Alpha's Regret: Marked By The Lycan King

Estelle’s POV

The kitchen fell silent except for the gentle bubbling of the cooling pasta water. I stared at Zayne, horrified by how casually he’d just delivered that bombshell.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I had no idea.”

Zayne glanced up from plating our food. “There’s no need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”

He moved calmly, as if he hadn’t just told me that people had wanted to murder him. The contrast between his relaxed demeanor and his words made my stomach clench.

“I suppose I should explain some things if we’re about to be mates. I’m the illegitimate son of the lycan king,” he continued, setting our plates on the counter. “Ironic, considering my mother was his true fated mate.”

I watched him pull out stools for us to sit on.

“But my father had already chosen a mate to be queen by the time I was born,” Zayne said. “My birth wasn’t properly recognized until my grandmother stepped in.”

He sat down across from me, gesturing for me to eat. The pasta looked perfect, creamy and aromatic, but my appetite had vanished.

“Josephine demanded that I be raised as a prince and possible heir,” Zayne explained. “The council wasn’t happy with that decision. But they didn’t have the power to go against her.”

I picked up my fork mechanically. “Why not?”

“Josephine and my grandfather, Augustus, ruled during the golden age of lycans. They have significant influence among the older generation.” Zayne took a bite of his pasta. “The council didn’t dare make enemies of them easily.”

I slowly chewed on the mouthful of pasta. It was delicious, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how matter-of-fact he sounded about all of this.

“When I reached my preteens, my father got sicker,” Zayne continued. “Discussions about succession started coming up. My existence became a problem.”

He paused to take another bite, completely unbothered by the heavy topic.

“Some lycans didn’t believe I should inherit the throne. To make sure I couldn’t, they sent assassins after me.”

I placed my fork down. “Assassins?”

Zayne nodded calmly. “That’s why I had to live among werewolves in neutral territory for over a decade.”

Horror washed over me. The casual way he spoke about attempted murder made my skin crawl. Anyone overhearing our conversation would think we were discussing something as mundane as the weather.

“Zayne...” I started, then stopped. What could I possibly say to that?

I had assumed that he grew up fairly sheltered. After all, he was now the lycan king. He ruled over both lycans and werewolves alike and had significant power and reputation. Most people wouldn’t assume that the king grew up fighting for his life.

Turns out, he was just like me—a child that no one wanted. We both had to crawl our way back to our birthright. Zayne and I were more alike than I initially thought.

A part of me felt happy to know that we had a shared experience. However, more than that, I pitied our childhood. Neither of us had it easy, but Zayne lived a much more horrid life than I did. I could never imagine having to sleep with one eye open every night, fearing for my life.

The media hadn’t talked much about how Zayne took over as the lycan king, but it couldn’t have been an easy journey.

“Eat,” he said gently, noticing my mind was elsewhere. “The food is getting cold.”

I forced myself to take another bite, though I could barely taste it. We ate in silence for several minutes. The only sounds were the quiet clink of utensils and my own thundering heartbeat.

Suddenly, Zayne stood and walked toward the large refrigerator. He rummaged around for a moment before returning with a small plate.

“I found this in the kitchen,” he said, setting down a perfect slice of strawberry shortcake. “The pastry chef must have just made it.”

I stared at the dessert in surprise. The cake looked fluffy and light, topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

“It’s my grandmother’s favorite,” Zayne explained. “It’s usually only prepared once a month. You’re lucky to catch it fresh.”

My eyes widened. The cake looked absolutely divine, but I felt guilty accepting something meant for his grandmother.

“You like sweets, don’t you?” Zayne asked.

Warmth spread through my chest at his words. He’d remembered such a small detail about me. But more than that, he had noticed that I looked uncomfortable about our conversation and tried to change the topic.

“I do,” I admitted softly. “But this is for your grandmother.”

“She won’t mind,” Zayne said with a slight smile. “She’d insist you have it. There’s more in the fridge.”

I took a small bite of the cake. The sweetness burst across my tongue, light and perfect. For a moment, I forgot about assassins and tragic backstories.

“This is incredible,” I said.

Zayne’s smile widened slightly. “I’m glad you like it.”

I thought back to our breakfast together at his house. That must be when he’d noticed my sweet tooth. The memory made me realize something else.

Since I’d stayed overnight at his place, he would have had access to my phone.

“Zayne,” I said finally, setting down my fork.

He looked up expectantly.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Zayne looked at me. He calmly placed his fork back down, having already finished his food.

Then, he nodded firmly. “What is it?” he asked.