The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 404

Chapter 404: A Beta’s Resting-Neutral Face

DRAKENFELL — THRONE ROOM

Across Skardos, in Shadowclaw, Serena was shifting and Dexmon goddamn knew it because every bone in his body was telling him so with enthusiasm.

He was mid-briefing with three officers when the shift hit.

His hands slammed flat on the war table. His jaw locked. The officers stopped talking because the Crown Prince’s eyes had just gone solid gold and his breathing sounded like a man being stabbed from the inside.

"Fuck..." The rest of the sentence stayed behind his teeth.

Twelve seconds. Twelve seconds of Serena’s pain channeled through a matebond that delivered the agony at full fidelity. The officers stood frozen, because there was no protocol for the Crown Prince of Drakenfell folding over a war table in the middle of a force deployment summary, and improvising felt dangerous.

At thirteen, Dex straightened. Wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"Continue."

Dexmon Drakenfell did not pause for his own blood. His own blood could wait in line behind everything else trying to kill him this week.

The officers continued with the unspoken agreement that the last twelve seconds had been classified.

✦✦✦

VIREMONT KEEP — STUDY

Four hundred miles east, a different Alpha was having a different problem.

Reginald Viremont was pacing his study with the contained fury of an Alpha whose kingdom had been returned to him by foreign support. He had promised his daughter to the High Emperor of Orosia, and his daughter betrayed him.

The study was a room built for scheming and furnished accordingly. Dark wood. Heavy curtains. A desk that had witnessed more betrayals than a battlefield and bore the ink stains to prove it. Maps covered one wall. Correspondence covered the desk.

Reginald Viremont did not waste resources on atmosphere. Atmosphere was for men who needed to be liked. Viremont needed to be obeyed. The distinction saved him a fortune on decorations.

Reed stood by the door. His Beta had perfected the posture. He was present, available, and prepared to agree with whatever came out of the Alpha’s mouth. It was a posture he had maintained for twenty-two years and had refined into an art form.

"The Emperor wants a woman," Viremont said, and the sentence carried the particular venom of an Alpha repeating a demand he had already failed to meet. "He wants a wolf woman with Alpha blood. Court-trained. Attractive enough to present publicly. Motivated enough to comply without constant supervision. And he wants her delivered within the month."

Reed kept his opinions to himself. Only one goddamn month to find, acquire, prepare, and ship a highborn woman to a foreign emperor. Court-trained eliminated ninety percent of the continent. Attractive eliminated another five. Motivated eliminated everyone who had ever met Reginald Viremont. Brutal math.

Viremont stopped pacing, and faced him.

"Agnes was the play. Agnes was the entire architecture. Every contact I built in Orosia, every favor I traded, every concession I swallowed to get that invitation was structured around my daughter walking into that court and making herself indispensable." His voice climbed. "And my daughter decided to develop a conscience inside an enemy castle, escape a secured compound, steal a slave, and deliver intelligence to the very alliance that put me in chains."

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