Page 33 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
Perock’s cold voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. He stood at the corridor’s end, his presence sudden and overwhelming.
When had he arrived?
His eyes locked on Orin’s hand, still hovering near my face, his expression dark as a storm cloud, fury blazing in his amber gaze. His fists clenched, knuckles whitening, his body leaning forward as if ready to lunge at Orin, a predator staking his claim.
Orin stepped back swiftly, bowing his head in deference. “Your Highness,” he said, his tone calm and respectful, “I merely happened upon Her Highness while she was unwell.”
His voice was steady, but he raised his head, meeting Perock’s eyes with a quiet defiance, as if he believed he’d done nothing wrong. The air crackled with tension, the corridor’s torchlight flickering, casting long shadows that seemed to pulse with Perock’s barely contained rage.
Perock advanced, his presence suffocating, the heat of his anger almost tangible. His eyes burned into Orin, promising retribution. The irony was bitter, searing through me like acid. Just moments ago, in the parlor, he’d stood silent as Sophia humiliated me, refusing to utter a single word in my defense. Yet now, faced with Orin’s concern, he acted like a possessive husband, guarding what he’d so easily discarded.
My tears had dried, replaced by a cold, simmering resentment.
His double standards were unbearable—ignoring me when it suited him, only to claim me when another dared show kindness. I wouldn’t stand for it, not after last night’s betrayal, not after Sophia’s triumph.
Before Perock could speak, I turned, my skirts swirling, and strode down the corridor.
I refused to face his accusations, his cold eyes, or the hollow promises of care I’d once craved. My wolf stirred, a faint growl echoing my resolve, urging me to reclaim my dignity, to stop begging for scraps of his affection.
“Viossi, stop!” His voice rang out behind me, sharp with command, but laced with something else—desperation, perhaps, or guilt.
But it didn’t matter.
I wouldn’t let it sway me anymore.
Chapter 11
Perock
As the body of the rogue werewolf was dragged out of the palace, I didn’t linger to look. My arms were tightly wrapped around the unconscious Sophia as I hurried toward the medical wing. Her face was pale, her long hair disheveled, and her dress stained with dust, making her look frail and helpless.
However, I found my thoughts incessantly drifting to the woman I had left behind. That scene still played vividly in my mind—the rogue werewolf swiping at her with a claw, sending her delicate frame arcing through the air, her skirt fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. In that split second of crisis, my heart nearly stopped, but I couldn’t rush to her side. Instead, I chose to protect Sophia.
It was Orin, my most trusted deputy, who shielded my princess.
The thought ignited a flare of anger in my chest, irrational and fierce. That should have been me—catching her, shielding her. Not another man stepping into my place, fulfilling a duty that was mine alone.
“Your highness, please lay Lady Sophia here,” the healer said, gesturing to a bed. She began examining her, her voice calm. “She’s merely shaken. A night’s rest should restore her.”
I nodded, sinking into the chair beside her bed, my gaze straying to the door. My fingers tapped the armrest, restless, barely registering the healer’s instructions.
“Is Her Highness unharmed?” the healer asked cautiously.
The question snapped me back. “I’m not certain,” I said, my voice taut. “Send someone to confirm the princess’s safety at once.”
The healer bowed and hurried out, leaving me by Sophia’s side, though my thoughts were already racing across the palace to Viossi.
This attack was no accident. Rogue werewolves rarely acted alone, and never dared breach a fortified castle. This bores Jackson’s mark—a calculated strike to sow chaos, undermine the fragile trust I’d built among the nobles, and target Viossi, knowing her importance to me.
Her importance?
The thought tightened my chest. Was she important to me?
As a tool to break my curse, to play the role of devoted wife and bolster my reputation, she was undeniably vital. That’s how I’d always seen her, how I’d justified my distance.
But why, then, did the image of Orin holding her—clutching her so tightly—burn in my mind, stirring a possessiveness I couldn’t explain?
I stood abruptly, turning to the maid tending Sophia’s brow. “Take care of her.”
