes locked onto hers, and she flinched at whatever she saw there. "If she wants to tell me herself, that’s her choice. But you will not burden her with the knowledge that I’m aware of what happened."
"Yes, my king." She nodded frantically. "Of course. I would never—"
"Go." The single word carried enough authority to send her scrambling for the door. She was too terrified to linger, too afraid I might change my mind and unleash the violence I was barely keeping leashed.
Smart woman.
After Marcela left, I didn’t immediately enter the bedroom. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. My eyes had turned the color of a stormy midnight sky—the same shade they took on before I killed someone.
My mate had been pregnant with my child.
She’d lost that child while I was off playing war games.
She’d suffered through all of it alone.
The rage threatened to consume me. Not at the loss of the pregnancy—I genuinely hadn’t wanted children if they put Phoebe at risk. But at everything else. At my absence. At her pain. At the bastards who had dared to hurt what was mine.
Only after wrestling my demons back into their cages did I finally step inside and approach the bed where my mate lay sleeping.
She looked so peaceful. Her lips were slightly parted, soft breaths escaping them. Her hands were curled against her chest like she was protecting something precious.
Or something that was no longer there.
"My sweet mate," I whispered, leaning down to kiss her lips with infinite gentleness. I savored her taste, the warmth that proved she was alive and whole. "You’ve suffered so much while I was gone."
I pulled her closer, needing the physical contact. Needing proof that she was real, that I hadn’t lost her completely.
I tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t quiet. It raced with thoughts of what I would do to the remaining traitorous elders. How I would make them pay for every moment of terror they’d inflicted on my mate.
There was also Elder Tricia’s funeral to arrange. He deserved the respect and honor due to a loyal servant of the crown.
And I needed to find another royal beta. Deal with the political fallout from the Valerium Kingdom. Rebuild what had been damaged.
In the end, I didn’t sleep at all. But when Phoebe began to stir in the early morning light, I closed my eyes and controlled my breathing, pretending to be asleep.
I could feel my mate’s gentle gaze on me, studying my features in the soft dawn glow. I didn’t know why I was doing this—why I couldn’t face her yet.
Not because she’d lost our baby. No, I hadn’t wanted that baby if it meant risking her life.
But because I hadn’t been there to protect her from any of it. Because she’d endured hell while I was playing soldier. Because I’d failed her when she needed me most.
Her hand touched my cheek with feather-light gentleness, her thumb brushing over my brow. She shifted slightly to adjust herself more comfortably in my arms, and I had to fight not to respond to her touch.
I felt Phoebe’s lips press against my cheek in the softest kiss, careful and tender, trying not to wake me—or so she thought.
I let my queen explore, touch, comfort. Let her do whatever she needed while I held her. Phoebe’s scent was intoxicating—sweet and refreshing like morning dew on spring flowers. It had become my favorite scent in the entire world.
After some time of her gentle ministrations, she tried to slip out of my embrace, probably to let me rest. But that’s when I decided to "wake up."
I opened my eyes and watched her freeze, caught in the act of trying to escape. She looked at me with those beautiful eyes, suddenly bashful.
"Say something," I commanded softly.
Phoebe could use her voice now, and I was desperate to hear it. I needed the proof that she was truly healed, truly whole.
"What?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain. "Ah!" she yelped when I pulled her closer, crushing her against my chest.
"Say something more. I want to hear your voice." The request came out sounding almost like a plea as I buried my face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent.
"What should I say?" Phoebe asked, her arms coming up to hug me back. She could hear the need in my voice, even if she didn’t understand its source.
"Say something more. Anything." I squeezed her bottom, making her gasp—that sound I’d been craving. I wanted to hear her moan, wanted her calling my name when I pleasured her until she forgot everything else.
However, I couldn’t bring myself to take what I wanted when she’d just suffered a miscarriage. Even if she hadn’t mentioned it yet. Even if she was trying to protect me from that pain.
"I don’t know what to say," Phoebe squirmed in my arms, and I could tell she wanted me. She knew I wanted her too—could feel the evidence of it pressed against her. But she was confused by my restraint.
Why wasn’t I touching her the way I usually did? Why was I holding back when we’d both nearly died?
"Say whatever comes to mind," I murmured against her throat.
Since Phoebe didn’t know what words I needed, she chose something better. She began to sing for me instead—a soft, wordless melody that seemed to come from her soul.
She caressed my head while she sang, her fingers combing through my hair. She kissed my temple, played with the dark strands, and filled the air with music until the storm inside me finally calmed enough for sleep.
Only then could I finally rest, because the weight of nearly losing her had been crushing me. The thought still haunted every breath.
So when I woke later and couldn’t find her in the bed, panic hit me like a physical blow. I immediately jumped to my feet, my heart racing.
Outside, the sky had turned dark. The sun had set and lamps were being lit throughout the palace. How long had I slept?
I frowned, forcing myself to analyze rather than react. Phoebe’s scent still lingered strongly in the room, which meant she hadn’t been gone long. A short while, not hours.
Without hesitation, I followed her trail to find her, my bare feet silent on the cold stone floors.
My mate had secrets she was carrying. Pain she was hiding from me.
But not for much longer.
——
Phoebe’s POV
The first thing I did when I woke and found Perry sleeping deeply was seek out Marcela. I needed answers about what had happened during those horrible hours when I’d thought I was going to die.
There were so many questions burning in my mind, but one rose above all others—the one that would determine how I moved forward from this nightmare.
Elder Tricia. My protector. My guide through the treacherous waters of court politics.
I found Marcela in the healing chambers, grinding herbs with mechanical precision. Her movements were too sharp, too controlled. She was trying to keep herself busy to avoid thinking.
"Marcela," I called softly.
She looked up, and I saw the answer in her eyes before she spoke a single word.
"I’m sorry, Phoebe," she whispered, tears immediately flowing down her weathered cheeks. "I couldn’t save him. I tried everything, every technique I knew, but..."
My heart clenched painfully in my chest. "Elder Tricia is gone?"
I pressed my lips together, fighting to control the wave of grief threatening to overwhelm me. Another loss. Another person who’d believed in me, taken from this world by the same monsters who’d tried to destroy everything I loved.
"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry," Marcela sobbed into her hands. "I should have tried harder. Should have been faster, more skilled..."
She kept blaming herself, the guilt eating at her like acid. "I’m sorry I asked you to go with them to the safe house. I didn’t know they were traitors. I was just trying to protect you."
Seeing how devastated the healer was broke my heart all over again. I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms, holding her while she cried.
"That’s not your fault, Marcela. It will never be your fault," I whispered fiercely, kissing the top of her head. "You did everything you could. More than anyone could have asked. You didn’t know they were traitors—no one did. You only wanted to keep me safe."
Marcela sobbed against my chest, her body shaking with the force of her guilt and grief. She felt responsible for every death, every moment of terror we’d endured.
It took some time for her tears to subside, for her breathing to steady.
"I want to see him," I said quietly when she’d calmed enough to listen. "Can you take me to Elder Tricia?"
Marcela looked hesitant, probably worried about how the sight would affect me. But she nodded slowly.
"He fought until the very end," she said, wiping her eyes. "He was so brave, Phoebe. Such a brave royal beta. He never stopped trying to protect you."
"Yes, I know. He was brave, and so are you. You fought so hard too." I squeezed her hands, trying to offer what comfort I could.
Together, we walked through the palace corridors toward the place where they’d laid Elder Tricia to rest.
