Chapter 72 Fake Mate - Aleksandr’s POV
I surveyed the ballroom from its entrance, a predator assessing a field of prey. Crystal chandeliers cast an ethereal glow over the sea of bodies beneath, their light catching on jewels and silken gowns, turning everything into a mockery of warmth. Three days of fruitless searching had left me hollow, rage filling the void where hope had briefly flickered. Somewhere, Amelia was being held against her will. And here I stood, playing the part of the resigned king, smiling at a parade of women who meant nothing to me. The irony tasted like ash in my mouth.
'They all wrong,' Skoll growled, his presence a storm gathering in our shared consciousness. 'Not our mate. Not our Queen.'
"I know," I murmured, too low for anyone but my wolf to hear.
The ballroom had been transformed for tonight's farce – silver and blue decorations draped across every surface, the royal insignia prominently displayed. Kane had spared no expense, no detail overlooked in his orchestration of my downfall. My eyes found him immediately, standing near the refreshment table in conversation with Blackstone. Both men glanced my way periodically, poorly disguising their surveillance.
I moved further into the room, nodding to courtiers who bowed as I passed. My formal attire felt like armour – heavy, restrictive, a necessary barrier between myself and the world. Tonight would test not just my acting abilities but my control. The curse had been strengthening its hold with each passing day, with each hour that Amelia remained missing. My hands twitched at my sides, fingers wanting to elongate into claws at the slightest provocation.
'Find mate,' Skoll insisted, pushing against the boundaries of our shared form. 'Not here playing games.'
'Soon,' I promised him silently. 'Just a few more hours of this charade.'
Nora's team had searched every property owned by council members, every warehouse, every abandoned building within city limits. Nothing. It was as if Amelia had disappeared into thin air, leaving not even the faintest trace of her scent. The only conclusion was that she was being kept somewhere unexpected, somewhere we hadn't thought to look. Or somewhere warded against werewolf senses – a troubling thought that suggested resources beyond what even Kane should have access to.
"Your Highness." A voice broke through my dark musings. I turned to find Councillor Kane himself approaching, flanked by a young woman I'd never seen before. "May I present Miss Eliza Thornwood, daughter of Alpha Thornwood from the Eastern Territories."
I forced my lips into the semblance of a smile, though it felt like baring my teeth. "Miss Thornwood."
The girl – for she couldn't have been older than twenty-two – curtseyed deeply. "Alpha King Aleksandr. It's an honour to meet you."
She was beautiful, I suppose, in a carefully crafted way. Dark hair cascading past her shoulders. Slim build. Fair skin. But it was her eyes that made my stomach clench – heterochromatic, one green and one blue, a perfect mirror of Amelia's unique gaze. The resemblance was so deliberate, so calculated, that I had to focus on my breathing to prevent a growl from rising in my throat.
'FAKE!' Skoll roared, the force of his rejection making my temple throb. 'Not our mate! FAKE!'
"Would you care to dance?" I asked, extending my hand mechanically, playing my part in this elaborate production.
The girl – Eliza – beamed, clearly having been coached to expect this invitation. Her hand felt small and cold in mine as I led her onto the dance floor, keeping a proper distance between us as we began to move to the waltz the orchestra had struck up.
"I've heard so much about you, Your Highness," she said, her voice pitched low in what I assumed was meant to be an intimate tone. "The stories don't do you justice."
I allowed my eyes to meet hers briefly, noting the contacts she wore to achieve the heterochromia. A poor imitation of what made Amelia's gaze so striking, so real.
"And what stories would those be?" I asked, maintaining the facade of polite interest while scanning the room over her shoulder. Where was Blackthorn? His absence from both the council meetings and this event was increasingly suspicious.
"That you're the most powerful Alpha King in generations," she replied, her rehearsed words falling flat. "That your presence alone commands respect from even the most defiant wolves."
I guided her through a turn, noting how Kane watched our interaction with hawk-like intensity. "Respect born from fear isn't respect at all," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Her smile faltered, clearly not prepared for anything but bland acceptance of her flattery. "Of course, Your Highness."
The dance mercifully ended, and I returned her to Kane's side with formal thanks before being immediately introduced to another candidate – this one from the Northern packs, again with dark hair and a slim build, though her eyes were uniformly brown. Still, there was something in the shape of her face, the curve of her jaw, that clearly echoed Amelia.