Alpha King's Slave Mate

Chapter 11 – The King's Voice

The throne room had never felt this suffocating.

Riven stood behind the golden line that marked where courtiers must kneel. Her bare feet touched polished marble, but it felt like thorns under her skin.

Eyes watched her.

Some curious. Some disgusted. A few filled with open hatred.

But none dared speak it aloud.

Because the Alpha King sat at the throne. And his golden eyes had already warned them once before:

"Touch her, and bleed."

---

Thorne hadn't told her what today was.

He only said, "Wear this."

The dress was silk. Forest green. It hugged her gently but revealed her mark with pride. Not hidden. Not ashamed. The neckline dipped low enough for every noble in the room to see where his fangs had claimed her.

She had argued at first.

"Too much skin," she said.

"Too much fear," he answered. "You are not hiding anymore."

Now she stood at the foot of his throne as a noblewoman presented her petition. Boring. Greedy. Political.

Riven didn't understand most of it. But she caught a word.

"…concubine."

She blinked.

Thorne's expression darkened. "Repeat that."

The woman — older, regal — cleared her throat.

"With respect, Your Majesty, the court is… confused. The slave girl. She has your mark. She sleeps in your wing. But she holds no title. If she is your mate, why not name her? If she is a consort, why parade her without veil or bond contract?"

"Are you saying I owe you explanation for who I mark?" Thorne's voice cut sharp as a blade.

The woman faltered, but kept her head high. "I speak for tradition. For clarity. Your court is watching."

Thorne stood.

Silence swept the room.

He descended the steps of his throne slowly, each booted step echoing with power. Then he stopped in front of Riven.

And offered her his hand.

The entire room drew breath.

"Do you see this woman?" Thorne said, but he did not look at them. He looked only at her.

"This is not a slave," he said. "She is the daughter of wolves, even if your kind chained her."

He turned, addressing the court now.

"She is not my concubine. She is not a political tool. She is my mate. And by moon, blood, and law — she will be Queen."

Gasps.

Murmurs.

Scandal.

Riven's heart nearly stopped.

Thorne turned back to her. "If you still wish it, Riven of the Lost Bloodline… will you stand beside me — not as my possession, but as my equal?"

Her lips parted.

He hadn't warned her. This wasn't rehearsed.

But her answer came, quiet but steady.

"I'm still learning how to stand," she whispered, "but… I'll try. If it's with you."

Thorne smiled.

And in full view of the court, he bowed.

He didn't care for their gasps.

He only kissed her hand, then her knuckles, then pressed it to his chest.

"I kneel only for my mate," he said. "Remember that."

---

They walked back to his private wing in silence.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because something in the air had shifted.

Thorne stopped near the window where the evening light poured in. He held her hand but didn't pull her close.

"Was I wrong to do that?" he asked.

"No," Riven said.

"But you're afraid now."

"I've always been afraid."

He looked at her then. Truly looked.

"You wanted to stay hidden."

"I wanted to survive," she corrected. "But I'm tired of surviving. I want to… live."

He closed the distance between them.

"Then let me give you a life," he whispered. "Not a throne. Not a crown. Just… a life."

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. "You can't promise me peace."

"No," he said. "But I can give you me. Every day. Every night. Until your past no longer haunts you."

---

That night, he didn't touch her with hunger.

He undressed her with reverence. Slowly, silently.

The tub had already been filled — warm, fragrant with wolfmint and crushed petals. Something his mother once used for sacred days.

She stepped in, shivering slightly.

Thorne didn't leave.

Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and knelt behind her, taking a damp cloth and gently trailing it down her spine.

"You don't have to," she said.

"I want to," he replied. "I want to touch you without needing anything in return."

Her shoulders trembled. Not from cold.

From the quiet way he washed her arms. Her back. Her hair.

Like she was something sacred. Not owned.

When he poured warm water over her scalp, she closed her eyes.

And for the first time in years — she didn't feel like she was being watched or handled.

She felt cherished.

---

Later, when she lay wrapped in furs, he traced the old scar beneath her ribs — one she never spoke of.

"It was the chain," she whispered. "They caught me trying to run once."

He closed his eyes.

"I would have done worse than run," he said.

She caught his hand and pressed it over the scar. "But I'm still here."

"And you'll never wear chains again," he swore.

---

Before sleep claimed her, she murmured into his chest:

"I'm not ready to be Queen."

His lips brushed her hair.

"Then be my world instead," he said. "And I'll make the crown kneel to you."

And this time, she didn't cry.

She only held him tighter.

Because somehow, in a kingdom of wolves, she had been seen not as prey.

But as the one even the Alpha King would fall for.