Page 3 of Alpha's Impostor Bride

“That’ll take too long. This is easier.” Without warning, she bares her claws, and I hear the ripping of fabric as the maid slices roughly through my clothes. I smell my blood and realize that she has nicked me. She snickers. “My bad.”

“Janet!” Harriet says, her tone harsh.

“Sorry, Mrs. Bader. It was an accident.”

An accident that continues to take place as she tears off the rest of my dress. My back is to Harriet, who sucks in her breath once I’m completely naked.

“Everybody out.” Her voice is hard.

Janet and the other maids exchange glances and leave, looking relieved.

But as Brina starts to follow them, Harriet stops her. “Not you. You stay.”

The maid makes a face and approaches me. When Harriet remains at my back, I wonder if she’s seen the scars. No princess would have scars on her body. Has she realized the truth? Is that why she removed the other maids?

“Get me a dress. A comfortable one,” she orders Brina, who sighs in irritation but leaves the room.

“Come along, child,” Harriet says, her voice gentler now as she leads me to the white tub in the center of the room.

It’s hard to move in these chains, but I manage to do so. The water is freezing cold, and I flinch.

“In you go.”

I fold my body into the tub at her command, biting my tongue as the icy water stings my skin.

Harriet fetches a washcloth, and when she dips it into the water, she hisses. “It’s cold!”

I stay silent.

“Those girls!” She sounds displeased and moves over to open one of the taps. Hot water pours out. “You should’ve said something.”

Once again, I don’t utter a word. What am I even supposed to say?

Harriet washes every inch of my body, and as the grime disappears, more scars show up. Finally, even she has a hard time holding her tongue. “What happened to you?”

“I would rather not talk about it, if that’s okay,” I murmur.

She doesn’t push the topic any further. Brina has left a dress for me, and Harriet dries me off before applying a cream on my skin. It smells like vanilla and jasmine, a scent that soothes my wolf, which has been pacing within the confines of my mind, agitated. Harriet then helps me into the dress. Guiding me to another room, she sits me down in front of a vanity and combs my wet hair. She doesn’t dry it, nor do I ask her to.

The meal served to me is a simple, meaty broth with six slices of a thick, delicious bread. I only manage to eat one before my stomach begins to feel queasy. Harriet must sense my desire to vomit because she puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Sip some of the broth,” she tells me. “It will warm you up.”

I do so reluctantly, but after a few mouthfuls, I quickly proceed to throw up on the tray.

“S–Sorry,” I gasp, trembling.

“It’s alright, child.” Harriet wipes my mouth and hands me a glass. “Sip some water. It will get rid of the taste.” She takes the tray away, and I move off the chair to the ground, wrapping my arms around my legs. When she returns, she stares at me but doesn’t comment other than to say, “Get up.”

With her help, I manage to get to my feet, but my body feels chilled as I look at her. “Now what?”

She sighs. “Now you go to the king.”

King Cedric’s chambers are located in another part of the castle. They’re massive, the lack of color scheme not surprising me anymore. There’s a large canopy bed in the center of a long wall; tall, arched windows; a small sitting area; and a fireplace. The fire is already crackling when I enter, but the king is nowhere to be seen.

“You have to wait here for the king,” Harriet instructs me.

I wobble, finding it hard to stand on my feet any longer. She guides me to one of the chairs by the fireplace.

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