30 Days with The Ruthless Alpha King

Elara’s Secret

~Cressida

The night before had been full of passion and desire, the kind that left me breathless and aching in the best ways. I was starting to get used to it. To like it.

Lucian inside me, the low growl in his throat when he pulled me closer—those memories lingered like a secret warmth as I stirred.

When I finally opened my eyes, sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, he was gone already. My gaze drifted around the chamber, and my chest fluttered with contentment. For the first time in a long time, I felt it deep in my bones that I belonged here In this place. With him.

The door creaked open without warning, and I startled, pulling the sheet higher. Elara swept in, her hair braided loosely over one shoulder, carrying a tray with tea and fresh bread. She took one look at me tangled in the blankets and grinned like a cat who’d caught a bird.

“Well, look at you,” she said, setting the tray down with a clatter. “All flushed and rumpled in the big bad lord’s bed.”

My face burned. I sat up, clutching the sheet to my chest.

She perched on the edge of the bed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re blushing again. It’s adorable. And infuriating. I used to think you were all quiet mystery, but now I see you’re just as hopeless as the rest of us when a handsome man decides you’re his.”

“I am not hopeless,” I protested, though my cheeks felt hotter than the tea she poured. The steam rose fragrant with mint and honey. I took the cup gratefully, letting its warmth seep into my palms. “And he hasn’t… decided anything. We’re just—”

“Shhhhh.” She placed a finger over my lips, her touch light and playful. “There’s no need to think about that. You still have 15 days to go, so there’s plenty of time for him to decide. Just go with the flow for now… I know you’re enjoying it.” She gave me a soft nudge with her elbow.

I sipped the tea, the sweetness blooming on my tongue, and couldn’t help smiling despite myself. Her teasing wasn’t cruel. It felt like sunlight on my skin, easy and warm. “Thank you. For what you did with… you know. Although I kind of felt bad for her.”

Elara chuckled. “Pleaseeee… that b***h deserved every beating she got! Now she knows not to mess with you.”

I smiled, a small, grateful curve of my lips. I realized then how much I cherished her company. The friendship between us had shifted from cautious politeness to something real, something that made the fortress feel less like a cage and more like home.

Later that morning, Elara refused to let me remain in the fortress. “We should go to the village,” she declared, tugging me out of bed with a laugh. “There’s a carnival happening today. It’ll be fun!”

The path down to the village wound through sun-dappled hills, the air crisp with the scent of wild heather and distant woodsmoke. Laughter and music drifted up to meet us long before we arrived.

My stomach fluttered with unexpected excitement as we stepped into the bustling marketplace.

Colorful banners fluttered overhead in shades of crimson and gold, and the ground was packed with stalls overflowing with goods. But what struck me most was the way people looked at me. It felt different.

A woman selling crafted bracelets nodded deeply. “Good day to you, Lady Cressida,” she said, her voice carrying genuine respect, just as she might address Elara.

Elara leaned close as we walked, her breath warm against my ear. “Word travels fast. That dance you shared with Lucian at the feast? Everyone’s talking about it.… it’s stirred the whole village.”

My heart filled with a wild, fluttering joy, like butterflies taking flight in my chest. For a moment, I let myself imagine what it could mean—belonging not just in his chambers, but in his world. But I quickly toned it down, swallowing the hope before it could swell too big. I was still a slave, after all. Fifteen days remained on that fragile bargain. Getting ahead of myself would only lead to heartbreak.

We wandered deeper into the carnival, the crowd parting easily for Elara and me. The noise swelled around us.

Cheers from game stalls, the sizzle of oil in frying pans, the earthy tang of ale spilling from barrels. Eventually, a steward spotted Elara and led us toward an open pavilion at the edge of the square, where a wrestling ring had been marked out with ropes and sawdust.

Our seats were elevated on a wooden platform, shaded by striped awnings, while the common spectators sat on benches below. The air here smelled of sweat and dust. I was excited.

Servants hurried over with tankards of beer, the frothy liquid dark and foaming. Elara took hers without hesitation, but I hesitated, staring at the mug in my hands.

“You really drink beer?” I asked, surprised.

She chuckled, taking a long swig. “Of course. What else would I drink at a carnival?

“I’ve never had beer before,” I admitted, my voice low. “I was raised to be a worthy Luna. Trained in poise, minimal sips of watered wine at formal events. Nothing like this.”

Elara’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Loosen up, Cressida. You’re not in a cage anymore. Enjoy yourself for once.”

I lifted the tankard cautiously. The first sip hit my tongue. It tasted bitter and malty with a hoppy bite that made my nose wrinkle. I coughed, and Elara burst out laughing, her head thrown back in delight.

“Oh, your face! Like you bit into a lemon. Here, try again. It grows on you.”

I took another sip, smaller this time. The bitterness lingered, but there was a warm, yeasty depth underneath that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The crowd’s energy buzzed around us as the wrestling began.

Two slaves entered the ring

They were broad-shouldered men stripped to the waist, their muscles gleaming with oil under the midday sun. The crowd roared as they circled each other, the smack of flesh on flesh echoing sharply.

One fighter was taller, with a scar across his ribs; the other moved with quick, determined grace.

I glanced at Elara and caught a glint in her eyes when the scarred one took a hard hit, his grunt audible over the cheers. Her jaw tightened just slightly. She whispered something to a servant beside her, then turned to me.

“Fancy a bet?” she asked, her tone casual but edged with something sharper.

“I have no money with me,” I said, shaking my head.

Elara rolled her eyes dramatically and pulled a small sack of coins from her belt, dumping it into my lap with a heavy clink. “Here you go. Now place a bet and don’t be boring.”

I blinked at the weight of the coins. “Who are you betting on?”

She pointed to the scarred fighter. “That one.” There it was again, that glint in her eyes. I couldn’t explain it.

We placed our bets, the moderator noting them with a nod. The match intensified. The crowd surged with every grapple and throw, their voices a thunderous wave. I noticed how Elara shifted uncomfortably in her seat whenever her chosen man took even a glancing blow. Her fingers would curl tight around her tankard, knuckles whitening them. When the scarred fighter stumbled, she inhaled sharply, her breath catching.

In the end, he lost. The other man pinned him decisively, the referee slamming the ground to signal the finish. Elara’s fist tightened in her lap, her face a mask of controlled frustration.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly, touching her arm. “It’s just money. I don’t mind that we lost it, you shouldn’t be upset.”

Before she could answer, the moderator’s voice boomed across the pavilion. “The losing slave will serve the winner’s chores and duties for seven full days!”

Elara gritted her teeth, half-rising from her seat. One of her servants quickly placed a hand on her shoulder. “Please, Lady. Don’t do it.”

I stared, confusion swirling through me like the dust in the ring. Why was she so affected by a slave’s punishment? It wasn’t like her to show this much concern over a common match.

Elara noticed my puzzled expression. She sank back down, sighing deeply, her shoulders slumping. The carnival noise faded into the background as she met my eyes.

“He’s my mate,” she said quietly.