Page 27 of Alpha's Impostor Bride

Of course, she was following instructions. Mine.

I try not to think about that.

I recall the scars on her back that I saw last night. I know she’s not of royal blood. Even if she were an illegitimate daughter, she would have the same mark on her wrist as those of royal blood. She doesn’t, so the fact that she has the same features as the princess is simply a coincidence. But how did Princess Vivian discover her existence? And why has Leanna been brutalized like this?

As the princess’s substitute, she should have been looked after. The new clothes she chose today in front of me today were tasteful, choices I would expect from an actual princess. Her manner of speaking and the way she carries herself have not escaped me. No one could ever say that she is not Princess Vivian.

Leanna.

Harriet calls her by her true name. I saw the way my mate’s eyes softened when Harriet used it. For a moment, she looked soft and approachable. She looked happy. Did I ever see her happy before then? Even when she sits alone in the garden, she never smiles. She looks like she’s carrying the burden of the world on her shoulders.

“I don’t know what I like. Nobody’s ever asked me before.”

What kind of statement is that? Everybody has something they like.

“Like you and the other inhabitants of this castle, she too believed that I needed to know my place.”

If Princess Vivian were not dead, I would kill the woman myself.

The thought startles me. If the princess were alive, she would be the one I’d be mated to. But the idea of being linked to that woman, with her cold eyes and haughty airs, makes me shudder. If it had been her who had been harassed by the maids here, she would have ordered them to be executed. I can believe that about her. But my fated mate has a soft heart.

“It won’t serve you here, though. The Northern Wolves don’t respond well to kindness,” I say quietly into the silent room.

The door opens, and Harriet enters. She’s carrying a small packet in her hand.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Herbal tea. Healer Pat gave it to me.”

She stares at me expectantly, and I give her an irritated look. “What now?”

Turning frosty, she asks, “Shall I take the queen back to her chambers so that you can sleep peacefully?”

I bristle at her tone. “No, you shall fucking not.”

Her eyebrows shoot up at my words, and I look away, refusing to feel guilty for my vulgar language.

Harriet, however, is in a mood that is rare for her. “Then, where will Your Majesty sleep?”

“On my damn bed,” I say irritably.

She lowers one brow. “Are you sure you will be comfortable there?”

“Harriet!” I snarl. “I get it. Now, lay off me.”

My wolf does not like the defiance coming from her. She may have raised me, but I am still her alpha and her king.

“Very well. I shall retire for the night, then.”

“Wait,” I call out, stopping her in her tracks. “Why is Leanna’s room so bare?” I asked my mate that question yesterday, but I feel I may get a better answer out of Harriet.

She doesn’t look at me. “She doesn’t want to decorate it. She thinks it’s not her room.”

“What kind of stupid excuse is that?” I growl. “She’s living in it, isn’t she? Therefore, it’s her room.”

Harriet looks over her shoulder at me before suggesting, “Perhaps Your Majesty should remind her of that. She seems to think she has no place in this castle and is simply a prisoner here.”

“Well, she’s not wrong,” I mutter. “She is a prisoner. A political one.”

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