Page 85 of Alpha's Exiled Mate
Tears pricked my eyes, gratitude swelling in my chest, but I held them back, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Mother.”
“But,” she said, her tone softening, a gentle reminder of responsibility, “you need to be honest with Raymond. He cares for you deeply, and deserves your truth.”
Guilt twisted in my heart, the prospect of wounding Raymond’s sincere affection daunting, but I nodded, knowing I had to end it, to free him and myself from a future neither of us truly wanted.
The next afternoon, I arrived at the stables, my heart pounding with anticipation, my simple gown a quiet defiance of the court’s expectations. Allen waited by the stable doors, two sleek horses saddled and gleaming, their coats brushed to a mirror-like shine. His smile was bright, a beacon rivaling the sun, his dark eyes grounding me in the moment, a promise of freedom and connection.
“This is Storm,” he said, patting the neck of a black stallion, its muscles rippling with power, “and this is Lightning, the fastest in the stables.” His voice was warm, proud, a hint of excitement threading through it.
I approached Lightning, running my hand along her warm flank, her muzzle nuzzling my palm, her nose a grounding touch that steadied my nerves. “They’re beautiful,” I murmured, smiling as she nudged me, her eyes soft and trusting.
“Ready?” Allen asked, swinging onto Storm, with a fluid grace that belied his simple attire, his movements those of someone born to the saddle.
I mounted Lightning, feeling the coiled energy beneath her, her strength mirroring my own. “Always,” I said, my grin matching his, a shared challenge accepted.
We galloped out of the stables, the forest swallowing us whole, the river glinting like molten silver beside us, the path alive with the scent of pine and damp moss. The wind roared in my ears, my heart soaring as we raced, the world blurring into a vibrant green and gold. Allen led, his silhouette strong against the sunlight, glancing back to ensure I kept pace, his dark hair catching the light, his profile sharp yet softened by a smile that spoke of shared joy.
“Here!” he called, reining in at a wide meadow where wildflowers swayed in the breeze, a massive oak standing as a silent guardian, its gnarled roots cradling a patch of soft grass.
We tethered the horses, letting them to graze by a babbling stream, and Allen unpacked a simple picnic—crusty bread, golden cheese, and crisp apples—from his saddlebag, laying them out on a woven mat. “You thought of everything,” I said, settling beside him, my gown fanning out on the grass, the simplicity grounding of the moment grounding me in a way the palace never could.
“I wanted to make you happy,” he said, his voice low, his dark eyes soft like spring pools, reflecting the sunlight in their depths. “Anna, meeting you… it’s like finding something I didn’t know I was searching for.”
My cheeks warmed, my heart skipping a beat, his words a melody I couldn’t ignore. “Allen…” I started, then faltered, lost in his gaze.
He took my hand, his touch gentle but electric, sending a jolt through me that set my nerves alight. “I know our worlds are different,” he said, his voice earnest, “but I can’t—”
“The level doesn’t matter,” I cut him off, my voice firm, my heart finding its truth. “Feelings do.”
We spent the afternoon under the oak, our conversation a river of dreams and secrets, our laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant call of the stream. We spoke ofchildhood adventures, of his love for open plains, of my longing for a life unbound by duty, our words weaving a shared vision, a future where we could be just Anna and Allen, free.
As the sun dipped low, casting the meadow in amber and rose, Allen stood, offering his hand, his smile shy but bold.
“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice a quiet challenge, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
No music played, only the chirp of birds and the soft murmur of the stream, but we swayed on the grass, his hands warm at my waist, our steps a quiet rhythm that felt ancient, eternal. His touch was a tether, not to duty, but to joy, a promise of a love that was beginning to understand.
In that moment, I knew—this was love, the kind I’d dreamed of, the pull of a soul to its match, a spark that set my world ablaze.
For weeks, we stole moments together, meeting in the quiet corners of the stables, in hidden nooks of garden nooks shielded by roses, or beneath that ancient oak, our meadow a sanctuary. Allen’s stories captivated me—tales of distant lands, of horses whispering secrets, of stars he’d watched in fields far from here. His accidental brush of my hand sparked currents, our glances ignited the air, our bond deepening with each shared secret, a flame growing brighter, fiercer. My wolf purred, her presence a quiet contentment, her joy a mirror of mine, a testament to the truth of our fated mates connection.
But one evening, he was gone.
I arrived at the stables, my heart light with anticipation, expecting his smile, his warm voice, but found only Old Tom, the stable master, sweeping the aisle, his face creased withconfusion. “Your Highness, I’ve been working here for thirty years, and there’s never been an Allen as the head steward. The current head steward is still Old John, and as far as I know, he doesn’t have any sons.”
My world tilted, a cold dread pooling in my chest, my breath catching. “You’re sure?” I pressed, my voice shaking, desperation clawing at me. “chestnut hair, dark eyes, about my age, tall, said he was the new head groom?”
Tom shook his head, his expression kind but firm. “I’ve worked here thirty years, Princess. Ain’t no Allen ever been here.”
Panic clawed at me, and I searched the palace, questioning every servant, every guard, but no one knew an Allen. The stables, the gardens, the meadow—empty, silent, as if he’d never existed. The only proof was a dried wildflower, plucked during our first meeting, pressed in my keepsake box, its brittle petals a fragile anchor to a memory that felt like a dream.
That night, I sat in my room, clutching the flower, staring at my hollow reflection in the mirror, my eyes shadowed, my face pale.
“Maybe it was all a dream,” I whispered, my wolf’s mournful howl echoing within, her grief a mirror of mine, her loss a wound that bled with every breath.
The days blurred into a fog of pain and doubt, Allen’s absence a void that consumed me. His face haunted my thoughts, his voice a whisper in my dreams, my heart aching with every beat. I wandered to the stables, hoping against hope for a glimpse of him, only to face empty stalls and pitying glances from the grooms. My memories—of his warm smile, his gentle voice, our dance under the oak—felt vivid, yet I questioned their truth.
Had I conjured him, a fantasy born of my longing for a love like my parents’? Was my wolf’s bond a delusion, my heart betraying me?
