Chapter 263 The King's Redemption

Chapter 263 The King's Redemption

King Daze stared down at the woman resting against his chest. Her skin was warm, pale against the dark fur blankets, and her olive eyes blinked up at him with a soft, sleepy weight.

As she caught him watching, a sudden rush of pink warmed her cheeks, her gaze dropping for a second before meeting his again.

He looked at her, and the sheer force of it made his chest tighten. A cold dread pooled in his stomach just imagining a world where she had slipped away from him, a world where those eyes never opened beside him again.

Memories surged back, sharp and jagged. The dark, damp stone of the dungeons. The misunderstandings that had clawed them apart. The very first day they had crossed paths, stumbling blindly into a fate neither of them wanted, falling helplessly for one another without knowing the twisted path ahead. Back then, they could never have guessed she was bound to walk through hell at his side, paying the price for the cruelty he had dealt her with his own hands.

Twelve years.

Twelve long, agonizing years of pain, and he finally understood the bitter truth: his suffering had been nothing compared to hers.

Yet, through every trial, she had stood firm. She had kept his daughter alive, guarding the child as fiercely as if she had carried her in her own womb, and now, by the grace of the moon goddess, she had been blessed with a child of her own... theirs.

"What are you thinking about?"

Felda’s voice cut softly through the heavy silence of the room. He blinked, shaking off the past, and looked down at the woman resting against him.

Without a word, he shifted, pushing himself up. Felda instantly let out a small sound of protest, her fingers clutching at his arm as she frowned. She hated even the smallest inch of space between them, as if the moment he pulled away, he might vanish into thin air like smoke.

The king saw the flicker of panic in her eyes and offered a gentle, reassuring smile. Even so, he didn't stop until he was fully on his feet.

Felda's gaze roamed over his naked frame, the broad planes of his chest and the scars etched into his skin. A strange, heavy twist pulled at her stomach, a primal urge to reach out, to pull him back down, to keep him entirely to herself.

But before the thought could take root, the king reached for his trousers, sliding them up to cover his lower half.

Felda watched him, her breath hitching slightly.

King Daze moved toward the edge of the bed. Instead of just stepping away, he sank, dropping to one knee on the floor. Then, slowly, deliberately, he lowered his other leg.

"I think I should do what I've never done to anyone before," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "During my training, my lifetime, and my reign as the king."

He shifted forward until his chest pressed directly against the cold stone floor, his arms resting flat on either side of his head in full surrender.

Felda’s breath caught, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief. 'No.' This had to be a trick of the mind—a cruel dream. The king, the fierce, unyielding ruler of the pack, a man whose pride was as ancient as the mountains, was kneeling before her? He was throwing away his dignity, bowing his head in the dirt.

Instinct screamed at her to stand up, to grab his shoulders and yank him back to his feet before he disgraced himself.

But the moment she thought of moving, humiliation burned hot under her skin. She was completely naked beneath the furs; she couldn't possibly stand up to drag him back to bed without feeling utterly exposed. So, she stayed frozen, staring down at him with a chest full of aching panic.

King Daze slowly lifted his head, his eyes shining in the dim candlelight.

"Felda Magnus," he began, every word heavy with the weight of his guilt. "I'm so sorry for everything that I've done to you. For all the punishment, the torture, the hatred... I blamed myself the moment I realized the truth. I blamed myself for failing to dig deeper, for failing to see what really happened, and for never knowing how you saved my life."

A single tear slipped from his lashes, tracing a dark path down his cheek before dripping onto the floor. At the sight of it, he let his head drop back down, his shoulders shaking with suppressed grief.

"I’ll never forgive myself," he whispered against the stone, "even if you forgive me. I hated myself for it. There were days I wished I never came back from the dead."

Tears spilled over Felda’s lashes, hot and fast. She had never, in all the years she had known him, seen him this completely broken. She knew him; she knew his stubborn, proud heart.

If he had known the truth back then, he would have torn the world apart before letting a single hair on her head be harmed. Without that ignorance, their love story might have ended before it even began.

Yet, as she sat there looking at the fallen king, a profound peace washed over her. Yes, she had suffered. Yes, the scars on her body and soul would remain.

But it was ending.

It was ending here, in the warmth of this room, and she wanted it to be with him. She didn't want anyone else. He was the father of life growing inside her, and her heart belonged to no one else.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Felda reached over the side of the bed, grabbing a thick fur wrapper. She hastily tied it around her shivering body, swung her legs over the mattress, and slid down to the floor beside him.

She crawled close, pressing her hand against his back. Instantly, she felt the unnatural heat radiating from his skin, and a wave of deep maternal worry washed over her.

"Please, stand up, my king," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I've forgiven you. I see your heart now. I see how hard you fought to protect me, and how deeply you care. I will love you no matter what happened in the past, and I will stay by your side."

She hooked her hands under his arms, trying to heave him up. The king felt the gentle pressure and slowly pushed himself off the floor, moving with deliberate care so as not to startle her or strain her delicate state.

He climbed back onto the edge of the bed, sitting heavily on the mattress. Felda scrambled up to sit right in front of him, closing the distance between them. Without a word, she reached out, her thumb gently wiping the remaining moisture from his cheek.

Her fingers lingered against his skin, and she frowned. "You're burning up. You're not feeling well at all. Let me call the healer."

King Daze caught her wrist, his strong fingers wrapping gently around her pulse point. He didn't let go, instead holding her hand still against his chest, right over his pounding heart.

"You don't need a healer," the king said softly, a faint, proud smile touching his lips as he remembered the uncanny spark of energy he had felt radiating from her earlier. "You can heal me yourself with your magic... your power is back."

Felda stared at him, her eyes wide with bewilderment, blinking as the words sank into the quiet air between them.