Claimed by the Ruthless Alpha Prince

Chapter18

Kael’s POV

I stride back toward the settlement with Blackwood trailing behind me, his nervous energy practically radiating off him in waves. The scent-masking potion lingers in my nostrils—proof that this Elara didn’t bolt blindly into the woods like some frightened animal. She planned her escape.

“Your Highness,” Alpha Blackwood says, quickening his pace to match mine. “Perhaps we should discuss this further over dinner. You must be exhausted from your journey.”

I don’t slow down.

“I’m not tired.”

“But surely you’d like to rest before beginning your search? The feast tonight will give me time to gather more information. Harper has prepared all your favorite dishes—”

“How would she know my favorite dishes?”

He stumbles slightly.

“Well, she—she researched. Asked around. She’s very thoughtful that way.”

I push open the door to my quarters without responding. Blackwood hovers in the doorway, clearly reluctant to let me disappear.

“The feast begins at sunset,” he says. “Harper has been planning it. She’s quite the hostess, you know. Everyone always says—”

“Fine.” The word comes out sharper than I meant it to, but it stops his rambling. “I’ll attend your feast.”

Relief floods his face.

“Wonderful! Harper will be so pleased. The preparations should be complete in about four hours, which gives you time to rest—”

“Four hours is sufficient.” I step into my quarters, already planning to use the time more productively than he imagines.

“Of course, Your Highness. We’ll send someone to escort you when everything is ready.”

I close the door on his eager face and wait until his footsteps fade away. Four hours gives me plenty of time to investigate without interference. My tracker instincts are screaming that I’m missing something crucial about this Elara’s disappearance, and I’m not going to find answers by listening to Alpha Blackwood’s carefully rehearsed version of events.

I slip back outside once the settlement has quieted. Most of the pack members are probably busy with feast preparations, which means I can move around unobserved. It doesn’t take long to pick up Elara’s scent trail leading to a small, unlocked cottage on the outskirts of the pack settlement.

The isolation of the location bothers me. Even if this pack has strong warriors, their strongest healer should have been protected. Why was she living out here where she could get attacked by anybody?

The cottage itself is tiny—barely more than a few rooms—with a small garden behind it that has been recently disturbed. Someone has clearly searched the rooms, leaving overturned furniture and scattered belongings in their wake. But beneath the chaos, I can see signs of a life lived simply but with care. Clean surfaces, organized storage, and the lingering scent of herbs and cooking.

Whoever lived here was poor but house-proud.

I move through the small space methodically, looking for anything that can give me insight into where Elara might have gone. In what must have been her bedroom, I found an overturned picture frame on the floor. When I pick it up and flip it over, I stop breathing for a moment.

The woman in the photograph has long, brown hair that catches the light like polished wood, and bright green eyes that sparkle with genuine warmth. Her smile is radiant—not the calculated charm I witnessed from Harper, but something real and unguarded. She’s lovely in a way that’s completely different from the Alpha’s daughter. Where Harper’s beauty is conventional and fragile, this woman’s face holds life and character.

She’s sitting on a tree branch, reaching for something. I find myself studying the photograph longer than necessary, caught by something in her expression that I can’t quite name. She looks... joyful. When was the last time I saw someone look genuinely happy?

The thought irritates me immediately. I’m here to retrieve a runaway, not to stand around admiring portraits. I set the frame down forcefully and turn away.

The rest of my search yields little useful information.

As I head toward the door, a movement outside the window catches my attention. A figure stands partially hidden behind a tree about fifty yards away, watching the cottage. When she realizes I’ve spotted her, she starts to retreat, but it’s too late.

I’ve seen her.

Her dark hair is braided in the warrior style, and her posture suggests she’s trained for combat. I don’t follow her.

I don’t need to.

I’m not done investigating.

The feast is exactly the political theater I expected. The pack’s main hall has been decorated with fresh flowers and expensive-looking tapestries, probably brought out specially for my visit. Long tables groan under the weight of elaborate dishes, and pack members are dressed in their finest clothes, watching me furtively when they think I won’t notice.

Alpha Blackwood leads me to the head table where Harper waits, practically glowing with anticipation. She has changed into an elegant, blue dress that complements her eyes, and her golden hair falls in perfect waves around her shoulders.

“Your Highness!” she says, rising gracefully as I approach. “I’m so honored you decided to join us. I’ve prepared the most wonderful meal: roasted lamb with herbs from our private gardens, fresh bread, and a honey cake that I’m told is simply divine.”

I take the seat beside her that has clearly been arranged for me.

What immediately strikes me is her resilience. After my brutal rejection at the guest quarters earlier, she has bounced back with renewed determination. Her smile is brighter, her posture more confident, and there’s a calculating gleam in her eyes that wasn’t there before. The persistent optimism reminds me painfully of Lady Zari and her insufferable belief that enough charm and persistence will eventually wear down any resistance.

The similarity makes me clench my jaw shut.

Throughout the meal, Harper keeps up a steady stream of chatter about pack life and her healing abilities, plus thinly veiled compliments about my reputation.

“I’ve heard such amazing stories about your military campaigns,” she says, leaning closer than before, clearly emboldened by some misguided confidence. “The way you single-handedly routed those rogue packs last year—so brave, so strategic. I’ve always admired men who can protect others.”