Page 38 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
“Your Highness,” she greeted with a slight curtsy, her tone flat. “Please, take a seat.”
I paused, caught off guard. Your Highness? When had she started addressing me with such formality? I could still recall a time not long ago when she called me by my name, her voice warm and familiar. Now, that intimacy felt like it belonged to another lifetime. This sudden distance tightened something in my chest, as if something vital was slipping through my fingers.
I wanted to say something, but the words stuck in my throat. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe this was the distance we were meant to maintain.
I nodded and took my seat at one end of the table. The servants brought in the dishes before discreetly withdrawing, leaving just the two of us in the vast, silent room.
The silence was a tangible barrier between us. I watched her cut into her food with precise, composed movements, as if I were nothing more than a stranger sharing her table.
This coldness was more suffocating than outright defiance. I forced myself to speak. “The food is quite good.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a slight nod. “The kitchen prepared it.”
The kitchen prepared it? My hand paused mid-motion. There was a time when she’d prepare meals for me herself, her care evident in every detail.
Now everything has become “prepared by the kitchen.” The dishes in front of me suddenly seem far less appealing and delicious. I instantly lost my appetite.
Silence descended again. I lifted my wine glass, realizing I was struggling to find a way to continue this conversation—a situation utterly foreign to me. Usually, others went out of their way to please me, not the other way around.
“Did you have any plans today?” I tried again, keeping my tone casual.
She looked up, her expression neutral. “I took a walk in the garden this afternoon and read for a while later on.”
Read? My brow furrowed slightly. She didn’t even enjoy reading.
This was clearly a fabricated excuse, a flimsy attempt to brush me off. She didn’t even bother crafting a more convincing lie, as if it didn’t matter whether I believed her or not.
A wave of frustration and irritation washed over me. This little game was childish, yet she seemed to relish playing it. I was the crown prince, burdened with endless state affairs, yet here I was, acting like some inexperienced boy trying to capture a woman’s attention.
“Are you really going to keep this up?” I asked directly, my voice lower than I intended.
She set down her utensils and met my gaze. “Your Highness, I don’t understand what you mean. I’m simply behaving as you’ve always wanted.”
“As I’ve always wanted?”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “You wanted an obedient wife, a princess who wouldn’t cause you trouble, someone who knows her place as a mere instrument. I’m trying to be that kind of person.”
Her words cut through me like a blade, slicing at my pride. What stung most was that I couldn’t refute her—she was right. I had viewed her as a tool, a means to break the curse. But now, seeing her act exactly as I’d once desired, I felt an inexplicable sense of loss and anger.
I took a deep breath, struggling to rein in my emotions. “That day in the study, I shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.”
This was as close to an apology as I could manage. As crown prince, admitting fault was tantamount to weakness.
She was quiet for a moment before responding softly, “All of that is in the past, Your Highness.”
I exhaled, relieved. It seemed her stance had softened.
“I’ll come see you again tomorrow,” I added.
She shook her head. “There’s no need, Your Highness.”
Her blunt refusal caught me off guard. I realized then that this wasn’t over.
She resumed eating as if our exchange had never happened.
The air grew heavy once more, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against porcelain echoing through the chamber.
Irritation flared within me. I’d taken the first step, offered what I could in terms of regret, yet she remained so distant. This rejection was a challenge to my dignity, a dismissal of my authority.