The mate I hate

Chapter Three – My Sister's Mate

ELARA’s POV

The photograph had been stashed under the blanket at the edge of my bed before I stepped through the door, my heart racing from the image of the half turned face watching from the corner of the room.

Kael waited in the hall, already wearing the black uniform he'd worn at the ceremony, but he'd already undone the fastening at his neck. He didn't attempt to move around me, either, simply standing there and waiting until I moved. It wasn't because I wanted to make it difficult—he wouldn't be able to do it in public, and I didn't want it overheard.

"You wanted to talk," I snapped, pulling the door shut behind him. "Then talk."

"I know you don't want this," Kael said.

It was such a simple statement, I almost hadn't thought to prepare for it. "That is clear."

"I am not asking you to pretend you do."

He stood by the window, relaxed, hands dangling at his sides. Not once did he display any sign of stress from having just been rejected by his mate. "I merely wished to tell you so that we were on the same page."

"We are very much on the same page."

It sounded harsher than I intended to, but there was nothing I could do about that now. "I never wanted this mating, Kael. I don't want to be your mate. I won't fake caring about you because some ceremony declares it."

"I am not expecting you to."

"Well then." I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. "Because I won't."

And yet he said nothing else. Nothing that I was expecting. No fury, no prince-like indifference. It left me unsettled, to see him standing there quietly, looking almost tired.

"Seren was my mate," he said. "I will not pretend that she was not, and I will not ask you to pretend you were meant to replace her. You are not her. I would not ask you to try to be."

It shocked me in a way his rage and fury and cold demeanor had not, having spent a year building him up in my mind as a villain—one that had killed his mate and used his royal title as an escape. A villain does not whisper her name softly, does not give the other person an easy out.

"Why are you acting like that?” He asked.

"What kind of?"

"Reasonable," the word made me cringe inwardly. "I expected you to be upset."

"And would that make a difference?"

"I haven't got anything like that to say."

Kael turned towards the door, and I instinctively gave way to him. "You may keep this room," he said. "I will not interfere in your life on this campus. Classes, friends, whatever you had prior to this—it is all still available regardless of this bond."

"Well, thank you. Since, as you mentioned, you do not need a bond-mate who dislikes you."

There was something in his face at those words that was there for a fraction of a second and then gone before I could identify it. "Good night, Elara."

He left without waiting for me to answer, and I stood where I was, thinking about this encounter far longer than I should have.

Then I took out the photograph from underneath the blanket and examined it again.

The blurry face of the man standing behind was still blurry, and he still was half-turned away, but I observed the jawline and the shoulders and the picture fell into place. I recognized him—he had been there more than once, although not often—following Kael wherever he went, just like guards usually did.

I looked for him.

I slipped the photograph into the lining of my trunk and promised myself I would find out his name.

---

When I finally reached my first class the following morning, the news had already spread around the entire academy.

Even before I could get to my seat, I could feel the change—conversations being halted as I walked past, the glances following me as I headed down the hall. The former were stiff congratulations that I did not request; the latter did not try to hide their true feelings.

"She must have fallen for the crown too," I could hear somewhere near the lockers. "She must be just like her sister."

I kept walking. I had a year of experience with people gossiping about my sister. It was not much different.

Kael was true to his word and behaved just as normal when we met near the training grounds late in the morning. No lingering gazes or attempts to walk with me. No attempts at making an impression on anyone around us that we were anything other than we were. And for some strange reason, I appreciated his behavior.

Our practical combat class pitted me against a girl called Ilsa. She was a good fighter, and even before I became a part of academy rumors, she never showed me any patience whatsoever. But my mind was distracted by him.

The one from the photograph. He was standing near the edge of the training grounds, partially hidden under the colonnade, watching – not the sparring matches in general but me in particular.

I didn't see Ilsa's second hit because my attention was elsewhere.

"Focus, Veyne!" the instructor yelled.

I complied and stood up straight, but when I glanced towards the colonnade, I realized that he was already walking away.

There was no thinking about it. I just followed him.

I saw him turn the corner to the east wing and walk with the slow deliberate pace of a person who is sure no one will follow him. I kept my distance, hiding behind the walls of the academy, and my heart beating faster with each step deeper into those parts of the academy I seldom have the reason to go – the older parts of the academy with its narrow and dimly lit stone corridors.

Students were not supposed to visit these parts of the academy without prior permission, but I didn't listen to this rule.

I lost him near the restricted archive. The huge iron door swung closed as I turned the last corner. I hid in the alcove nearby and waited for several minutes when the door opened and he came out, taking a quick glance down the corridor and leaving without seeing me at all.

But the moment he left, I walked over to the door and went inside just in time before the door locked itself.

The archive was smelling of old paper and dust. Shelves were stretching back much further than I expected. There was no light except for a few lanterns that were mounted along the walls. I started to search through the labeled sections of the archive and soon found what I needed.

My hands trembled a little bit as I took out the required folder and laid it out on the reading table.

For the most part, everything was quite ordinary – attendance records, minor infractions, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except that one report.

It was written just days before Seren died, and right away, even without studying it carefully, I could see something was wrong with it. Strikethroughs in dark ink that contrasted against the rest of the document, several names blacked out completely – as though someone wanted to cover up who else had been involved in whatever this incident was.

My heart was pounding. Whoever this was about, someone didn't want all the details on paper.

I folded the folder and stuffed it under my arm, turning toward the door.

When I reached out to pull the handle, it wouldn't budge.

I tried to turn it again, and harder, making it rattle in its frame. Nothing.

And then I heard the sound of approaching footsteps – steady, sure, stopping right outside the door.