The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Royal Bitches

"Elara, the last two weeks with you here have been—"

Hale crumpled it up. Then threw it into a potted plant.

"Elara, your beauty rivals the dawn and I would very much like to—" Crumpled.

"To the Lady Vaelor—" Crumpled harder.

"El—" Absolutely not.

"From Hale"

That was it. He handed it to the omega before he could spiral into another draft. The omega took it with the dead-eyed patience of a man who’d been standing in that corridor for fifteen minutes watching a six-foot-seven warrior lose a fight with a piece of parchment.

He knocked twice on the fitting room door. Elara opened it.

"From Beta Ironholt, My Lady."

Elara took the box and sat down.

She read the note. Read it again. Turned it over to check for more. There was no more.

✦✦✦

Two weeks. That was how long it took for Serena to become Hyran’s protégé. His word, not hers. In practice, it meant dawn-to-dusk workdays. No breaks. No complaints.

No one had lasted this long before without crying, quitting, or being dismissed.

But today was their day off. They’d been pampered since morning.

For the last twelve minutes, Serena had been holding her arms out and they were now going numb.

She stood still atop a low pedestal in a private fitting chamber. Elara sat nearby on a velvet stool, already fitted.

Her gown was deep blue silk, and she wore earrings Hale had given her. Technically, an omega had delivered it.

Unbeknownst to her, Hale was still pacing the corridor next door overthinking the entire gesture.

"He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you," Serena said, glancing at Elara with a grin.

Elara had been told to relax by at least six people today. Wrong thing to say.

"He’s giving mixed signals," she snapped.

Serena lifted both hands in surrender. "It was a compliment." She regretted it instantly. Cass, the seamstress, caught her arm with a pin.

"Two words, Serena. He wrote me two—"

The door slammed open cutting her off mid-sentence. Everyone jumped.

Elara pinched the bridge of her nose. "I swear on every god in Skardos, if that’s another delivery with no context—"

It was not a delivery.

A voice cut through the room, sharp with amusement.

"I see they’ve decided to dress Skeletor in silk," Princess Agnes drawled from the doorway.

"A charity gift from whoever you’re spreading your legs for, no doubt. Enjoy wearing the cheapest dress in the room."

Serena’s eyes widened. She had assumed Agnes was merely a convenient figurehead and Queen Bellatrix as the real source for the rumors.

Agnes stepped inside as if she owned the chamber, her own gown a fitted sweep of pale gold silk, obsidian beads stitched so densely they drank in the light.

She smiled as she approached, slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing prey.

"They’ll stare at you because you look uneasy," she said, voice light but dripping disdain. "You know you don’t belong here, and so does everyone else. But even harlots have their days."

Serena turned her head towards her. "Have I done something to offend you, Princess?"

Agnes’s expression hardened. "By existing. And by going after what’s mine."

Elara’s eyebrow twitched. Not a full raise. Just enough to say oh, so we’re doing this.

"I’m not after anything," Serena said evenly. "We’re guests here, by King Tiberon’s grace. If there is a misunderstanding, I would like to clear it."

Agnes’s mouth twisted. "You can drop the act. That sweet humility routine might fool everyone else, but not me. You’re after Dexmon — my betrothed — and you don’t even bother to hide it."

Serena blinked, genuinely taken aback. "There must be some mistake. I’ve spoken to Prince Dexmon only a handful of times."

"You bonded with his dragon," Agnes hissed, voice cracking on the last word.

Serena’s brows knitted together. "I didn’t realize that was his dragon. If it was, I’ll stay away. It wasn’t my intention—"

Agnes moved in a blur and the rest never left her mouth.

SMACK.

The sound cracked through the chamber like a whip.

Serena stumbled from the pedestal, hitting the floor hard. Blood welled at her lip, a bruise already blooming across her cheek.

Elara was on her feet instantly.

Her fists clenched at her sides, shoulders squared, spine rigid with the kind of still fury that preceded violence. She reached for Serena, helping her steady to her feet.

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