Page 83 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
“Prince Raymond of the Northern Isles!” the herald’s voice rang out, and the crowd parted like a tide, heads bowing as he entered, his presence commanding, his golden hair catching the light like a crown of its own.
Raymond strode forward, his blue eyes locking onto mine with a warmth that drew murmurs from the onlookers, his tailored coat accentuating his broad shoulders, his smile both familiar and disarming. “Anna,” he said, forgoing titles, a nod to our shared history, his voice rich with affection. “It’s been too long.”
I started to curtsy, my movements rote, but he caught my hand, lifting it to his lips in a gallant kiss, his gaze intense, like a sky heavy with rain, threatening to pull me under with its depth. “Happy birthday,” he said, his voice low, resonant, as he gestured to his entourage behind him.
A collective gasp rippled through the hall as a massive, breathtaking creature lumbered into view—a towering elephant, its gray hide gleaming under the chandeliers, adorned with silken drapes embroidered with the Northern Isles’ crest. The beast’s presence was a spectacle, its gentle eyes surveying the crowd, its trunk swaying with quiet dignity.
“An elephant?!” I exclaimed, my composure shattering as I rushed forward, my gown trailing behind me, my hands reaching out to touch its warm, leathery skin. The creature stood docile, its presence a marvel, and I turned to Raymond, disbelief mingling with awe. “Raymond, you got me this?”
“It’s a tribute from our islands,” he said, stepping closer, his voice soft, his breath warm against my ear as he leaned in, his closeness sending a flush to my cheeks. “If you’d like, I can walk it with you later, just the two of us.”
The flush wasn’t from shyness but from the weight of the moment—the extravagance of the gift, the whispers swelling around us, the eyes of the court watching our every move. Itfelt like a performance, a role I hadn’t chosen, my autonomy slipping away under the scrutiny.
Raymond tilted his chin, his gaze sweeping the other princes, a silent challenge radiating from him, as if declaring - See? Only I belong at her side. The rest of you are mere shadows.
The other suitors faltered, their confidence shaken, exchanging uneasy glances before melting back into the crowd, their hopes dimmed by his display. But instead of flattery, I felt a pang of discomfort, a sense of being claimed without consent, my choices narrowing to a path I didn’t want. My wolf, restless within, yawned, her indifference a quiet rebellion, her lack of interest in Raymond or his wolf a stark contrast to the court’s expectations.
Swallowing my unease, I caught my parents’ expectant gazes across the hall, their smiles gentle but hopeful, and sighed inwardly, accepting Raymond’s outstretched hand, letting him lead me to the dance floor. His grip was firm, warm, guiding me through the waltz with practiced ease, but it felt like a tether, not a connection, each step a duty rather than a joy.
“Anna, I wrote you so many letters,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with a quiet hurt, his eyes searching mine. “You never replied.”
I forced a laugh, my voice tight, a hollow sound even to my own ears. “I’ve been so busy,” I said, the excuse flimsy. “I must’ve forgotten.”
“Thank you… for the gift,” I added, grasping for something neutral, trying to steer the conversation away from the ache in my chest.
His eyes softened, a smile curving his lips, genuine and warm. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, his hand tightening slightly at my waist as we turned. “I’ll be here for a while, so we can spend time together, like when we were kids—riding, exploring, just us.”
As we spun, his hand steady, his touch sent a warmth through me, but it wasn’t the thrill I’d imagined love would bring, the spark that set my soul alight. His gaze, his words, confirmed what I’d dreaded—he cared for me, deeply, in a way I couldn’t return, his affection a weight I hadn’t asked to carry. My wolf, sensing my turmoil, remained aloof, her thoughts clear, her yawn stretching wider, a silent declaration that neither Raymond nor his wolf stirred her, that this was not her path.
The music stretched on, each measure an eternity, the dance floor a stage where I played a role that didn’t fit. Finally, I could bear it no longer, my hands slipping from his, my breath uneven. “I’m sorry,” I said, stepping back, avoiding the hurt flickering in his eyes. “I need some air.”
I hurried through the palace, my gown rustling, my heels clicking against the marble until I reached the rear gardens, the cool night air a sharp relief against my flushed skin. The garden bloomed with my mother’s beloved Bulgarian white roses, their petals glowing almost translucent under the moonlight, a serene haven that felt like a world apart, a sanctuary my father tended with devotion, forbidding any gardener from touching her cherished blooms.
I sank onto a stone bench, my hands clasped tightly, a wave of melancholy washing over me. Why must I feel trapped by a future I didn’t choose? If I married Raymond, a prince perfect in every way, and later met my fated mate, would I be condemned to a life of longing, my heart forever divided, yearning for a love I could never claim? The thought was a knife, sharp and unyielding, twisting in my chest.
A rustle broke my reverie, the rosebushes stirring, the movement sharp and deliberate despite the still air. My senses snapped to attention, my wolf leaping to alertness within, her muscles coiling, her growl low and ready. I half-shifted, claws lengthening, my eyes narrowing as I stood, my stance defensive.
“Who’s there?” I demanded, my voice low, edged with warning, prepared for any threat.
The bushes parted, and a figure stumbled out, catching himself against the garden wall—a young man, roughly my age, dressed in the simple, sturdy tunic of a stable hand, his chestnut hair slightly tousled from his fall.
His face was striking, even in the moonlight, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, his brows dark and commanding, framing eyes so deep they seemed to hold the night itself. Yet, those dark eyes were soft, their gaze warm and disarming, a contradiction of wildness and gentleness that stole my breath, rooting me to the spot.
Our eyes met, and my blood roared in my veins, a tidal wave that set my heart ablaze. My wolf howled within, a primal, undeniable recognition, her excitement surging through me, shaking me to my core. She paced, her tail high, her voice a thunder, whispering mate, the word reverberating through my soul, a spark igniting in the darkness, a truth that reshaped my world.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice trembling, betraying the storm raging within, my hands clenching to hide their shake.
He froze, his eyes widening, a flash of awe and something deeper—recognition—crossing his face, as If he too felt the pull of fate.
He straightened, offering a clumsy but sincere bow, his posture stiff but earnestness undeniable. “I’m Allen, Your Highness,” he said, his voice steady but laced with a quiet reverence, as though speaking my name was a privilege. “I’m the newly appointed head of the Royal Stables here.”
“What are you doing here?” I pressed, my tone softening, curiosity overtaking caution as my wolf relaxed, her senses still alert but no longer threatened, her interest fixed on him.
He scratched his hair awkwardly and said, “I must admit, I came to glimpse Your Highness’s coming-of-age ceremony, though I know it was improper of me…” He suddenly stopped, as if realizing he was only making things worse.
A smile tugged at my lips, unexpected and genuine, a lightness I hadn’t felt all evening. “So,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “you’re a Peeping Tom?”
“No! I’m not—” he sputtered, his hands flailing in protest, then paused as he caught the teasing glint in my eyes, his grin returning, bright and unguarded. “Alright, tonight I am,” he admitted, his laugh low and warm, a sound that sent a shiver through me. “But I swear, it’s not a habit.”