To Choose An Alpha

Chapter3

RAVENNA.

The room I was given wasn’t large or particularly grand, but it was clean and quiet, and it had a window that opened out to a sliver of the palace gardens. There was a small bed tucked into the corner with pale blue sheets, a desk near the wall, and a chest for my belongings. It was more than I’d expected, and far more than I needed. I didn’t bring much; just the cloak Sora gave me, a few shirts and trousers, my healing tools, and my mother’s old comb wrapped in cloth.

I unpacked slowly, folding things with care I didn’t usually bother with. Everything felt strange, distant. I wasn’t used to stillness like this. The walls didn’t creak. No one shouted from the streets. It felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s life.

After a while, I wandered outside. The guards gave me curious glances but didn’t stop me. I kept to the paths near the inner gardens, where the stone walkways were lined with trimmed hedges and tiny white blossoms poked through ivy-covered walls. A fountain gurgled quietly in the middle of a clearing. I sat by it and just listened.

It was hard not to think of Sora. Of Mistress Thalia. Of home.

Harder still not to think of my mother, and how many times we’d left places behind.

That night, I couldn’t sleep much. I kept waking, heart racing, mind full of what-ifs and maybes. I pressed my fingers together, feeling the small pulse of magic in them. My gift brought me here. But what would it cost?

By morning, I was already dressed when a knock came at the door.

“You are to report to Her Majesty’s chambers,” said one of the girls who had led me before.

I followed her down the halls, my steps echoing against the stone. This time, the Queen’s room was brighter, the curtains partly drawn to let in pale morning light. But it wasn’t just us.

Four people stood near the Queen’s bed, dressed in fine robes. I recognized one of them as Alpha Bael, Sora’s father and a senior member of the Council, known for his sharp tongue and sharper smile. The others looked just as important and just as amused to see me.

I swallowed, bowed low, and moved toward the Queen.

She was sitting up a bit now, eyes alert.

“Begin,” she said simply.

I nodded, opened my satchel, and carefully pulled out the salve I’d improved overnight. My hands moved on instinct, two fingers dipped in, warmed slightly with the press of magic, then pressed gently to her temples.

“You’re early today,” said one of the councilmen lightly. “Impressive. We expected more delays from Moonspire.”

“She works quickly,” the Queen replied. “And with results.”

The praise made my ears burn, but I didn’t lift my head.

Just then, the door opened again. Heavy footsteps. A shift in the air. I looked up only for my breath to catch.

The man who entered was tall, with broad shoulders and blond hair that was slicked back, not a hair out of place. His jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp and a pale yellow, looking almost haunted. His presence made the entire room seem tighter.

And the moment our eyes met, something inside me shattered and reformed all at once.

A strange pull gripped my chest, familiar and terrifying.

Mate. I knew it before anyone said a word. And judging by the way he froze, so did he.

The room went still. Too still. Someone cleared their throat. Lord Bael, I think.

“Well,” he said with a smooth voice, “how very… unexpected.”

The man, no, the Prince took a step forward. His expression was unreadable now. Cold. Guarded.

I tried to look away but couldn’t. My heart pounded, loud in my ears. “You’re the healer from Moonspire,” he said. His voice was low, even. I nodded.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He looked at the Queen, then back at me. Something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Confusion? I couldn’t tell.

“I…” he began, then stopped. The council watched like vultures.

“She’s your mate,” said a woman in violet robes, her tone almost bored. The Prince didn’t respond right away.

Then, he turned toward them and spoke, his voice flat. “She may be fated to me,” he said, “but I do not accept the bond.”

The words landed like a punch to the chest. I blinked, trying to understand what I had just heard. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe he hadn’t meant it like that.

But the looks on the Council’s faces told me otherwise.

“I, Darian Dravenheart, reject you, Ravenna or Moonspire from being my fated mate.” Pain lanced through my chest and I winced, taking some steps back.

“Oh dear,” one of them said lightly. “How unfortunate.”

Another murmured, “Well, we must always put duty before impulse.”

I stepped back, the salve pot still in my hand. The Queen said nothing. Her eyes were on me, cool and distant. My legs felt weak.

“I… I need to go,” I said, not sure who I was speaking to. No one stopped me.

I turned and walked quickly from the room. Then faster. Down the hallway, past the guards, my feet carrying me without thought.

The air burned in my lungs. My vision blurred.

He had rejected me. Someone that I’d hoped and dreamed of my whole life, I’d almost even given up on finding him after all these years. Yet a part of me still hoped. I’d had finally found him but…but he was the Crown Prince and he’d… my mate had rejected me.

In front of everyone. And they had joked about it.

I didn’t stop until I reached the door to my room. I stumbled inside, shut it behind me, and leaned against it, breathing hard. The ache in my chest was too much. I pressed a hand there, as if I could push the pain down. But it stayed and grew.

And I realized, with a sick feeling in my stomach—

I had never been more alone in my life.