The Cursed Alpha Prince's Replacement Bride-Chapter 15: Alexander’s Expertise

{Third Person}

Werewolf Clan.

Morning arrived quietly, but there was no peace in it as Amara awoke to sharp, deep pain that gradually spread all at once.

The slightest movement sent a sting across her back, forcing a soft, broken sound from her lips. She couldn’t lie on her back. Couldn’t even shift properly without feeling as though her skin was being torn open again.

Her fingers curled weakly against the sheets as her breathing turned uneven. And just like that, everything she had endured since she arrived here came rushing back.

The palace. The Queen. The dungeon. The whip.

Amara squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t help. There hadn’t been a single moment of rest since she stepped into this place. Not one moment of peace.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, soaking into the pillow beneath her cheek.

’Home.’ The thought came suddenly but strongly.

"I want to go home..." she whispered hoarsely. Her voice trembled as more tears fell.

Back there... even with her father’s coldness, her mother’s silence, and Lila’s constant jabs... it was still better than this.

At least she had been safe. At least she had been human.

Here, she was nothing.

Her lips quivered. "I want to go back..."

Her voice broke as her tears turned into quiet sobs, then into something heavier, uncontrollable.

"I want to go home," she cried, her shoulders shaking despite the pain it caused. "Please... I don’t want to stay here..."

The middle-aged servant stepped closer, her face filled with concern. "Lady Amara, please... you must calm down. Your wounds—"

"Send me back," Amara begged, her voice cracking. "Please... I don’t want to stay here anymore..."

Her young maid, who had followed her from the human lands, stood at the side, her eyes already red.

She looked helpless, her hands twisting together as she watched her mistress break down. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing.

Amara’s cries filled the room, and they didn’t stop.

---

On the other side of the residence, Alexander paused mid-step. Faint, but persistent, the sound of crying and Amara’s pleas reached him.

He frowned slightly, then scoffed under his breath. "Seems to me she doesn’t know what she’s asking for," he said coldly.

---

By midday, the crying hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had only grown hoarser and weaker, but still there.

Even from his side of the residence, Alexander could still hear it. Faint. Endless. Annoying.

He set his cup down with a quiet clink, his expression darkening slightly. "She’s still crying?" he asked.

Jasper nodded. "Yes, Your Highness." Then he paused for a moment before adding, "Perhaps... you could make her stop."

The temperature in the room dropped instantly. Alexander’s sharp, cutting gaze snapped to him.

"Since when," he said slowly, "did you reduce me to that?"

Jasper stiffened at once and lowered his head. "My apologies, Your Highness."

Alexander looked away in irritation. Silence stretched for a moment, then he suddenly stood. "Let’s go," he said flatly. "I will see this crybaby who is so determined to ruin my peace."

Jasper followed immediately.

Their arrival caused a stir. The moment Alexander stepped into that side of the residence, the servants froze in shock. He never came here. Never.

But when reality hit them all at once, they dropped to their knees. "Your Highness!"

Alexander didn’t spare them a glance. His hands were clasped behind his back as he walked forward, his steps steady, unhurried.

"Which room does the political bride reside in?" he asked one of them casually.

But before the servant could answer, he heard a faint, broken sob, and his gaze shifted. Without another word, he followed the sound with Jasper keeping pace behind him.

They stopped before a door. Jasper knocked once, then pushed it open and stepped aside. Alexander entered.

Inside, the room was quiet except for the soft remnants of Amara’s crying. She lay on her side, fully clothed, her face pale, her eyes swollen and red from crying. Her lashes were still wet, her breathing uneven.

The middle-aged servant was beside her, trying gently to calm her. "Lady Amara, please... if you continue like this, you will lose your voice—"

She stopped abruptly. Alarm flashed across her face on seeing the Alpha Prince step into the room.

Immediately, she dropped to her knees. "Your Highness!"

Alexander gave a low hum in acknowledgement, then his gaze shifted and settled on Amara. Her crying had stopped, but only because she saw him.

Fear flickered in her eyes. Her body stilled instinctively, as if even breathing too loudly might provoke something.

Alexander examined her pitiful state a moment longer before speaking in a calm tone, "Why did you stop crying?"

Amara didn’t answer. She only turned her face slightly away from him, her fingers tightening weakly against the sheets.

He watched her for a second, then shifted his gaze to Jasper. "Seems you were right."

Jasper understood what he meant immediately and was tempted to explain himself.

’Your Highness... that’s not what I meant,’ he thought silently, his expression remaining composed. ’I didn’t mean you should scare her into silence.’

Alexander had already looked back at Amara, and whatever trace of humour left in his eyes disappeared completely.

"I heard that you want to return home."

Amara’s breathing hitched slightly.

"Do you understand what a peace treaty means?" he continued. "Have you ever read the terms before?"

She said nothing. She didn’t even look at him.

Alexander’s lips pressed faintly. "As expected, you know nothing." He straightened slightly, his tone turning colder. "Then listen carefully. The only way you return home is in death."

Amara stilled as her tears stopped completely.

"If that happens," he continued, almost conversationally, "your people may submit a special request to have your remains returned. But such requests are rarely granted."

The weight of his words settled heavily in the room, but he wasn’t done.

"If you are so eager, I can make it easy for you," he added, then tilted his head slightly. "Snapping your neck is just a piece of cake."

Immediately, Amara snapped her head toward him. Her red, swollen, exhausted eyes now burned with something else.

Anger.

"Seems like killing is your expertise," she said in a hoarse but steady voice.

For a brief moment, silence fell, then Alexander smiled dangerously. He deliberately took a slow step forward. Then he leaned in slightly, just enough for his presence to feel overpowering.

"I have another expertise," he murmured, locking his golden eyes to her blue pair. "Do you want to hear it?"