The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 79

Freya's POV

It wasn't a command, not a request. Despite my exhaustion, I had no choice but to follow. My legs felt like lead, my head spinning from hunger and the lingering effects of cold. Still, I forced myself to walk steadily, unwilling to show any weakness before him.

In the dining room, breakfast had already been laid out—surely Martha's work during my absence. Thorne took his seat at the head of the table and, surprisingly, gestured for me to sit in the chair to his right. This position was typically reserved for honored guests or pack members, never servants, and certainly not exiles.

"Sit," he ordered when I hesitated, his voice low but unyielding. "You look like you're about to collapse."

I sank into the chair, grateful for its support while confusion swirled in my mind. Thorne pushed a plate toward me, already filled with eggs, bacon, and toast.

"Eat," he said. "Then we'll talk."

The aroma of food was tantalizing, and my starving body responded immediately. But pride and suspicion made me hesitate. "Why?" I asked.

Thorne raised his eyebrows, his mouth tightening. "Why what?"

"Why feed me? Why am I sitting at your table instead of serving it?" I met his eyes directly, my voice sharper than I'd intended.

Some emotion—annoyance? guilt?—flashed across his face before being covered by the Alpha's cool mask. "Because you're of no use to me half-starved and exhausted. Eat."

It wasn't the answer I wanted, but hunger ultimately won over pride. I began eating, trying to maintain dignity despite my stomach screaming for more. Thorne watched me for a moment, his gaze so intense it made the back of my neck prickle, before turning to his own meal.

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the sound of cutlery against china. When I'd eaten enough to take the edge off my hunger, Thorne spoke again.

"The Silverstone ritual design competition," he began, making me instantly tense, my fingers unconsciously gripping the napkin. "Is it important to you?"

I set down my fork, weighing my response carefully. The truth was that it was vitally important—it represented not just money but a chance to reclaim part of my former identity, to prove I was still Freya Riley, talented designer, not just "the exile." But after yesterday's confrontation, I was wary of revealing too much.

"Without an Alpha's permission to enter, the question is pointless," I finally said, lowering my gaze, voice steady despite my churning emotions. "I understand my place."

The words tasted bitter, but they were safer than the truth. Thorne's gaze remained on me, probing, assessing, as if trying to see through my facade. I could feel his eyes scanning my face, looking for any sign that might betray my true thoughts.

"Jasper Stone has a particular interest in the Riley bloodline," he said casually, though I detected an undercurrent of tension in his voice. "Did you know his pack's influence grew most rapidly during the period when your family was exiled?"

I looked up sharply, this information making my heart race. "No, I... I didn't know that."

"The Silverstone Pack acquired territories and alliances that had previously been loyal to your family. Quite convenient timing, wouldn't you say?" Thorne's fingers tapped lightly on the table, oddly in sync with my increasingly rapid heartbeat.

My mind raced, trying to process the implications. "Are you suggesting Stone had something to do with my family's disgrace?" The tremor in my voice betrayed my inner turmoil.

Thorne's expression remained neutral, but something in his eyes grew sharper. "I'm suggesting that his sudden interest in you may not be solely about your impressive design talents."

The compliment caught me off guard, but I focused on his larger point. "You think he's using me?" My fingers unconsciously traced the crescent-shaped white mark on my neck—the mark of Riley blood.

"I think Jasper Stone never does anything without multiple motives," Thorne replied, his voice calm but his gaze burning. "Your Riley blood makes you valuable to him in ways that have nothing to do with design competitions."

I absorbed this, unsure how to respond. Part of me wanted to defend Jasper—at least he had recognized my talents, offered me an opportunity when Thorne had only offered servitude. But another part, the part that had survived three years in exile by being cautious, recognized the potential truth in Thorne's words.

"Why are you telling me this?" I finally asked, meeting his gaze, trying to read the true intentions of this complex man.

Thorne's gaze was steady. "Because you need to understand the game being played around you. Stone isn't offering you opportunities out of kindness. He's using you as a pawn against me."

The bluntness of his statement stung, reminding me of my precarious position. "And what am I to you, if not a pawn as well?" I challenged, my exhaustion making me bolder than wisdom would advise.

A muscle tightened in Thorne's jaw—a danger sign I'd learned to recognize. "You are a member of my household, under my protection," he said, his voice low, carrying an emotion I couldn't fully interpret.

"A servant. An exile. Useful only for what information I can provide about Moon Howl," I countered, unable to stop the bitterness from seeping through. "At least Stone sees value in my skills."

"Is that what you think?" Thorne's voice lowered dangerously as he leaned forward, the Alpha scent in the air growing stronger. "That I don't recognize your talents?"

His eyes bore into mine, some emotion I couldn't name flickering in them. For a moment, I almost thought he was about to say something else, something more personal, more genuine.

But before I could respond, a wave of dizziness swept over me. The room tilted alarmingly, and I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself. The aftermath of the cold, the stress, and the sudden intake of food after hours without was catching up to me all at once.

I tried to stand, intending to excuse myself, but my legs refused to support me. The plate in front of me slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, crashing to the floor with a sound that seemed to echo in my spinning head.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, mortified by my weakness, my cheeks burning. "I'll clean it—"

But as I bent to retrieve the broken pieces, another wave of dizziness struck. The room darkened at the edges of my vision, and I swayed on my feet. The last thing I was aware of was Thorne's scent suddenly closer, his arms reaching for me with unexpected urgency as the world faded to black.