Page 22 of Alpha's Exiled Mate

No one could fake such emotion, such selflessness—not even the most cunning performer from this palace. This was real, and it shook me to my core.

My wolf let out a low, mournful whine, its longing clawing at my restraint. It yearned to step forward, to close the distance between us, to feel the warmth of her care, her unwavering resolve. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to believe her—to trust that someone could see me, not as the cursed heir or the monster of rumors, but as a man worth saving. The thought was intoxicating, dangerous, a crack in the armor I’d forged over years of betrayal and loss.

But I couldn’t. Trust was a luxury I’d learned to forsake long ago.

I clenched my fists, the bite of my nails grounding me, and forced myself to stay still, hidden in the shadows. Her words echoed in my mind, each one a challenge to the walls I’d built.

If this was a performance, the Thornfields had trained a master—a woman who could weave emotion so convincingly yet miss the subtle details of her supposed identity.

But if it was real… I shook my head, refusing to entertain the thought. I couldn’t afford to waver, though a part of me feared I already had.

The next morning, I summoned Orin, my trusted lieutenant, to my study. The room, with its heavy oak desk and shelves lined with leather-bound tomes, was my sanctuary, a place where I could focus on the kingdom’s burdens. But even here, her presence lingered, uninvited.

“Investigate the Thornfield family,” I ordered, my voice clipped. “Discreetly. I want everything—especially about Viossi.”

Orin, ever loyal, nodded without question. “Understood, Your Highness.”

He returned sooner than expected. “Your Highness, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. The Thornfields are as they appear—loyal, ambitious, and proud of their daughter’s marriage to you.”

I frowned, the lack of discrepancies somehow more unsettling than a clear red flag. “Keep digging,” I said, my tone darker than intended. “I need to know their every move.”

In the days that followed, I threw myself into my duties—border reports, council meetings, strategies to counter Jackson’s growing influence. But in the quiet moments, when the palace slept and the weight of my curse pressed hardest, her image returned unbidden. The woman kneeling in moonlight, praying for my salvation, her voice raw with a sincerity I couldn’t dismiss.

“I’ll give anything—my life, my soul—if it means his salvation.”

For me?

Sophia had said similar words once, promising to stand by me, to sacrifice everything for me, but in the end, she still abandoned me. The memory stung, a reminder of why I kept my heart locked away.

The full moon arrived, coinciding with a day I’d long buried—my birthday. Twenty-five years ago, my birth had cost my mother’s life, a sin my father never forgave. He’d banned any celebration, marking the day instead with grueling training sessions, as if pain could atone for my existence. For me, the day meant nothing but duty and the relentless tick of my curse’s deadline. If I didn’t produce an heir by thirty, my life would end. The thought had never frightened me; death might even bea release. But now, the image of her praying for me stirred a strange reluctance, a whisper of something I couldn’t name.

As dusk settled, I stood on the terrace overlooking the palace grounds, the sun sinking behind the distant mountains, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet. Another year gone, another step closer to my end. My wolf paced within, restless, drawn to the coming night—not just the full moon’s call, but her.

I made my way to her quarters, the long corridor lit by flickering torches. This was duty, I told myself. Nothing more. But when I pushed open the door, the sight before me stopped me cold.

The room glowed with soft candlelight, petals scattered across the floor like a delicate carpet, their faint fragrance mingling with the warm air. She stood by the window, moonlight tracing the curve of her silhouette, her dark curls cascading over her shoulders. At the sound of the door, she turned, a warm smile lighting her face—a smile that faltered with nervousness but held steady. In her hands was a honey cake, its golden surface glistening, the sweet scent of honey and citrus filling the room.

“Your Highness,” she said, her voice soft as a breeze over water, “I hope you don’t mind my presumption.”

I stood frozen, my breath catching in my throat. In twenty-five years, no one had marked this day. No one had cared. And a honey cake—the one treat from my childhood that had brought me joy, a rare moment of warmth in a palace of cold duty. How could she know?

“How…” My voice came out hoarse, barely audible.

She stepped closer, holding the cake with care, her eyes bright with a mix of anxiety and hope. “Please forgive my boldness,” she said, stopping before me, her gaze meeting mine. “I just wanted you to know your birthday hasn’t been forgotten.”

Her words, simple yet heavy with meaning, struck me like a blow. She’d sought out my birthday, asked questions, cared enough to learn about me. Part of me wanted to bristle, to see it as an invasion, a breach of my privacy. But her eyes—those deep, pure eyes shimmering with sincerity—quelled any anger before it could rise. I found myself reaching for the cake, my fingers brushing hers as I took it, the contact sending a jolt through me.

I cut a small piece, tasting it tentatively. The flavor was perfect—soft, fluffy, with a hint of orange zest balancing the honey’s sweetness. Her eyes followed me, alight with anticipation, as if my reaction was all that mattered. The sight of her, so earnest, so unguarded, stirred something deep within me, a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer than I intended, almost as tender as the cake itself. “It’s… very good.”

Her smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners, revealing faint dimples that caught the candlelight. “I’m so glad you like it,” she said, her voice bubbling with relief. “I’m not much of a baker. The first one was hard as a rock, the second too sweet. It took a few tries to get it right.”

I pictured her in the kitchen, flour dusting her hands, brow furrowed in concentration as she worked to perfect this gift for me. The image sent a rush of warmth through my chest, unfamiliar and disarming. In my father’s eyes, I was the sinner who’d taken his beloved wife; to the council, I was the heir to be protected; to the people, I was a monster who devoured his brides. They feared me, revered me, then kept their distance.

Even Sophia, who’d promised to stay, had fled.

But in Viossi’s eyes, I was… someone worth caring for. Someone she’d pray for, willing to give everything to save, even without expecting my love in return. The realization chipped away at my defenses, like warm water melting ice. My wolf stirred, restless, yearning to close the distance between us, tofeel her warmth. Without thinking, I reached out, my fingers grazing her cheek, her skin soft and warm beneath my touch.