Page 47 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
The door opened a sliver, and a middle-aged woman peered out, her eyes cautious, scanning me from head to toe. “What kind of information?”
“About the previous cook, Martha,” I said directly, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. “Where is she?”
Her expression hardened at the name, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Who are you? Why do you want to know?”
I slipped more coins through the door, the metal clinking softly. “I’m a relative. I heard she worked here and came to see her.”
The cook shook her head, her eyes narrowing. “You’re too late. She died two months ago.”
The world tilted, the ground unsteadied beneath me. I gripped the doorframe to keep from collapsing, my breath shallow. “Died? How?”
“They say it was illness,” the cook replied, her tone skeptical, her eyes flickering with unease. “But it wasn’t just her. A lot of the old staffs ‘got sick’ and died around then. One after another, like a plague swept through.”
My heart plummeted, my legs trembling as I leaned against the wall for support. Viossi’s mocking smile flashed in my mind, her words echoing.
"She knew too much."
Viossi had lied. Martha was dead, and it was clear Lord Thornfield was responsible. To protect the secret of the marriage swap, he’d eliminated everyone who knew—likely including the witch, Greta, and anyone else who might have exposed the truth.
I left the manor in a daze, my movements mechanical, my mind numb with grief. Martha, my dear Martha, had been stolen from me, her life snuffed out without mercy. She’d never know how much I loved her, how I longed to hear her call me “my little wolf” one more time, her voice warm with affection.
I would avenge her, but not yet. Not until I was stronger, until I could wield the power I needed to bring justice.
A sudden wave of dizziness hit me, forcing me to steady myself against a tree, my hand pressed to my chest as I fought the nausea that had plagued me for days, especially in the mornings. I’d chalked it up to stress, to the weight of betrayal and loss, but now a terrifying thought struck me, sharp and undeniable.
My hand drifted to my abdomen as I counted back, my mind racing. One week, two, three… It has been six weeks since my last period.
The realization hit like a thunderbolt, stealing my breath.
No, it can’t be.
But the signs were undeniable—the nausea, the fatigue, the subtle changes in my body. I was pregnant—with Perock’s child.
Chapter 15
Perock
Five Years Later
“I’m not attending that ridiculous welcome banquet!” The woman in front of me shrieked, hurling her golden goblet to the floor. Red wine splattered across the expensive carpet, staining it like fresh blood. “I’m done with this torment!”
I watched her outburst with cold detachment, unfazed. Over the past five years, scenes like this had become routine—her tantrums, her throwing things, her screamed curses. I simply observed, neither arguing nor soothing her.
Her displays no longer stirred me.
Since ascending the throne, I’d watched Viossi’s emotional stability unravel. My indifference, her semi-confined life in the palace, and my relentless campaign against her family had pushed her to the brink. But I didn’t care.
My only concern was finding her—the woman who was truly meant to be mine. The previous “Viossi”.
“As queen, attending diplomatic events is your duty,” I said calmly, my voice devoid of emotion. “This isn’t a request. It’s an order.”
Viossi’s face contorted with rage, her eyes blazing with near-manic intensity. “Duty? You dare lecture me about duty? For five years, you’ve looked at me like I’m some kind of monster! You ignore me, neglect me, and then expect me to play the perfect queen to prop up your political games?”
I remained unmoved, turning from the window to my desk, picking up a document and scanning it as if her words were nothing more than background noise. My indifference was a weapon, sharper than any retort, and it never failed to enrage her further.
She stormed over, snatching the parchment from my hands and flinging it to the floor. “Look at me! At least have the decency to face me when I’m speaking!”
I raised my eyes slowly, meeting hers with a gaze so cold and empty it seemed to drain the air from the room—no anger, no disdain, just a chilling void.
