Bound To the Cruel Alpha

Chapter Nineteen

Corren

Corren did not even stop to think after leaving Kaelen. He went straight to the Alpha’s quarters, his boots striking hard against the polished stone floor. His mind was buzzing, his jaw tight. He knocked firmly on the heavy oak door.

“Come in,” Draven’s voice came, steady and deep from inside.

Corren pushed the door open and stepped into the large chamber.

Two male servants were inside, fastening the buckles on Draven’s riding leathers. The Alpha stood tall in the center of the room, his broad shoulders rigid, his eyes fixed on the far wall as one servant adjusted the strap at his wrist and another bent to tighten the leather greaves over his boots. His dark cape lay folded across the bed, waiting.

Corren stopped near the doorway, his eyes narrowing. “Are you going for a ride?”

“Yes.” Draven turned his head then, really looked at Corren. His gaze was sharp, steady, weighing. He studied him for a long moment before adding, “You should come with me.”

Corren blinked. “What?”

“You should come,” Draven repeated, voice calm but carrying that quiet authority that made people obey even before they thought about it. “A ride through the town would not be so bad.”

Corren opened his mouth, ready to say something about schedules, duties, anything. But the thought pressing on his tongue broke out instead.

“Kaelen is moving the rogue to the west wing,” he blurted.

For the smallest second, the Alpha flinched. The movement was so slight that anyone else might have missed it. But Corren had spent his whole life watching Draven. He noticed it. He did not say it aloud, but he saw it.

“Kaelen does whatever she wants,” Draven said, turning his head away. His voice was smooth, too smooth.

Corren clenched his fists. “Draven, can I be honest with you right now?”

The Alpha lifted his hand slightly, dismissing the servants. They bowed low and slipped out quickly, closing the heavy door behind them. Silence fell over the wide chamber, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth.

Draven folded his arms across his chest, waiting. “What is it?”

Corren stepped closer, his voice firm. “It is not a good look. We kill rogues. Everyone knows this. Sometimes they are dragged to trial, and then they are sentenced to death. We do this because rogues are dangerous, because wolves without allegiance bring nothing but chaos. You remember the Iron Fang uprising. We both saw what happened. The blood. The madness. The families torn apart. And everyone knows how this pack, you most of all, have hunted them down without mercy. So why? Why are you letting all this happen?”

His words hung in the air.

Draven’s chest rose and fell slowly. He did not answer right away. Then, at last, he sighed. A long, heavy sigh that sounded like it came from the bottom of his lungs. “Is that all?”

Corren froze, stunned into silence.

The Alpha moved forward, clapped a hand on his friend’s back, firm and final. “Go put on your riding leathers,” he said. “We will be covering a long distance today.”

There was nothing else to say. Corren swallowed his frustration and nodded, turning on his heel. If Draven did not want to speak about it, he would not force him. He had learned long ago that pressing the Alpha never worked.

He walked out, down the corridor, and entered his own chamber. The moment he pushed open the door, he stopped short.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “Namira?”

There she was, sitting on his bed as if it belonged to her. Her long gown spilled across his sheets, her hair perfectly arranged, her lips curved into a faint smile.

“How did you get in here?” he demanded.

She tilted her head, her voice light and breezy. “Well… it has to do with me being the Alpha’s betrothed and all.”

Corren closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to groan. It took all of his self-control not to roll his eyes. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath.

He strode past her, straight to his wardrobe. He pulled it open and began digging out his boots and riding gear. His movements were sharp, clipped, as though the act of ignoring her would make her vanish.

“Talk quickly, Lady,” he said flatly, holding one boot in his hand. “I have somewhere to be.”

Namira leaned back on his bed, unbothered. “You are Draven’s right-hand man and his best friend. I was hoping you could help me. I am planning something for his birthday next week. I need ideas for what to give him.”

Corren’s hand stilled on the leather strap of his boot. He turned slowly to stare at her. “You know Draven does not celebrate his birthday.”

“He could start now—”

“It was the day his mother died!” Corren’s voice cracked with sharpness. His patience was hanging by a thin thread.

Namira blinked, her lower lip trembling. “But that was so long ago,” she whispered. Her eyes glistened, as if she might cry. “I just… I just want to do something nice for him.”

Corren’s jaw loosened slightly. He looked at her for a long moment, the fight draining out of him. He knew Draven rarely spoke of Namira. Rarely spoke to her at all, in fact. It was plain to anyone with eyes that Draven did not care for her. Not in the way a man should care for the woman he was meant to marry. Duty bound them, nothing else.

Many men in the pack would kill for Namira’s hand. She was beautiful, poised, daughter of a powerful lord. But her betrothed hardly noticed her, hardly even acknowledged her. Corren did not know what that felt like, but he imagined it was a lonely, ugly thing.

He pulled on his jacket and cleared his throat. “You,” he said, softer now, though still firm. “You can always do something nice for him. Always. Just… do not do it on his birthday. He would not appreciate that at all.”

Namira’s shoulders sagged, her head bowed. Maybe she was crying now, maybe not. Corren was not sure. He was not good at this sort of thing.

Awkwardly, he stepped forward and patted her shoulder once. “Do not waste your tears,” he said in a low tone. Then, without waiting for her reply, he grabbed his gloves and walked out.

The corridor felt brighter, freer, once he left her behind. He made his way to the stables where he knew Draven would already be waiting, tall and unreadable, his horse restless beneath him.

Corren adjusted the strap of his riding gear, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself. Whatever the Alpha had planned for today, it would not be simple.