The Cursed Alpha Prince's Replacement Bride-Chapter 32: The Welcome Banquet (VI)

{Third Person}

Alexander sat at his desk, a pen still in his hand, papers spread neatly before him. He didn’t look up immediately when Jasper entered.

"Your Highness, two hundred royal guards, led by one of His Majesty’s personal guards, are here," Jasper reported.

Only then did Alexander’s hand pause. "For what?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the reason.

"To escort Your Highness to the banquet."

A faint scoff left Alexander’s lips. He set the pen down lazily against the table. "So," he said, leaning back slightly, "they are here to escort me... and won’t leave until I go with them."

Jasper remained silent.

Alexander’s gaze drifted briefly, unfocused, before he spoke again. "Then let them keep waiting."

He picked up another sheet of paper as if the matter no longer concerned him.

—

Outside, time passed.

The guards did not move an inch. They stood, unmoving, unwavering, their presence pressing against the residence like a siege without violence.

Alexander’s guards remained just as still, watching and waiting. The air between both sides grew heavier by the minute.

Finally, the King’s guard stepped forward again. This time, he raised his voice so it would carry clearly into the residence.

"Your Highness," he called, "forgive me if I appear rude."

His tone remained respectful, but there was steel beneath it.

"We are bound by His Majesty’s command. If we fail to carry it out..." he paused briefly, "...our lives will be forfeit."

Inside, Alexander heard every word, a subtle threat—a careful one. His eyes darkened slightly. Then, without another moment wasted, he rose.

The doors opened, and he stepped out.

The moment he appeared, every royal guard, including the King’s guard, dropped to one knee in unison.

"Your Highness."

Alexander’s gaze swept over them slowly, his expression unreadable. Then his eyes landed on the King’s guard.

"Tell me," Alexander said calmly, his voice low but cutting through the air with ease, "are you not afraid?"

The King’s guard lifted his head slightly.

"That your lives will end if I decide your presence has become... a thorn in my flesh?" Alexander asked.

A ripple of tension passed through the formation, but the King’s guard did not retreat.

"If we must perish, then we will do so while carrying out His Majesty’s command," he said steadily.

The meaning beneath his words was clear.

Would you dare? Would you kill us all—and defy the King in the same breath?

Jasper caught it immediately, and so did Alexander.

For a brief moment, silence stretched. Then Jasper turned quickly to Alexander and bowed deeply.

"Your Highness," he said, his tone respectful but urgent, "please reconsider. The banquet has already begun. His Majesty is expecting your presence."

Alexander said nothing, but the shift in his gaze was enough.

"Very well." Without another word, he turned and walked back inside.

He quickly changed into a white, long-sleeved shirt, clean and sharply tailored, which fit him perfectly. Brown trousers followed, then polished leather shoes. Jasper worked efficiently beside him, adjusting the details without needing guidance.

When Alexander stepped back out again, the contrast was striking. His appearance was impeccable—refined, effortless, and commanding.

The white streaks in his long black hair caught the light, adding a sharp edge to his otherwise composed presence. Yet, beneath it all, there was still that faint fragility in his frame, a reminder of the illness that lingered within him.

It did nothing to lessen him. If anything, it made him more dangerous.

Alexander walked past the guards without sparing them another glance and headed straight for the carriage waiting at the front. The door opened, and he stepped in.

Jasper mounted his horse immediately, positioning himself beside the carriage. The King’s guard did the same on the opposite side, while the rest of the royal guards formed up behind them on foot.

With a sharp command, the procession moved forward, and the carriage rolled on.

Together, they made their way to the banquet.

As soon as they arrived, the rhythm of the drums was cut short. Then a palace guard’s voice rang out, sharp and clear across the banquet grounds.

"His Highness, the Alpha Prince, Alexander Thornfield."

Everything froze. The dancers paused mid-movement. The music stopped suddenly, as if cut off.

In the next breath, the entire assembly rose to their feet—Humans and Werewolves alike. Chairs shifted, robes rustled, and the atmosphere tightened into something rigid and expectant.

Servants dropped into deep kowtows without hesitation, foreheads nearly touching the ground. The royal guards stationed around the banquet fell to one knee, heads lowered in absolute submission.

Only two figures remained seated: the King and the Queen.

Then, Alexander appeared. He stepped into the banquet grounds, his presence cutting through the space like a blade.

The torchlight caught against his white shirt, the contrast against his dark hair—streaked with white—making him look almost unreal. His expression, however, was anything but composed.

It was cold, harsh, unreadable. And furious.

It rolled off him in waves, subtle but suffocating. Even the servant assigned to guide him faltered for half a second before quickly lowering his head and stepping forward.

"This way, Your Highness," the servant said, his voice tight.

Alexander didn’t respond. He didn’t look at anyone. He simply walked, every step deliberate and controlled, yet weighted with restrained irritation.

Around him, reactions varied.

Zarek’s lips curled into a satisfied smile as he watched Alexander approach. His eyes gleamed with quiet triumph, as though he had just witnessed a perfectly executed move in a game only he was playing.

Beside him, Julia’s gaze fixed onto Alexander the moment he appeared. She didn’t look away. Her eyes followed him—careful, quiet, conflicted—taking in every step he took, every shift in his expression.

Rowan exhaled softly under his breath, a faint sigh of relief escaping him. At least Alexander had come. That alone prevented tonight from turning into something far worse. His mate remained silent beside him, observing everything with quiet attention.

At the royal table, Queen Lysandra maintained her composure, but the faint tightening at the corner of her lips betrayed her displeasure. She lowered her gaze slightly, masking the disdain in her eyes.