Page 67 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
“But if it’s a fated mate,” the witch interjected, her gaze locking onto mine with a knowing glint, “the bond’s resonance could significantly increase the chances of success. The spiritual compatibility between fated mates would make the host better equipped to resist the toxin’s corruption, though the danger remains immense.”
“I’ll be the host,” I said, cutting them off, my voice firm and resolute, brooking no argument. “Prepare the ritual immediately. That’s an order.”
I wouldn’t let Lilia face another second of this torment—not when I could take the burden for her.
The healers exchanged alarmed glances, their reluctance palpable in the tense silence that followed. “Your Majesty, you cannot take this risk!” Elira protested, her voice rising with panic, her hands clenching at her sides. “You are the king, the cornerstone of this kingdom’s stability. And with the curse already afflicting your body, adding this dark magic could be catastrophic—it could kill you outright or worse!”
“This isn’t a request,” I said, my voice dropping to a low, icy growl, my eyes cold as steel, pinning Elira in place with the weight of my authority. “It’s a command. Begin the preparations now, or all of you have to answer for her death!”
I turned back to Lilia, her ashen face a stark reminder of what was at stake. Her closed eyes, her faintly parted lips, her chest rising with labored breaths—every detail seared into my mind, fueling my determination. One thought consumed me: I couldn’t lose her. If saving her meant bearing both my existing curse and this soul-devouring poison, I would do it without hesitation. No price was too high to keep her alive, to give her back to Anna, to give us a chance at the future I’d failed to build five years ago.
The healers moved swiftly, their protests silenced by the steel in my voice. The chamber buzzed with urgent activity—candles were lit in a precise circle, their flames casting eerie, flickering shadows across the stone walls; intricate arcane symbols were chalked onto the floor, glowing faintly with a silvery light; and a low, rhythmic chant began, the elderly witch’s voice weaving a spell older than the palace itself, its cadence vibrating through the air like a heartbeat. I sat beside Lilia on a low stool, gripping her hand tightly, her fingers cold but still soft, a fragile lifeline anchoring me to her, to the hope that this would work.
The witch began the ritual, her words a pulsing cadence that seemed to draw the air tighter, the temperature plummeting asmagic thickened around us. A bone-chilling cold surged from our clasped hands, a dark force slithering into my veins like liquid ice, sharp and invasive. Pain erupted, a thousand unseen blades piercing my core, radiating through every nerve, every muscle. I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding, refusing to let even a groan escape, my focus locked on Lilia’s face, on the faint hope that this would save her.
The black tendrils began to retreat from her body, their sinister glow fading from her skin, her chest, her arms, as if drawn by an invisible force. Color returned to her cheeks, a faint flush of life, her breathing growing steadier, deeper. But the relief was short-lived—those same tendrils reappeared on my arm, crawling up my flesh like living shadows, spreading with terrifying speed across my chest, my shoulders, their malevolent pulse sinking into my bones. Inside, the toxin clashed with the curse already rooted in my body, two dark forces colliding in a brutal, internal war. Each clash sent a wave of agony ripping through me, a torment that threatened to shatter my mind, my body buckling under the strain.
When the ritual finally ended, Lilia’s face had regained a soft warmth, her breathing now even, her chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of life restored. I collapsed to my knees beside her, the pain a roaring inferno, my vision swimming with dark spots as I fought to stay conscious. Black spirals now coiled around my arms, pulsing up to my wrists, a visible mark of the twin darknesses now battling within me—my curse and the soul toxin, locked in a fragile, deadly balance.
“Your Majesty!” Elira gasped, rushing to my side, her hands glowing with healing magic as she scanned my body, her face paling at what she found.
“I’m fine,” I rasped, my voice rough, my throat raw as I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling but refusing to give out. I gripped the edge of the table for support, my gaze fixedon Lilia, and turned to the elderly witch “How is Lila? Is she alright?”
“The toxin has been fully transferred,” the witch confirmed, her voice a mix of awe and deep worry, her eyes studying me with unease. “She’ll recover, Your Majesty—she’s out of danger now. But you… you now carry two lethal forces within you. The curse and the toxin are in a fragile equilibrium, but it’s unstable, and it won’t hold forever. Worse, the dark magic has amplified your curse’s potency, accelerating its effects. Your time… it may be far shorter than we previously estimated.”
I nodded, accepting the truth with a calm born of necessity, the weight of my choice settling into my bones. “Not a word of this to anyone,” I said, my voice steady despite the pain lancing through my chest, my eyes sweeping over the healers and witch, commanding their silence. “Especially not to Princess Lilia. She doesn’t need to know what I’ve done for her—ever.”
The healers and witch nodded reluctantly, their faces etched with unease, their eyes reflecting the gravity of my condition, the unspoken fear that I’d just traded my life for hers. I moved to Lilia’s bedside, standing over her, gazing at her serene face, her breathing now calm, her beauty untouched by the ordeal that had nearly claimed her. Relief washed over me, a balm against the pain searing my body, the sight of her alive and whole a victory worth any cost.
In the moment I thought I’d lose her, and even now, standing by her side, I realized the depth of my love for her. Yes, love—a truth I could no longer deny.
Despite the five years of distance, despite the walls of distrust she’d built, my heart was hers, irrevocably, as it had always been, as it would be until my last breath. She was my fated mate, not just in the mystical sense of our bond, but in the quiet, unshakable certainty that my soul belonged to her.
A soft knock at the chamber door broke my reverie. A maid entered, her face pale but composed, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty, the princess—Anna—has been calmed,” she said quietly.
“We told her HerRoyalHighness is resting from exhaustion, as you ordered. She’s in the safe room, playing with her new wolf plush, but she keeps asking when she can see her mother.”
My chest tightened, a sharp ache at the thought of Anna’s innocence, her small heart bearing the weight of this night’s terror with such bravery. She was too understanding, too mature for her years, and the knowledge that I couldn’t go to her now, couldn’t hold her and promise all would be well, cut deeper than the pain in my body.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice soft. “Keep her distracted, and ensure she feels safe. I’ll see her soon.”
The maid nodded and withdrew, leaving me with Lilia’s sleeping form and the weight of what lay ahead. I couldn’t linger—duty called, a heavier burden now than ever, with the kingdom teetering on the edge of betrayal and war. I pressed a gentle kiss to Lilia’s forehead, my lips lingering on her warm skin, a silent vow to return to her side, then turned and strode from the chamber, each step a battle against the dizziness threatening to pull me under.
In my study, a fire roared in the hearth, casting long shadows across the oak-paneled walls, the air heavy with the scent of leather and ink. I summoned my most trusted advisors, Sam, and the council of elders, their faces grim as they gathered around the polished mahogany table, the weight of the night’s events etched into their expressions. I stood at the head, my hands clasped tightly behind my back to hide the black spirals creeping up my wrists, their pulsing presence a constant reminder of my dwindling time.
“Tonight’s attack was no accident,” I said, my voice grave, my eyes sweeping over the room, meeting each gaze with unyielding authority. “It was a calculated assassination, orchestrated with precision. The rogue werewolf was controlled by dark magic, its target unmistakable—Anna, Princess Lilia, or myself. This was a strike at the heart of our kingdom.”
“Your Majesty, we’ve already bolstered palace security, doubling patrols and sealing all entry points,” Sam said, his face grim. “But it’s clear there’s a traitor among us. The rogue knew exactly when and where to strike—only someone with intimate knowledge of the palace could have arranged this.”
I nodded, my jaw tight, and turned to Torren, the intelligence officer, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a mind honed for secrets, who stood silently at the table’s edge, a sealed parchment in his hands. “What have your investigations uncovered?” I asked, my voice steady, though my pulse quickened with anticipation.
Torren stepped forward, presenting the parchment with a slight bow, his voice low but steady, carrying the weight of his findings. “We have irrefutable proof, Your Majesty. Jackson is alive, as you suspected. He’s been hiding in a fortified stronghold in the northern borderlands, secretly rallying supporters to overthrow your rule. His network is extensive, and his resources are formidable.”
I’d known in my gut that Jackson still lived, but the confirmation sank like a stone, heavy and cold. “Go on,” I said, my voice cold, my fingers tightening around the parchment’s edge.
“More troubling,” Torren continued, his tone dropping to a near whisper, his eyes flickering with unease, “is that Orin has been in direct contact with Jackson. Five years ago, he falsified the records of Jackson’s execution, enabling his escape and survival. Orin has been aiding him ever since, acting as his eyes and ears within the palace.” He handed me a second document,its pages dense with damning evidence. “These are intercepted communications between Orin and Jackson, along with records of their clandestine meetings in the borderlands. Additionally, we’ve uncovered ties to Queen Viossi’s family—they’ve been funneling substantial funds and manpower to Jackson’s cause, bolstering his rebellion.”
“What’s Jackson’s plan?” I asked, my voice calm but edged with steel, my fingers tightening on the documents, the weight of betrayal fueling a quiet rage within me.
