Page 54 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
Orin’s smile was wry, his eyes betraying a trace of resignation that piqued my interest. “Duties shift, Your Highness,” he said, his tone light but not entirely convincing. “Contributing to the gardens is an honor in its own way, though it’s a far cry from battle plans or council meetings.”
I glanced around casually, probing gently to gauge his candor. “The palace seems full of changes lately. That construction project over there is quite impressive.”
“You mean the Fellinger Courtyard,” he said, nodding, his expression neutral but his eyes watchful. “It’s one of many gifts His Majesty has planned for you. The new palace’s blueprints are finalized, designed in Fellinger’s traditional style, with materials shipped directly from your homeland. There’s also a royal ball in the works, where the entire palace will be redecorated to reflect Fellinger’s aesthetic—even the servants’ uniforms will be tailored to match your kingdom’s colors and motifs.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, keeping my expression carefully neutral, though my frustration simmered beneath the surface. “That’s… very thoughtful,” I said, the words tasting hollow.
“His Majesty places great importance on your visit,” Orin continued, his tone measured, as if he were navigating a delicate line. “The palace’s operations have shifted considerably to accommodate it, from top to bottom.”
Something in his demeanor felt off, a subtle tension that hadn’t been there during our brief encounters five years ago.
Something still felt off to me. Despite this, Orin’s change in position seemed too drastic. I pressed further, keeping my tone light and conversational. “Are you adjusting well to garden work? It seems… quite a change for someone of your rank.”
Orin’s eyes flickered, his smile faltering for a moment, revealing a trace of disappointment that he quickly masked. “His Majesty has his reasons,” he said, his voice low, almost reluctant. “Perhaps I overstepped somewhere in the past, or failed to meet his expectations.”
My brow twitched as a sudden thought struck me.
Could it be… because of me? Because I bandaged Orin’s wounds, because he offered me comfort when I was hurt by Perock’s actions?
The idea felt utterly ridiculous. I couldn’t believe I was even considering it, but the nagging doubt lingered in my mind. How could something so trivial lead to such a drastic consequence for Orin? It didn’t make any sense, yet the possibility gnawed at me, stirring a mix of guilt and disbelief.
“Regardless, my loyalty to His Majesty remains unwavering,” Orin added quickly, as if regretting his brief lapse in composure. “He’s a great king, though at times… overly focused on certain matters.”
He bowed and returned to his tasks, his broad shoulders tense as he directed the servants, leaving me with a growing certainty that I needed to confront Perock directly. These extravagant displays—the courtyard, the palace, the endless gifts—were spiraling out of control, and his apparent demotion of Orin over misplaced jealousy was a step too far. We needed to refocus on the treaty, to ground this visit in diplomacy, not personal vendettas or misguided attempts at reconciliation.
My maids had mentioned that Perock spent an hour or two each day at the royal stables, personally overseeing the training of his warhorses, a ritual he rarely skipped. The stables lay onthe castle’s west side, a sprawling complex of training fields, rest areas, and stalls, its air thick with the scent of hay and leather. As I approached, the rhythmic thud of hooves and the sharp shouts of trainers filled the air, a lively contrast to the garden’s serenity.
I followed a cobblestone path, the stones smooth under my boots, and reached the main training field, where Perock was astride a towering black stallion, its muscles rippling as he directed a squadron of cavalry through tactical drills. The sunlight caught the sheen of his deep brown hair, highlighting the intensity in his expression, his broad shoulders set with the authority of a king. For a moment, I was transported back five years, to our first meeting, when his presence had left me breathless, a mix of awe and trepidation stirring in my chest.
He noticed me almost immediately, a flash of delight crossing his face, softening the hard lines of his features. He barked a few orders to his deputy, dismounted with fluid grace, and strode toward me, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust on the packed earth.
“Lilia,” he greeted, his voice warm and rich with unconcealed joy, his amber eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“We need to talk, Your Majesty,” I said, my tone firm but controlled, using his title deliberately to maintain a professional distance, to anchor myself against the pull of his presence.
Perock raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my seriousness, but he didn’t push back. “Of course,” he said, his voice steady, though a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes. “Let’s find somewhere quieter.”
He led me to a small pavilion at the field’s edge, its open design offering a sweeping view of the training grounds while providing enough privacy for a candid conversation. The structure was simple, its wooden beams weathered but sturdy, draped with climbing vines that added a touch of green to thescene. The scent of hay and leather mingled with the faint musk of horses, grounding me as I took a seat across from him. This place was secluded enough to offer privacy, ensuring we wouldn’t be disturbed.
“You seem troubled,” he said, settling opposite me, his posture relaxed but his gaze intent, studying me with a focus that felt both comforting and unnerving. “Is Anna struggling to adjust to life here? I could arrange for her to have more playtime or a tutor to keep her occupied.”
I tore my eyes from the training field, where riders maneuvered in precise formation, their lances glinting in the sun. During my time as Viossi, I’d rarely visited the stables, the place too tied to Perock’s world, too steeped in his control. The one time I had come, it was because he’d flaunted Sophia to provoke me, a petty game designed to wound—a game he seemed doomed to repeat.
“It’s not Anna,” I said, shaking my head, my voice firm. “It’s the treaty negotiations. It’s been seven days, Your Majesty, and you haven’t shown any intention of discussing them.”
He frowned slightly, leaning back, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. “I thought we were still building trust,” he said, his tone measured, as if testing my reaction. “Diplomacy requires patience, Lilia.”
“It also requires progress,” I countered, my voice steady but edged with frustration. “I didn’t come here to collect jewels, tour gardens, or wait for a palace to be built in my name. I’m Fellinger’s envoy, here to negotiate trade, military, and cultural agreements on behalf of my kingdom, not to be showered with gifts that belong in a museum.”
Perock’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and something softer—regret, perhaps, or a dawning realization. “You don’t like my gifts?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost vulnerable.
“It’s not about liking them,” I said, striving to keep my patience, though my exasperation bled through. “They’re excessive. And they’re putting me in an awkward position. The entire palace, the whole city, is buzzing with talk about your ‘special interest’ in Fellinger’s princess. It’s undermining our diplomatic mission, turning it into a sideshow.”
“I only wanted you to feel valued,” he said, his tone defensive but laced with sincerity, his eyes searching mine for understanding. “To show you how much your presence here means.”
“By building a fifty-acre garden and a palace studded with fifty thousand gems?” I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite my frustration. “It’s too much, Perock. I don’t need grand gestures or monuments. I need us to sit down, open the treaty drafts, and discuss the terms seriously—trade routes, military cooperation, cultural exchanges.”
Perock fell silent, his jaw tightening as he processed my words, his fingers stilling on the armrest. After a long moment, he nodded, his expression sobering, a flicker of resolve settling over him. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice low but firm. “I’ve… overstepped. My intentions were to honor you, but I see now how it’s complicated things. But you have to understand, Lilia, for five years I’ve been waiting for a chance to see you again, to make things right. When you walked into my life, standing there at the ceremony, I wanted to give you the best of everything, to make up for the past I ruined.”
