Alpha's Mate: The Villainess

Four heavily armored guards escorted me through the dungeon and through the halls of the castle. Each person had a chain linked to the shackles that I was wearing on my wrists and feet, the guards at the front pulling on them if I lagged. They did not stop walking until we were in the middle of the town square, which was filled to the brim with people from all walks of life. There weren’t usually this many people in attendance, and I’d heard there weren’t many executions open to the public. But this was a highly controversial case. It’s not every day a highborn gets tried and executed in the reign of Henry the Young, first of his name, King of Aldervolf, Protector of Men and the Occult, One True Heir of the Greater Volfenheim Empire. The Crown erected bleachers to accommodate the public. I saw a bunch of my old classmates among them, whispering to themselves, pointing at me. Some were sneering, thinking I deserved it. Only a handful of people looked like they pitied me. I stuck my chi

I could tell Henry was on edge. I could hear it in the monarch’s heartbeat. I could smell it in the scent he gave off. Selina of Rozenberg, his future bride, was visiting Aldervolf to study. The Crown had planned a State Reception for her, complete with ceremonies, dinner, and gun salutes, but she was days late, rendering everything they had planned useless. The reception would still happen, just not today, when she finally arrived. All kinds of gatherings were prohibited once the monthly lockdown was in effect. “I hope Selina doesn’t mind,” Henry muttered under his breath as he twirled his pen in his fingers repeatedly while he read file after file of paperwork. He must be desperate to finish all of it by tonight. I mean, he should, but whatever. I stopped bouncing my rubber ball on the wall of my sister’s laboratory to stare at the overworked king. I heard from other people that the Destined Queen—that’s what she was called around here— was pompous, self-obsessed, and overbearing.

I squeezed the trigger on my handgun the moment the tramp in front of me moved. I was nimble, but the guy was much faster. Inhumanely so. Tried as I might to keep up with him, shooting at him, but my bullets were at least a millisecond slower, thus only hitting air and the soil surrounding us. When I had emptied my barrel, I knew it was futile to resist, so I closed my eyes, expecting a painful death that never came. There was growling, groaning, and scuffling behind me, like dogs fighting to the death. I opened my eyes, spun around, and took several steps back. On the ground, the guy was grappling with someone or something. It was thin, lanky, and dark. The head looked like a sickly, fur-less dog. My eyes widened in alarm as I realized, with the help of the large white moon, that it was a werewolf. I became acutely aware of my surroundings. I could hear growling and snarling from everywhere. The darkness of the Pass concealed them, but I knew we were surrounded. Hearing a pained yel

I held my breath as I poured the black liquid from the pot onto my bone china cup, under the watchful eyes of Henry’s mother, Empress Camilla. The breakfast table was already set, but there were no servants to serve them, just like how the sovereign liked it. I then poured oat milk with practiced grace. To avoid spilling and touching the sides, I stirred my tea back and forth rather than in a circular motion. I took a small sip from my cup before resetting it on the saucer with barely a clink. It was the morning following the tense encounter with the werewolves at Lupine Pass. Camilla arranged for us to have breakfast in the garden, surrounded by fragrant pine trees and shrubbery, and warmed by the morning sun. It was lovely. But the air was tense and filled with nervous energy. I felt nauseous. My future mother-in-law was friendly, smiling, and a delightful host, but I couldn’t help but feel under intense scrutiny. Like everything was a test. Even Becca could feel it, and I was glad

“Can I help you?” came a voice from beside me, and I almost jumped in surprise. A woman was standing by the bookstore’s doorway, a few feet away from me. She had silver hair that looked flat and thin, like a grandma, but her skin was free of wrinkles. She must be in her mid to late twenties. “Oh, no, I’m just looking while waiting for my fiancée,” I replied. “Be careful with the book. It’s ancient.” “Excuse me?” The woman stared at her for a few more seconds before vanishing inside the store without a word. “Rude,” I muttered under my breath as I leafed through the book again before slamming it close. I was about to place it back on the shelf when I noticed I was holding an old leather-bound volume. The embossed golden letters on the cover read: Grimoire. I let out a little shriek and dropped the item as if it burned me. “Ew, ew, ew!” I wagged my hands in front of me as if getting rid of something revolting in my hands. What was a witch’s bible doing in a place like this? “Becc