5
Chapter 3
Leanna Avery
My body aches as awareness flickers through me.
I’m pressed against something hard, and I feel warm and comfortable. I don’t want to wake up. I snuggle deeper, not willing to relinquish this source of heat. My wolf is comfortably curled inside the recesses of my mind, content for a change.
It’s the quiet growl that makes my eyes fly open. I am instantly looking into a pair of mildly annoyed, amber eyes set in a face that has been chiseled by the gods themselves. A startled “eek” slips from my mouth as I scramble backward, get tangled in the sheets, and fall off the side of the bed onto the hard floor.
Groaning, I try to sit up but fail, my lower back hurting.
The bed creaks, and the owner of the face, the king of the Northern Kingdom, walks around the foot of the bed toward me.
“I’m sorry!” Petrified, I try to move away from him, but he just ignores me, lifting me—sheets and all—and dumping me back on the bed.
“You sleep like the dead.” His voice is cool and unaffected, those sharp, amber eyes studying me.
“I–I’m sorry.”
A flash of irritation crosses his face. “Stop apologizing.”
I clamp my mouth shut, not knowing what else to do.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of dark pajama pants, his upper body bare. The hardness I felt was his bulging muscles. His hair is jet black, with messy curls that make him look dangerously handsome. I tamp down the flare of attraction within me, horrified that I can think of something like that at a time like this.
King Cedric stares at me for a long moment before dragging over one of the chairs and settling down in it, facing me.
“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?”
“To execute me?” I venture slowly.
He gives me a look as if he considers me incredibly stupid. “You think I bathe and feed all prisoners who are to be executed?”
My body tenses. This is it. This is where he’s going to tell me he plans on torturing me. Just like—
“You are a political prisoner of sorts. I don’t wish to rule the Eastern Kingdom. You, Princess Vivian, have offered to marry me to keep the peace between the two kingdoms.”
My eyes widen in shock. “What?”
“The mating ceremony is in a couple of hours. Harriet will—”
“I can’t do it!” I burst out, terrified. It would be so easy to keep my mouth shut and go along with this, but if he finds out the truth down the line, it will be so much worse for me. I can’t live in fear of him discovering my true identity.
The king has fallen silent, so I continue, lowering my head. “I’m not—I’m not the real Princess Vivian. I just look like her.”
“I’m aware.”
His words throw me for a loop. Shocked, I lift my eyes to meet his. “You are?”
“You don’t have the mark of the royal family of the East.”
I gape at him. “If—If you know, then why—”
“My reasons are not your concern. The real Princess Vivian was found dead, her corpse mangled almost beyond recognition.”
My eyes widen in horror. I was sure she would make it out. She knew all the secret passageways. She was being guided by her most trusted maids.
“I want to know how long you’ve been a stand-in for the princess.”
I twist my fingers, trying to absorb this bombshell news. “Ever since I was five. She found me on the street. I was an orphan, and she brought me to the palace. I have studied under the royal tutors in place of her, taken etiquette classes alongside her—”
“She trained you as a duplicate,” Cedric recognizes.
I nod. “It was her father’s idea. If she were ever in danger, they could use me.”
At least, that’s what Vivian told me: that the purpose of my entire existence was to live under her shadow.
“So, you received the same training as her, the same education?”
I nod hesitantly.
“Then you can be used as a substitute for the princess.”
His words stun me, my heart tightening in my chest.
A substitute for the princess? Is that really all I’m good for?
I know I should be grateful that I get to live, but at this moment, I feel small and worthless. Does no one care about Leanna Avery? Does no one care about her existence?
“Given that you’re my fated mate—”
“I’m sorry, what?” The words explode from me, my body jerking in shock.
He gives me a vaguely exasperated look. “You must have sensed it upon our meeting. We are fated mates. I was already planning to tie the princess to me since I need heirs of royal blood, but now I have no choice but to use you. The Northern Kingdom values its pure bloodline—”
Numbly, I stare at the man before me. “But I can’t give you pure-blooded heirs. I’m not Princess Vivian. I’m—”
“I don’t care what your name is,” he says, clearly disinterested. “As long as you can bear me heirs that can be passed off as having royal blood, I have no interest in you, your likes, or your wants. You are a substitute, nothing more.”
Suddenly, the world feels colder. He’s my fated mate. Shouldn’t he care a little bit?
He gets to his feet. “Since you have all the necessary training, I expect you to act like the queen of the North. You will have certain responsibilities, and a royal assistant will be appointed to guide you. Don’t overstep your bounds, Vivian. As long as you remember your place and don’t cross any lines, you can live in comfort here. Do you understand?”
I stare at him, my heart turning to ice as the last ember of hope dies within me. This is my fated mate in front of me, and even in his eyes, the only value I have is that of a substitute. The one individual in the whole world who is supposed to want me for me, doesn’t.
The emptiness that fills me makes me go limp, all the fight finally leaving me.
“I understand.” My words are quiet, lifeless.
He called me Vivian. My name is Vivian now.
Leanna Avery is dead.
Harriet dresses me for the mating ceremony. I once attended a noble’s mating ceremony, and I still remember how flamboyant the event was. Mine is not even remotely the same.
Mating ceremonies are considered marriages in the shifter world. The final step is for the male to give the female his mating mark. This is something that ties them together for eternity. The mark can be given immediately after the ceremony or in private. For royal matings, the mark is usually given in public, but today, when the officiant carries out the ceremony and asks Cedric to give me the mark, the king refuses.
I stare at his chest, a hollow feeling in my own.
Why am I not surprised?
“Princess Vivian.” The officiant, an older man, glances at me, his gaze filled with contempt. “You are now queen of the Northern Wolf Kingdom. Please lower your head so that I may place the crown upon it.”
Asking a queen or a princess to lower her head in front of anybody, even an officiant, is an insult. I’m very aware of that. But I’m also aware of the fact that I may now be the queen, but I am also a political prisoner. So, when King Cedric does not intervene, I lower my head. Aside from a handful of people, there is no one in attendance; the few that are, I hear them snicker at my action.