The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate

"He was the one from the night at the inn"

The morning sun rose to the sky, and Esme lay in bed. Her gaze drifted absently to the ceiling, the realization slowly crystallizing in her mind.

A cold wave of disbelief washed over her as she connected the dots. The very demon she desperately wanted to loathe, was the same man who had violated her, shattering her innocence and peace. Dahmer truly never came back.

It all made sense now — why he had dared to steal a kiss from her lips at the fortress, and the question she asked, he obviously took it the wrong way.

The memory of their encounter last night surged back into her mind, making her cheeks burn with embarrassment. He really planned to go all the way last night if she hadn’t mustered the courage to stop him. That wasn’t just a kiss, his real motive was to devour her right there and then. It terrified her even more to know she almost let him.

The warmth of his skin, the rhythmic drumming of his heartbeat, his intoxicating scent, the feel of his silky hair when she threaded her fingers through them. It was painfully satisfying how his movements became rough as things started to escalate between them, and he would have been buried hilt-deep inside her if she hadn’t snapped out of it.

Esme sighed and closed her eyes, but the sudden flicker of light from her hair made her eyes snap back open. Her hair, frustratingly, had begun to glow again.

"Oh no, not again. This is beyond embarrassing," Esme pressed a pillow firmly against her face, her voice muffled by the fabric. Although she felt a little damp in her undies, she tried to convince herself that it could be from anything, literally! She would have to be more vigilant from now on, especially when thoughts of Donovan invade her mind.

The mere idea of her hair glowing in a crowded place and everyone immediately knowing why, sent a chill down her spine. If that ever happened, she might just go down on her knees and beg the moon goddess to take her soul right there and then.

There was one thing that stopped her from giving in to her desires, and it was her moral compass. Though strained by a fierce internal conflict, it continued to point true. No matter how much her desires try to betray her, the harsh reality could not be ignored. In a week’s time, she was to marry the king. To commit an act of infidelity, especially within the sacred confines of the palace, would be nothing less than a disgraceful betrayal.

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her, filling her with dread and guilt.

The maddening pull of a mate bond. He had promised not to interfere, yet he never severed the bond that tethered them together. Was he truly content to remain emotionally bound to her, all the while allowing her to marry someone else? The very idea seemed quite absurd to her, even suspicious.

Esme could feel the frustration bubbling within her, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the sheer contradiction of it all, or maybe it was the unsettling notion that he was playing a game she couldn’t quite grasp. Whatever the reason, it sparked a new determination within her, and it was one that made her long to return to her poisons.

It had been a long time since she last indulged in her hobbies, and there were still so many concoctions left unexplored. The thought of crafting something new and deadly felt like the perfect distraction from that man and the memory of his all-too-tempting kisses.

Each time it dawned on her that he was practically the one from that night at the inn, she questioned why he hadn’t stopped it. Surely, with all his wisdom, he should have known she wasn’t in her right senses. And yet, he had let it happen, leaving her with more questions than answers, and a growing desire to forget him.

Esme’s resolve solidified as she whispered to herself, "I’ll craft two poisons today." It would serve as a fitting penance for the previous night’s reckless indulgence, though, the memory of nearly losing control haunted her nevertheless. She might have spared herself from suffering from the shame, but the faint marks of his affection remained.

A love bite she could neither erase nor ignore. Sitting up, her fingers gently traced each spot where he bit her.

She was starting to believe with evidence that he did have a penchant for biting her, perhaps even enjoying it. At least, she mused, he had never crossed the line and tried to mark her permanently.

Pushing herself out of bed, Esme prepared to face the day, only to be interrupted by the soft, rhythmic knocking at her door. She answered, and the two maids assigned to her walked in. With a grateful curtsy, they greeted her, but Esme immediately felt a pang of discomfort at the thought of them tending to her this morning.

Lennox ensured different sets of maids served her everyday, so after their wedding, she could finally choose whom she wanted to be by her side.

"I can manage on my own," Esme insisted, masking her unease with a kind smile. "Just lay out my dress while I bathe."

But the maids shook their heads, undeterred as they responded. "It is our duty to assist you, Milady. Bathing and dressing you for the day is why we’re here."

Esme’s expression mentally dropped at that last phrase. What did they take her for, a child of four?

If the marks on her skin were discovered, rumors would inevitably spread, reaching the king’s ears sooner or later. Esme felt like a harlot, who was entangled in the consequences of her own indiscretions.

All because of that man.

"I don’t need help with bathing today," Esme said, her tone light but firm. "I know it’s your duty, and I truly appreciate your dedication, but just for today, I need a bit of privacy. You can assist me by selecting a simple outfit — something I won’t regret if it gets stained. I’m sure that’ll keep you occupied for a while. Bye!" and she slipped into the bathroom before the maids could protest.

"She is unlike any other noble’s daughter," said the maid to her fellow maiden. " If it weren’t for her distinct hair color, I’d question whether she truly hails from the Montague family. The daughter of a warrior, no less. Perhaps the king is drawn to her quirky nature."

"Perhaps," the other maid replied with a casual shrug. "We should have mentioned that her etiquette lessons begin today. But with that on the schedule, finding the specific outfit she requested is out of the question. I have a bad feeling this won’t go smoothly but..." with a resigned sigh, the servant moved towards Esme’s wardrobe to select a dress for her.

Meanwhile, Esme stood silently in the bathing chamber, leaning against the door as she listened in on the conversation.

Her etiquette lessons are starting today?!! Panic rose within her as the realization hit.

As Esme got dressed and prepared for her lessons, she paused to study her reflection in the large mirror in the main hall. If she were to be honest with herself, the outfit was far from her liking. The crimson fabric was marred by numerous black dots scattered around the bodice, a pattern she found unappealing. The bodice itself was stiflingly tight, and the layers of the fabric were piled so thickly that she could swear it had taken nearly an hour for the servants to wrestle her into the dress.

A faint sound of snickering broke her thoughts. Turning around sharply, she caught Finnian and Leonardo in the midst of a poorly concealed fit of laughter. The moment her icy glare landed on them, they quickly averted their eyes, with Leonardo resorting to whistling a nonchalant tune to feign innocence.

"Don’t you two have somewhere important to be?" Esme demanded, folding her arms tightly across her chest.

Leonardo casually shook his head. "We do, but we thought you could use some support as you prepare for your new role as queen."

"And what kind of support would that be?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly, and Finnian chimed in.

"Emotional support," a snicker tore from his lips, unable to maintain his serious demeanor. "But what is that dress you’re wearing? You look like a bug."

"Specifically, a ladybug," Leonardo added, pressing his lips together in a futile attempt to stifle his laughter. "I must say, we’re both really looking forward to this session of your etiquette training."

"Both of you—out!"

"That’s not very queenly of you, sister," Finnian remarked, turning to the lady in charge of the session. "Miss, is it proper for a future queen to raise her voice at her subjects?"

The instructor smiled and shook her head. "Actually, no. A queen must remain composed at all times. However, Milady, it will be best if we let them stay, they can be of help."

Esme forced a smile and simply nodded, then she shot a warning glance at the two troublemakers when the instructor wasn’t looking.

As the lady instructed her on the proper greetings for nobles from various kingdoms, Finnian’s attention was drawn to the delicate blue crescent moon pendant resting against his sister’s neck. The pendant shimmered with an ethereal light, captivating him.

Where had she found such a beautiful necklace?