The Alpha King

Chapter 3

Tessa's P.O.V.



Hadley enters my room, after knocking briefly. It's the next day, and fading light creeps in through the open window, the mid day breeze flittering softly around the room. I sit on the edge of the bed. The silence stretches long and taut, broken only by the faint crackle of the fireplace. My fingers trace the edges of the worn photograph I keep with me — the one thing I managed to save.

My mother smiles up from the picture, sunlight in her eyes. My jaw tightens.

I set it on the nightstand carefully, like it might shatter under my touch.

"Is that your mother?" Hadley's voice comes from behind me — smooth, low, and impossible to ignore.

I freeze, my hand hovering over the photo before I nod. "Yes."

Footsteps approach — measured, deliberate. I can feel the weight of his presence before he stops a few feet away. "What happened to her?"

The question is simple, but it scrapes against something old and raw inside me. My throat constricts. "Rogues," I manage, my voice tight. "Rogues attacked, Alpha."

"Call me Hadley," he says, tone even but commanding.

I glance up. His face is unreadable — carved from control, not cruelty. "Hadley," I repeat quietly.

He studies me for a moment, eyes flicking to the small bag at my feet. "Put your things in the dresser. I'll give you time to settle." He exhales through his nose, the tension easing from his stance. "I've paperwork to handle. Dinner is at seven. There are guards outside should you need anything."

I nod, relieved and oddly unsettled by his calm. "Thank you."

He pauses at the door, then glances back — his gaze lingering on the photo. "She had beautiful eyes," he says softly, before leaving.

When the door shuts, silence folds over me again. I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be anyone's wife. Certainly not a queen. Every instinct in me whispered to run — but there was nowhere left to go.

Something moves near the edge of the bed. A huge burly dog stands at the door, a Great Dane.

He tilts his massive head, ears flicking forward. I extend a hand, and after a moment, he steps closer, pressing his warm muzzle against my fingers.

He lets out a quiet huff that almost sounds like a laugh. I pat the bed beside me. To my surprise, he hops up, curling his enormous frame against my legs.

"You know," I say softly, staring at the ceiling, "I used to talk to my wolf like this. She was the only one who ever listened."

Luke tilts his head, brown eyes steady and full of understanding.

"Guess you'll do," I whisper, and for the first time in days, a small smile tugs at my mouth.

Sleep comes slowly — heavy, dreamless.

Something wet touches my face. I blink, disoriented, as Luke's rough tongue swipes across my cheek again.

"Luke," I groan, pushing him away, "what—"

A deep voice cuts through the dim room. "You're ten minutes late for dinner."

My heart jumps. Hadley stands by the door, half in shadow, his expression unreadable.

"I— I must have fallen asleep," I stammer, brushing my hair out of my face.

He steps closer, the heat of his authority rolling off him in quiet waves. "See that it doesn't happen again." His gaze shifts to Luke. "And the dog is not to be on the bed."

I glance at Luke, who lowers his head like a guilty child. "It was my fault," I say quickly.

Hadley's eyes flick to mine — cool, assessing. Then he nods once. "Noted."

He turns and gestures toward the door. "Come. Dinner's waiting."

The dining hall feels far too large for three people. The walls are lined with portraits — proud faces, golden frames. Riley sits slouched in her chair, twirling a fork between her fingers.

"So..." she says, glancing up at me with a smirk. "Where's your mate?"

I nearly choke on my food. Across the table, Hadley clears his throat sharply. "That's enough."

Riley shrugs. "It's a simple question."

Her eyes, a mirror of her father's, gleam with curiosity and challenge.

I force a steady breath. "That's... that's private to me," I reply, keeping my tone calm, though my pulse quickens.

"Did he leave you?" she asks.

Heat flares under my skin. "No," I say evenly, though my wolf bristles underneath the surface.

Riley leans forward, smiling like she's testing me. "You don't have a mark. So did he reject you?"

The growl rips out of me before I can stop it — low, dangerous, echoing in the vast room.

The silence that follows is thick and suffocating. My chest heaves as I wrestle my wolf back down.

"I—apologize," I say finally, my voice strained. "That was uncalled for."

Hadley's expression softens, just slightly. "You don't need to apologize," he says, his tone protective but firm. "Riley's questions crossed a line."

I keep my gaze fixed on my plate. "Still. It won't happen again."

Riley blinks, surprised, then mutters, "So... he really did die?"

I look up, meeting her eyes. "Yes. On my sixteenth birthday. I felt it — the bond breaking. My father told me after. Said he was gone before I could even know his name."

The girl's defiance flickers. Her shoulders slump a little, and for the first time, she looks her age.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

I nod, swallowing the ache that always rises when I speak of it. "Thank you."

I push back from the table. "I'm finished. Dinner was wonderful. Riley, I'll see you tomorrow for lessons."

I walk out before my composure crumbles.

Hadley's POV

The silence after she leaves is deafening.

I turn my gaze on Riley. "That was uncalled for."

She scowls. "I said I was sorry."

"You humiliated her," I snap. "Is that what you think strength looks like?"

"Oh, please," she huffs, crossing her arms. "Why do you even care? You don't care about anyone but yourself."

My temper flares, sharp and immediate. I stand, my voice dropping low. "Watch your tone, Riley. You forget who you're speaking to."

She glares up at me, eyes blazing. "You forget who you're supposed to be. You barely look at me anymore. You're not a father — you're a King playing at grief."

Her words hit like a blade.

"I loved your mother more than life itself," I growl. "Don't you dare question that."

Tears well in her eyes, though she hides them behind defiance. "Then act like it. Act like she mattered. Like I matter."

Before I can respond, she storms out — her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

I slump into the chair, every bone heavy with exhaustion. Despite the power coursing through me, I can't reach the one person who needs me above all else.

A soft knock breaks the silence.

Tessa stands in the doorway, her hair tousled, eyes still red from earlier. "I... was wondering if I could go for a run. Clear my head."

Her voice is quiet but steady.

I study her for a moment — the restrained strength in her posture, the storm behind her calm. Then I nod. "Go," I say, standing. "But not alone."

I step outside with her, my voice firm as I call out to the guards. "All of you — go home."

The courtyard empties. The night stretches before us, thick with moonlight.

"Thank you," she says softly.

I glance at her, the wind catching the loose strands of her hair. "You don't need to thank me, Tessa."

"Yes," she says, meeting my gaze. "I do."

And then she shifts — bones and fur, strength and shadow — vanishing into the forest like a whisper of everything I'd lost, and maybe, everything I might find again.