Page 35 of Alpha's Exiled Mate

To me, she was…what? A tool, a necessity? I wasn’t sure anymore, and that uncertainty gnawed at me.

A message arrived—Sophia requested an audience. She’d rested in the palace overnight and was now recovered. Courtesy demanded I agree, so I arranged to meet her in the small parlor,a quiet corner where sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the stone floor.

Sophia awaited me, radiant in a pale lavender gown, her dark hair elegantly pinned, a stark contrast to her disheveled state last night. Her beauty was undeniable, yet it stirred nothing in me—no warmth, no longing anymore.

“Perock,” she said, smiling as she approached, “thank you for saving me last night.”

I nodded politely. “It was my duty.”

“I was surprised you reached me so quickly,” she said, her eyes glinting with an emotion I couldn’t place, “even if it meant leaving your wife behind.”

Her words struck a nerve, but I kept my face neutral. “The palace guards were sufficient to protect her.”

Even as I spoke, the image of Viossi airborne, helpless, flashed in my mind. My wolf growled low in my chest, discontent with my choice.

Sophia smiled, drifting to the window. “I’ve seen her at the banquet, but we haven’t truly spoken. I’m curious—I’m curious, what kind of woman is she that you chose her as your wife?”

The question stung, because the truth was cold: I’d chosen Viossi not for love, but for her role in breaking my curse. At least, that’s how it began. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

“A political alliance,” I said curtly, unwilling to delve deeper.

Sophia stepped closer, her hand brushing my arm. “We made promises once, Perock. Do you remember? Our vows beneath the moonlight?”

My mind drifted to that distant night, two young lovers by a garden fountain, pledging eternity. We’d been naive, believing love could conquer all. But life had taught me that promises were as fragile as morning dew.

“That was long ago, Sophia,” I said softly, easing my arm away. “We’ve both moved on.”

She leaned closer, her fingers grazing my sleeve. “We used to walk under the full moon, remember? Those were such happy times…”

I offered a polite smile, unmoved. Her touch was a formality, like any noblewoman’s, carrying no weight. “Yes, we were young then,” I said calmly, neither rejecting her hand nor encouraging her gaze’s subtle invitation.

“I’ve never forgotten you,” she said, her voice trembling, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I regret my choice every day. Perock, maybe there’s still a chance for us…”

I looked at her, feeling only a faint pity, like watching someone cling to a faded dream. Her words, once capable of breaking me, now rang hollow. “Let the past stay in the past, Sophia,” I said gently but firmly. “We both need to look forward.”

Sophia opened her mouth to protest. But suddenly, the sound of a vase crashing outside broke our conversation. I frowned. Sophia's gaze shifted. “It seems we have a visitor,” she said, her smile sharp.

Viossi stepped into the parlor, her movements stiff, her face flushed with guilt and embarrassment. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “I was just passing by and heard voices…”

She fidgeted, her fingers twisting together like a scolded child’s. Oddly, the anger I’d felt last night—over her touching the pendant—faded, replaced by an urge to smile at her flustered state. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sophia cut in.

“It’s okay, dear,” she said, her smile flawless. “Since you’re here, could you pour me some tea? The journey’s left me parched.”

I froze. Sophia had seen Viossi at the banquet, knew she was my wife, yet she feigned ignorance, her request a deliberateslight. Viossi’s eyes met mine, wide with a silent plea, begging me to intervene, to affirm her place.

She was waiting for me to speak, to defend her.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t let emotions sway me again—not after last night, not after years of guarding my heart.

Silence was my shield, the safest response. And Viossi realized it too.

Viossi’s face reddened with humiliation, but her eyes held a defiant dignity—the same eyes that had turned to me during the rogue’s attack, filled with trust and hope. Last night, I’d chosen Sophia. Who was I choosing now?

This time, I chose to retreat, pretending I hadn’t heard Sophia’s words, ignoring the desperation in Viossi’s gaze. I looked away, my fingers brushing my cuff—a nervous habit surfacing in my unease.

Just like last night, when the rogue struck, my instinct had been to save Sophia, not her. And now, I was failing her again.