The cursed King's Captive: A Mate In Disguise

Jules POV My chest ached. My hands trembled. And god's help me, some cursed part of me still burned when I saw his face twist in desire. He hadn't even looked at me like that. Not once. It wasn't fair. It wasn't my fault. I was trying to survive. I didn't ask for the bond or the rejection that came with it. But watching him touch her like that, hearing the sounds that belonged to a moment I had no place in, shattered something deep in my chest. I wasn't free of him. Not yet. I tried to move. To slip away and pretend I had never seen anything. But I couldn't. My feet stayed planted. I felt stuck-rooted by something deep, raw, and painful. You love watching, yeah? I flinched. That voice, it slithered through my mind like smoke. It wasn't mine. It wasn't my wolf. It was him. I lifted my gaze slowly-and there he was. King Lucian. Standing in the doorway of the hidden room. His shirt was still open, his chest rising and falling. He looked like wrath wrapped in silk. And he was staring straight at me. My stomach dropped. He moved fast. In a blink, his hand was on me, dragging me out by the collar. My shoulder slammed into the wall as he yanked the panel shut with a loud snap. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he barked, his face twisted in anger. "Were you spying on me, boy?" I didn't mean to-" I stammered. But he didn't care. He gripped my jaw, forcing my head up. "You really are a little freak, aren't you? Couldn't help yourself?" Behind him, she stepped into view, the red-haired woman. Her dress clung to her like a second skin, lips swollen from kissing, eyes blazing. "Who is the fool that ruined our moment?" she snapped, her voice sharp and haughty. "He's my slave," King Lucian said coldly, not even sparing me a glance. Her eyes narrowed. "Then how did your stupid slave end up here?" I barely had time to process the insult before her hand came out of nowhere. A sharp crack exploded across my face. Her claws scratched skin, the sting immediate and humiliating. I gasped, stumbling back. "You should know your place," she hissed. "You're not even worth the dirt on my shoes." The pain in my cheek burned. My pride burned worse. But I said nothing. I couldn't. Not without giving myself away. So I swallowed it. Every word. Every bruise. Because if I didn't... I wouldn't survive. "He's not an issue," Lucian muttered, cold and dismissive.   Then he grabbed me by the back of the shirt and yanked me out of the room like I was filth. I stumbled after him, my feet barely catching the floor before he shoved me forward and threw me down.   I hit the ground hard. Dust rose from the stone floor as pain shot through my side.   The place echoed with sudden footsteps. The two guards stationed outside my quarters rounded the corner, eyes wide, weapons half-raised.   Looks like they'd been searching for me.   "Take him back to his room," Lucian barked, not even looking at me.   The guards moved toward me in a rush-but he wasn't done.   "And how the hell did he get out?" he said low, dangerous.   He turned on the first guard, the one closest to my door.   The man froze.   Lucian stepped close. Too close.   Then, without warning, he grabbed the guard by the throat. The man barely gasped before Lucian's claws slashed out-clean, sharp, brutal.   Blood sprayed as his claws pierced the man's chest, right over the heart.   The guard shuddered, lips parting in silent agony. But no scream left his mouth.   He knew better.   King Lucian hated screams. The louder you were, the faster you died.   The guard trembled, choking on blood. He let go, and the man crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.   "Next time," Lucian said coldly, wiping his claws on the man's cloak, "don't let him out of your sight."   The other guard nodded quickly, terrified.   He and another hauled me up roughly by the arms. My ribs ached, my lip was bleeding, but I stayed quiet.   No sound. No resistance.   That's how you stayed alive here. As they pulled me down to my chamber, I turned to look back just once. The other guard knelt beside the bleeding one, trying to stop the rushing blood flowing from his chest. But it was futile. No one is going to escape the injustice of displeasing the king.   The door slammed behind me. And before I got my breath back, the guard that brought me in grabbed me by my collar and pushed me back against the wall.   "Do you think this is funny?" he yelled, with bits of spit scattering in the air. "Do you want to keep screwing around until we all get killed? Huh? You really want to die, boy?"   I felt my chest heaving. My lip still burned from where I had bitten it before. "I want to get out of here!" I hissed through my put-together teeth. "I don't give a damn how many of you die when I do. I won't rest, I will do everything in my power to get out from that monster."   The guard's eyes opened wide. "I swear to you," I told him, my voice trembling, "if you don't help me... you'll be next." For just a second we were quiet. My words hung heavy in the air. "There's nothing I can do for you," he muttered finally and started to back away. "No one can. He owns you now." And that broke me. Something inside my chest snapped, sharp and unbearable. Tears welled up for no reason. "I just want to leave," I whispered, my voice cracking. "Please... please help me..." My knees buckled and I crumbled to the floor, curling in on myself, shaking. I pressed my hands to my face, trying to compose myself, but the sobs kept coming. The guard just stared at me. Stoically. Uncertain. "Hey," he said. "Stop that. Get up. You can't cry like that..." But I couldn't stop. He moved close to me, hesitated for a moment, then reached down to try and yank me up by the arm. That's when it happened. His hand brushed the cloth of my chest. He froze. I froze. His brow furrowed. Confusion flashed in his eyes as he looked at me. Panic flooded through my body. I turned away quickly, pulling my shirt tight around my chest and pretending to cough-anything to throw him off. "What the hell-" he began, but I cut him off. "Don't touch me," I snapped, forcing my voice deeper. "Just leave me alone." He blinked. Took a step back, suspicious now, but unsure. "Fine," he muttered. "Suit yourself." He walked out, locking the door behind him. I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Because that had been too close. One slip. And everything I'd hidden would've come crashing down. ********* I had already showered. The last thing I wanted was to anger him again. The scent of soap still clung to my skin, but it didn't make me feel clean. Nothing could. Not in this place. A hard knock echoed through the door. It creaked open, and one of the guards stepped in-expression unreadable, but the thick iron chains in his hands said enough. "Let's go." Without waiting for my reply, he fastened the cuffs around my wrists, tight enough to sting. My arms locked together in front of me, I was led down the dim hallway. My bare feet padded across marble as we turned the final corner. And then the doors opened. Heat and sound spilled out in waves. Laughter. Moans. Music that pulsed like a heartbeat-deep, primal, raw. The room was bathed in golden candlelight and smoky shadows, the air thick with perfume and sweat and desire. Bodies moved in rhythm-slick, half-dressed, or not dressed at all. Women in sheer silks and men with gold chains draped over bronzed skin danced on elevated platforms, their movements hypnotic, vulgar, unapologetic. The smell of wine, smoke, and lust was suffocating. I'd heard of this. The Ravenstone afterparties. They were infamous. They weren't just celebrations-they were indulgent rituals, where nothing was off-limits. Where kings let their power be worshipped with tongues and flesh. Where secrets were traded in moans and blood. And there he was. Lucian. Seated at the head of the room like sin incarnate-draped in dark furs, legs spread, a silver goblet in one hand, his other resting lazily on the arm of the chair. His gaze cut through the haze, cold and sharp, settling right on me. He didn't move. He didn't need to. The guard pushed me forward, past the dancers, past nobles whispering about new conquests and bartering with bodies like coin. And then I was there. Before him. The guard shoved me down onto the floor beside his chair. I sat, chained like an animal, in the middle of this madness. I could feel his eyes on me, unreadable, cruel. A woman moaned somewhere nearby-a high, drawn-out sound-and I turned my head just in time to see a dancer on her knees, mouth full of a noble's pleasure, while another man groped her from behind. Another girl straddled one of the Alpha princes, her back arched, her dress pooled around her waist. His claws raked down her spine as she rocked on him shamelessly. I looked away. But the sounds, the sights, the scent of sex and submission-it all wrapped around me, suffocating and intoxicating. And through it all, I felt Lucian watching me. Like I was next. Like I already belonged to the night. The music slowed to a seductive rhythm-low drums, sharp strings-and the room shifted. A hush of anticipation rippled through the air like heat before a storm. "Let the game begin," someone purred. It was a woman-lounging on a blood-red velvet settee, wine in one hand, her other lazily trailing over the thigh of a naked man kneeling at her feet. Her lips curled with the pleasure of control. "The Circle of Desire," she announced, rising like a goddess carved from flame. Her dress was sheer and clung to her curves like smoke, revealing everything and nothing. Everyone clapped. Eager. Hungry. I didn't understand-at first. Not until they cleared the center of the room and a circular platform rose from the ground, surrounded by cushions, fur, and silk ropes. Candles cast flickering shadows over the space, and I felt the shift in the air. It was time for a performance. Not just any performance-a chosen offering. Each night, someone would be selected. To kiss. To strip. To serve. To be used. "To make it interesting," the woman said, her voice like a purr soaked in honey and poison, "I'll choose tonight's participant... and let them choose their companion." Eyes turned to her, breath held. She circled the room, slow, predatory, stopping by nobles, strippers, even the Alpha's. She trailed her fingers down one's chest... then paused. Smiled. Then turned. Toward us. Toward him. King Gunner. Her steps echoed on the marble until she was in front of his throne in between Gunner and Lucian. And her eyes dropped to me. Chained. On the floor. Knees aching from cold stone. My breath caught. "I choose your slave, my King," she said, voice rich with wicked glee. "I've never seen someone so... meek. I want to see what kind of fire you keep leashed."