Chapter 3 The Alpha I Remember

POV: ADELE

The man who watched me die has come to ask for my hand.

I stand on the raised dais of the Great Hall, positioned half a step behind my father’s throne, watching the grand oak doors swing open. Sunlight pours across the marble floorboards, cutting through the cool indoor shadows, and with it comes the heavy, suffocating scent of dark oak and winter pine.

Tristan Blackthorn steps into the room.

He is as imposing as the nightmares that have haunted my sleep for the past three months. Draped in a dark velvet tunic tailored tightly across his broad chest, his heavy wolf-pelt cloak resting over his left shoulder, he moves with the effortless, predatory grace of an Alpha in his prime. Flanking him are six of his elite Blackthorn warriors, their hands resting near their pommels, their dark leather armor stamped with the crest of the roaring wolf.

In my first life, my breath had hitched in my throat at the sheer sight of him. I had seen a heroic savior, a powerful protector whose presence promised safety for Silver Crown.

Now, every muscle in my body coils like a drawn bowstring.

I recognize the exact angle of his chin, the subtle, measured length of his stride, and the stoic, unreadable mask he wears to hide his true calculations from the court. My tongue phantom-tastes the bitter burn of Wolfbane, reminding me of the cold, distant husband who stood over my dying frame, keeping his secrets while my life bled away onto marble just like this.

"King Evander," Tristan speaks, his deep, resonant voice echoing off the vaulted stone ceilings. He stops ten paces from the dais and inclines his head in a low, disciplined bow. "The Blackthorn Pack brings greetings to Silver Crown. We offer our strength, our honor, and our hand in alliance."

My father rises from his carved throne, spreading his arms in warm welcome. "Alpha Tristan. Your journey from the northern passes was long, but your presence honors our halls. Let us speak of peace between our borders."

Tristan unrolls a heavy parchment scroll bound with golden cord. the exact same marriage proposal he presented in my past life.

"To secure our borders against rising rogue threats and ensure the prosperity of both our territories," Tristan continues, his voice steady and commanding, "I formally propose a binding union between our houses. I ask for the hand of your daughter, Lady  Adele, to join Blackthorn as my wife and Luna."

He delivers the proposal word for word. Every inflection, every pause, every smooth political promise matches the memories etched into my mind. He expects my father to beam with pride. He expects the elders to murmur in pleased agreement.

Most of all, he expects me to blush, lower my head, and yield to his overwhelming presence with quiet, submissive grace.

Instead, I stare directly into his dark, penetrating eyes, my expression as cold and unyielding as forged steel.

Tristan shifts slightly, his dark brow furrowing as his gaze locks onto mine. In my first life, I had offered him a warm, trusting smile that invited him into my world without condition. Now, he finds a stranger, a female standing with a straight spine, arms folded calmly over her velvet dress, studying him not as a suitor, but as an enemy commander inspecting a dangerous threat.

The formal greetings conclude, and my father invites the Blackthorn delegation to join the high table for wine and bread. As the court elders disperse into hushed chatter, Tristan steps away from his guards and approaches the edge of the dais.

He stops two paces below me, his massive frame towering over the wooden steps. Up close, the familiar scent of pine and rain radiating from his skin threatens to pull me backward into the past, but I hold my ground without a single step back.

"Princess Adele," Tristan says softly, his deep tone dropping so only the two of us can hear. "You have spoken very little since my arrival."

"I find that listening offers far more value than premature words, Alpha Tristan," I reply, my voice smooth, even, and entirely devoid of warmth.

Tristan tilts his head, his dark eyes narrowing as he studies the sharp composure of my face. He reaches out a calloused hand as if to offer a polite greeting, but hesitates, noticing the subtle, defensive shift in my posture before he lets his arm fall back to his side.

"You look at me with great caution, Princess," he observes, a strange, searching light passing through his eyes. "Yet I assure you, my intentions toward your pack,, and toward you, are honorable."

"Honor is easily spoken before a court, Alpha," I answer, meeting his gaze with unblinking focus. "It is the actions taken in the dark that prove a man's true nature."

Tristan falls quiet, his stoic mask cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of profound confusion. He steps closer, his gaze sweeping over my face, searching for something he cannot name. He senses the deep, impenetrable wall I have built between us, but he has no idea that every brick was laid in the blood of my previous death.

Tristan studies me with unsettling intensity. “Why do you look at me like I already broke your heart?”