Page 48 of Alpha's Exiled Mate

“What do you want to say?” I asked, my voice as still as a frozen lake.

Her body trembled, a trapped animal caught between fury and fear. “Why? Why have I been caged in this palace for five years while you refuse to even glance at me? My father said—”

“Your father,” I interrupted, my tone icy, “is dead. You have two choices: attend the banquet or remain confined to your chambers until I decide otherwise.”

Viossi’s face paled, the color draining from her cheeks. Her father had been her anchor, the one thing tethering her to this miserable existence. But the Thornfield family had crumbled under my calculated pressure—their lands eroded, their allies scattered, leaving Viossi alone in her gilded cage, a queen in name only.

“I hate you,” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “I hate your coldness, your imprisonment, the way you look at me like I’m… some kind of substitute.”

I stared at her, neither confirming nor denying her words.

She was indeed a substitute—for my true mate, the woman who’d married me five years ago.

I could never forget the day my wolf howled in agony, a searing pain that tore through me. A wave of dread had consumed me, as if I’d lost something irreplaceable.

I’d abandoned Sophia, rushing to her chambers, only to find Viossi standing there, smiling. But something was wrong. Her scent wasn’t the familiar blend of rain-soaked leaves and morning sunlight that had always stirred my wolf.

I don’t recall how I left that room. My feet carried me to the garden where she used to linger, rain pelting my face as the truth hit me like a blow: She was gone. My fated mate was gone.

The irony was bitter. Only in her absence did I realize the bond we shared. My wolf had known all along, its reactions to her a quiet signal I’d ignored. She was my mate, and I’d driven her away. Who could I blame but myself? The signs had been there—her presence, her warmth, the way my wolf stirred in her company. And yet, I’d let her slip through my fingers.

Worse still, I didn’t even know her name.

In the days that followed, I played the part of a dutiful husband, standing beside Viossi as we performed the facade of a perfect royal couple. The kingdom needed an heir, but a piece of my heart had been torn away with her.

When my father died, Jackson launched his rebellion. I crushed it, claimed the throne, and ordered Orin to execute him.

Orin, despite my warning about his extra familiarity with my wife, had returned to his role as my loyal second. I trusted him still—he’d fought beside me through countless battles, risked his life for mine. Jackson’s rebellion was quashed, and Orin assured me the traitor was dead, his body burned, his finger presented as proof.

Viossi became queen in title, but the truth hung between us like an invisible wall, a silent reminder of our hollow marriage.

“So,” I said at last, breaking the silence, “will you attend the banquet?”

Her shoulders slumped, the fire in her eyes snuffed out, replaced by exhaustion and despair. “No. I’m… unwell.”

It was our unspoken agreement—she could skip events if she provided a plausible excuse, allowing me to explain her absence to the court. It suited us both: her desire to avoid scrutiny and my preference to keep her out of the spotlight.

“Your lady-in-waiting will stay outside your door to ensure you… rest well,” I said, the subtext clear: she wasn’t to leave her chambers.

Viossi gave a bitter laugh. “Another thinly veiled house arrest? Or are you afraid I’ll say something to your precious guests that I shouldn’t?”

I didn’t answer, bending to retrieve the scattered document from the floor.

“Perock!” she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. “You know I’m not her! I’ve never been her! Why do you keep up this charade? Why won’t you just say it?”

My hand froze midair, a flicker of long-buried emotion stirring in my chest. In five years, this was the first time she’d so directly acknowledged the unspoken truth. But I quickly regained my composure.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said evenly. “Should I summon a healer? You seem… not well.”

Pain flashed in her eyes, followed by a flare of anger. “You’re a coward. You’d rather pretend ignorance than face the truth. Who do you think you’re looking for? She’s dead! Everyone who knew the truth is dead! My father made sure of that!”

Her words struck like a blade, but my expression remained impassive. She was lying—not about the deaths, perhaps, butabout her. If my mate were truly gone, I’d feel it. My wolf would sense the final severing of our bond. Instead, it howled in quiet agony, yearning for her, a sign she was still out there, somewhere.

“If you’re not attending the banquet,” I said, moving toward the door, my voice calm and detached, “I won’t disturb you further. Rest well.”

“You can’t keep pretending forever!” Viossi shouted after me. “One day, the truth will come out, and you’ll regret your choices!”

I closed the door softly, shutting out her cries and despair. She didn’t need to remind me of the truth’s weight. For five years, I’d been searching for the missing piece of my soul, the woman I’d pushed away yet couldn’t forget. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why had she taken Viossi’s place? These questions haunted me, day and night.