The Cursed Alpha Prince's Replacement Bride-Chapter 12: None of His Concern

{Third Person}

The silence in the receiving hall grew heavier, pressing down on everyone present as King Sebastian stood before Queen Lysandra, his anger far more dangerous in its restraint.

"Bring me your seal."

The words were calm, but they carried absolute authority.

Lysandra froze, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared at him. "My King... you cannot mean that," she said, her voice already losing its composure.

"I do," Sebastian replied without hesitation. His gaze remained fixed on her, cold and unyielding. "From this moment, you will no longer issue commands in this palace. Your authority is suspended until further notice."

The colour drained from her face. That seal was not just an ornament—it was her power, her voice, her right to rule within the palace. Without it, she was nothing more than a figurehead.

"My King, please..." She moved forward on her knees, panic breaking through. "I acted for the good of the Crown. I was trying to—"

"Enough." The single word cut her off completely. "Return the seal."

Her lips trembled. For a brief moment, she hesitated, but under his gaze, she had no choice. Slowly, she glanced at her maid-in-waiting, who stepped out briefly and returned with the seal.

Then, she passed it to her, whose hand was shaking as she presented it. Sebastian took it without a flicker of emotion.

"And the letter," he added. "The one meant for the Human Parliament."

Lysandra’s breath hitched. "I... was going to send it—"

"Now!"

Her resistance crumbled. She gestured quickly, and the male servant rushed forward to retrieve the sealed letter and present it to the King. Sebastian took it, his expression darkening further.

"I will assign someone competent to handle this matter," he said. "You will no longer interfere."

"My King..." she tried again, desperation creeping in.

"Focus on governing the inner palace," he interrupted, his tone turning dangerously quiet. "And pray that nothing happens to the political bride."

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his words struck like a blade. "If she dies, I will send your daughter to the Humans in exchange."

Lysandra’s head snapped up, shock flooding her features. "No! My King, you can’t—!"

But he had already turned away. "Enough!"

He strode out of the hall, and everyone immediately bowed deeply as he passed. No one dared move until he was gone.

When the doors closed behind him, silence returned.

Lysandra remained on the floor, her tears falling freely now, her dignity completely shattered. Her hands clenched against the floor as her shoulders trembled.

Right then, a soft sound broke the silence.

"Tsk tsk tsk." Alexander clicked his tongue. He hadn’t moved the entire time.

Now, he glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable, though the faint glint in his eyes said enough.

"Pathetic," he muttered under his breath. Then, as if nothing had happened, he addressed her again, his tone smooth and deceptively respectful.

"Your Majesty, remember to send nourishing tonics to the political bride."

The title was intentionally mocking—a reminder of everything she had just lost.

Lysandra slowly lifted her head, her eyes burning with fury as she watched him turn and walk away without waiting for a response.

The moment he was gone, something in her snapped. Her gaze shifted sharply to her maid-in-waiting, who had hurried forward to help her stand.

Before the woman could even speak, the slap struck. The sound echoed through the hall.

The maid staggered, her head snapping to the side, but she did not dare cry out. Around them, every servant dropped to their knees instantly, heads bowed low in fear.

Lysandra stood there, trembling, her chest rising and falling as humiliation burned through her veins.

’That insolent wolf...’ Her nails dug into her palms.

---

A carriage rolled to a smooth stop in front of the Alpha Prince’s residence. The moment the door opened, the guards stationed at the entrance straightened and bowed deeply.

"Your Highness."

Alexander stepped down without pause, his expression unchanged, his presence as imposing as ever.

Jasper stepped forward at once. "Your Highness."

Alexander gave a brief nod in acknowledgement, already moving toward the main building. Jasper fell into step beside him.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of their footsteps steady against the stone path. Then, Alexander spoke.

"How is the human girl?"

Jasper glanced at him briefly before replying. "The physician has treated her wounds. She said the injuries are severe, and there will be a fever tonight."

He hesitated, then added, "She also mentioned... the wounds may leave scars."

Alexander’s expression did not change. Not even slightly. "That is none of my concern," he said calmly.

Jasper was taken aback. For a moment, he said nothing, his brows knitting faintly.

Earlier in the dungeon, the Alpha Prince had shown clear anger—had even gone as far as killing a guard and claiming Amara as his bride. Jasper had thought he was genuinely concerned, but alas! He had misunderstood.

"Understood," Jasper replied quietly, masking his thoughts.

Alexander continued walking as if the matter had already left his mind. "In a few days," he said, "the Human Parliament will respond."

Jasper nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."

Now, it was clear to him that the Queen had already been handled. And the matter would resolve itself soon enough.

Alexander’s gaze remained forward. "Send someone to investigate the anonymous letter," he added. "I want to know where it came from."

Jasper inclined his head. "It will be done, Your Highness."

They reached the entrance of the main building, where their paths would soon separate—Alexander toward his private quarters, and the rest of the residence continuing under quiet order.

---

Night fell slowly over the palace. Inside a dimly lit chamber, the air had grown warmer.

Amara lay on the bed, her body restless beneath the covers. Her skin burned with fever, a sheen of sweat clinging to her forehead and neck.

Strands of her chestnut hair stuck to her damp skin as her breathing came uneven and shallow.

A faint sound escaped her lips. "...don’t..."

Her brows furrowed tightly, her head shifting weakly against the pillow as if trying to escape something unseen.

Her fingers curled into the sheets. "No..."

The memory of Alexander snapping the guard’s neck blurred with the fever.

Amara’s body tensed suddenly, a soft cry slipping out as her back throbbed beneath the bandages.

The middle-aged servant sitting beside the bed leaned forward at once, worry filling her face. "Lady Amara..."

Then, she reached out, gently placing a damp cloth on Amara’s forehead, trying to cool the rising heat.

But the fever did not break, and the night was only just beginning.