HEARTBOUND - The Alpha King's stolen slave

CHAPTER FIVE THE STORM BENEATH THE CROWN

Lucian’s POV

The doors of my chamber slammed shut behind me with a force that seemed to echo the turmoil churning in my chest. I stalked toward the tall, part‑drawn windows, the evening air spilling in like a cold reminder of the day’s unsettled affairs. My boots struck the stone floor in a rhythm that matched the pounding of my thoughts.

She dares to look at me with those tear‑filled eyes.

The image of her—lips trembling, lashes wet—rose unbidden, a bitter perfume that clung to my senses.

She is the one who chose to stay behind, who chose a life without me.

Each word was a lash, each memory a chain I could not break.

A sudden, sharp recollection of the throne room seized me: the sharp gasp, the sudden sting of a hand striking flesh, the way the court’s murmurs fell into a hushed silence.

My fist crashed into the stone wall beside the window, plaster crumbling beneath the force of my anger. The sting traveled up my arm—a welcome reminder that I was still alive, still capable of feeling, still capable of protecting what was mine… even if I could not admit it.

Footsteps hurried down the corridor, light and uneven. I turned, expecting a guard, and found Modeca slipping into the room, breathless, eyes wide with alarm. In my haste, I had forgotten she had been trailing behind me, unable to match my angry stride.

I forced my shoulders back and kept my face blank, the way an Alpha should. I reminded myself I had to act like the Alpha… and Modeca’s fiancé. The anger inside me was a fire I tried to hide, but it flickered in my eyes.

Modeca stepped closer, her gaze searching my face. She knew that look—she had seen it before.

I walked to the desk, the one with the high‑backed chair that felt like a throne, and sat down, feeling the weight of the seat settle around me. Modeca followed, perching on the edge of the desk in front of me.

“My Lord,” she said softly, trying to catch my eye. Her fingers reached for my cheek, warm and familiar.

I pulled away—not because I didn’t want her touch, but because the memory of the throne room still burned. I could still hear the gasp, see the slap, feel the helpless fury.

“I need space,” I said, voice steady but edged. “Princess… please.”

She didn’t stop. Her voice turned gentle, almost a whisper.

“I want to be here for you. Let me stay.”

Her hand brushed my neck, a place that usually made me melt. Today, it only made the storm inside me louder.

“Stop,” I said quietly, rising to my feet, heart pounding. It wasn’t just her—my mind raced to Oma, locked away in the maidens’ quarters… and to my mother’s orders. Anger surged, hot and sharp.

Sunlight spilled across the stone floor as I moved toward the half‑drawn windows, hands clasped behind my back. The light caught the tension in my shoulders, the tightness in my muscles with each breath. I forced myself to stand like an Alpha, to remember I was Modeca’s fiancé… but the anger still roiled beneath the surface.

Modeca rose slowly, her eyes never leaving me.

My Lord,” she whispered, barely a breath, but I remained silent, lost in the storm of my own thoughts. She watched my back, the rigid line of my jaw, and felt a pang of concern. Something was tearing at me, something deeper than the day’s events.

I gave no answer. My gaze remained fixed on the courtyard beyond the glass, my thoughts a thousand miles away.

She stayed quiet, patient, waiting for me to return to her.

A low mutter escaped me, almost swallowed by the wind.

“She shouldn’t be here.”

The words were sharp, laced with venom.

Images from the throne room surged back—tear‑filled eyes, the slap, the court’s cold indifference. I could not understand why the memory still cut so deep.

Modeca watched the rigid line of my back, sensing the turmoil inside me. As the sun dipped lower and shadows stretched across the chamber, she resolved to remain by my side.

Slowly, she let her heavy robe fall from her shoulders, the fabric pooling at her feet. Beneath it, her gown revealed the pale curve of her chest—something that usually pleased me.

Tonight, my mind was elsewhere.

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around my chest from behind. I drew in a sharp breath as her teeth brushed my earlobe. Instead of relaxing, I tensed further.

“Princess…” I whispered, voice strained.

I held her hands, stopping them from moving.

“We have other times for this… but not today. Please. I need time alone.”

My tone was gentle but firm, edged with a desperation that made her heart ache.

I didn’t know why I felt this way. Modeca and I had been intimate countless times… yet today it felt like I was betraying someone.

She pouted, wounded.

“My Lord… please don’t push me away.”

She searched my eyes for answers, but my gaze held only secrets I refused to share.