The Alpha King's Surrogate

Chapter 20: Background Files

Kyra's POV

I sat there long after the door closed, staring at the half-eaten toast going cold on the tray.

Why would the Alpha King request every document on me in the middle of the night?

The question kept circling. My background files, transfer papers. Whatever Westwood had sent. Kings didn’t dig through a surrogate’s history at that hour for no reason. Something had changed. Jazmine had said it like it was kitchen gossip, but it was heavier than that.

I pressed both hands flat against the mattress and tried to push the thought away. Maybe Liam had reached out. Maybe he had tried to claim I still belonged to Westwood, or that the debts weren’t settled, or that I had left without proper release. He was exactly the type to make trouble from a distance when he couldn’t put his hands on someone directly. The idea made my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the pregnancy.

Or maybe it was something else.

My mind dragged me back to the night before without permission. Standing on the East Wing balcony because the room felt too small and the air inside too thick looking across the dark courtyard without meaning to and finding the Alpha King on his own balcony with the Luna. The kiss that lasted long enough for me to feel like I had walked in on something I had no right to see. The way his eyes had lifted and found mine across the open space.

Why did the sight of him kissing someone else made me have a sour feeling in my stomach.

"Why am I even thinking about this?" I huffed under my breath.

Surrogates didn’t get to have feelings about the Alpha King’s mouth on his Luna. They especially didn’t get to feel anything when that same Alpha King had ordered everyone out of a medical room and looked at them like the rest of the world had disappeared.

It was just the bond talking, whatever partial, unwanted thing his wolf had decided the day we met. It wasn’t me. It was biology and bad timing and a pregnancy that had already complicated everything. I could ignore it. I had ignored worse.

A knock sounded at the door. I stood up, smoothed the front of the gray shirt, and opened it.

Alpha King Davian Lockwood stood in the corridor in the same controlled expression I saw everytime, like nothing in the world could touch him unless he allowed it. Two guards waited farther down the hall, close enough to respond, far enough to give privacy.

I stared at him for a full second longer than was polite.

“Miss Sinclair.” His voice was even. “May I come in?”

I stepped back automatically. He entered, and the door shut behind him with a quiet click that suddenly made the suite feel much smaller. He didn’t move deeper into the room, he just stood a few paces inside, hands at his sides, looking at me the way he might look at a report he hadn’t decided how to interpret yet.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

"It's a routine examination follow-up,” he said. “Dr. Alyssa noted your nausea had improved this morning. I wanted to confirm the change myself and review the latest observations.”

“The nausea is better,” I said. “It's not gone but quieter. I kept the broth down and some toast.”

He nodded once. His gaze flicked to the tray, then back to my face, then briefly lower, to the flat plane of my stomach under the shirt,before he locked it somewhere over my shoulder.

“That's good," he said. "The heir’s early markers remain stable. That needs to continue.”

Silence stretched, it felt charged in the same way the medical room had been charged the day his wolf had decided I was something I could never be. I kept my hands still at my sides and waited. He had come here for a reason beyond broth and markers. I could feel it sitting in the air between us.

"You were on the East Wing balcony last night,” his voice stayed even.

"I was getting air," I said flatly. "The room felt small.”

"You were watching," his voice strained slightly. "It's inappropriate."

“I looked across the courtyard, that’s not the same as watching.” I kept my voice level. “If you and the Luna required privacy, the open balcony wasn’t the most private choice.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion on where I spend my evenings," his eyes narrowed. "Miss Sinclair.”

“You didn’t,” I said. “You brought it up.”

The silence that followed was tighter than the first one.

“The pregnancy is the only reason you are in this wing,” he said at last. “That does not grant you informal access to the private side of the royal residence. In the future, if you need air, use the designated garden paths. Not the balconies that face mine.”

"I understand," I said quietly.

He turned toward the door like the matter was over.

“Why the background files?” My mouth moved before I could stop it.

“Excuse me?” He stopped with his hand on the handle, but didn’t turn fully.

“The kitchen staff talk,” I said. “Someone mentioned the Alpha King requested every document on the Westwood surrogate in the middle of the night. I’m asking why.”

For a moment I thought he would ignore the question entirely. Then he glanced back over his shoulder, expression locked down.

“Because the pregnancy is no longer a simple contract matter," He said coldly. "The Council is watching. Recent developments have made the timeline critical. I needed to know exactly who is carrying the child that currently stands between this pack and a succession challenge.”

I should have left it there but I didn’t.

“Developments involving Prince Dorian’s heir?” I asked carefully.

“You have no right to question the Alpha King about internal Council matters, Miss Sinclair." His voice was low. "Your role is to remain healthy, follow medical instruction, and carry this pregnancy to term. Nothing more.”

The words landed clean and cold. I turned my head the way I had been taught to turn it around ranked wolves who held all the power.

“Yes, Alpha King.”

He opened the door. The two guards in the corridor straightened immediately.

“Rest,” he said without looking at me again. “Dr. Alyssa will continue the daily checks. If the nausea returns at the previous intensity, notify her at once.”

Then he was gone. The door clicked shut, and the suite felt too quiet in the space he left behind.

I stood there staring at the wood grain, the cold toast still on the tray, and the clear understanding that whatever sat between us was not going to become easier with time.