The Alpha I Choose

Jane’s POV

I heard the horse coming up the frozen track and went to the front door.

The rider was already dismounting. He put a parcel on the bottom step without knocking, then turned back to his horse. I opened the door and picked it up. A folded paper bearing the court’s seal was tucked beneath the cord.

I pulled it free and broke the wax. Claire’s name was near the top. Below it, the court said she had been dismissed for an improper association with a member of the royal family. She had left without permission and died on the road home in a wolf attack.

I read the last part again. The rider was gathering his reins.

"Wait!"

He stopped and looked back.

"Did you see her?" I held up the paper. "My sister. Did you see her leave the court yourself?"

"No, miss. I only carry what I’m given. I don’t know what happened to her."

"Who gave it to you? When?"

"The court’s outer office. It was stamped and entered in their records two days ago. That’s all I know."

He touched the brim of his hat and swung into the saddle. I stayed on the step as he rode away, looking down at the paper before I went inside.

The parcel was lighter than I’d expected. I set it on the table and loosened the cord, keeping the wrapping spread beneath it so nothing would fall.

Inside was Claire’s winter work dress, the dark wool one she’d taken with her when she left Cinderholt eighteen months ago. A sleeve button lay beside it, broken in two. I remembered our mother sewing those plain horn buttons onto the dress the morning Claire packed.

I set the record aside and picked up the wool. I didn’t recognize the seal, and the signature meant nothing to me. The dress, at least, I knew.

I turned it toward the window and ran my fingers along the seams, checking them as Claire had taught me. There were scorched marks inside the left cuff. When I checked the right, I found them there too.

I rubbed the stiffened cloth between my fingers. Once, during a boundary dispute, a neighbor’s boy had grabbed a silver-treated fence rail and held on too long. I’d seen his hands afterward. Looking at Claire’s sleeves, I kept thinking about those burns.

I couldn’t be sure silver had damaged the wool. But the marks formed a narrow, even band around each wrist. It looked as though something had been wrapped around them.

I spread both cuffs on the table. How had that happened in a wolf attack? Had the marks been there before she left?

The rider was gone, and the paper said nothing about them.

Behind me, the door opened. Marta from next door came in with a covered dish.

"I heard the horse," she said, putting it on the counter. "What did they send?"

I handed her the record. She read it, then looked at the dress and the broken button.

"Oh, Jane." She put the paper down. "They’ve told you what happened. You don’t have to keep asking."

"I know what they said."

"She’s gone. I know it’s hard to—"

"I know she’s gone."

I folded the dress and laid it on the table with my hands on top of it. Marta fell quiet.

I didn’t want to be angry with her. She’d brought me food, and I knew she was worried. But I’d only just opened Claire’s things. I wanted time to look at them without being told to accept what the court had written.

Marta stayed a little longer. When she left, I sat down and unfolded the record again.

"Unauthorized departure from assigned post. Conduct inconsistent with servant obligations. The Royal Court bears no liability for circumstances arising subsequent to voluntary dismissal."

I read the lines more slowly. They said Claire had been dismissed, then blamed her for leaving without permission. Farther down, they called it voluntary. I couldn’t tell whether she had been sent away or had chosen to go.

The royal wasn’t named. Neither was the person who had found her on the road. Claire’s name appeared twice, but there was nothing she had said, no explanation from her about any of it.

I went through the record until I could remember the wording, then checked the signature. A deputy registrar from the outer office had signed it. There were no other names, including anyone from the dress rooms where she had worked.

I’d expected to find someone I could ask about her. I didn’t know whether the registrar had spoken to Claire or had simply copied down what he’d been told.

I folded the paper and put it beneath the dress.

I kept trying to imagine Claire running away in shame. She had always asked questions when something frightened her, even when we were children and an adult had already told her to be quiet. I couldn’t picture her leaving without her things or sending me a word.

But she’d been away for eighteen months. I didn’t know what had happened to her at court, or how frightened she might have been. I wished she had written to me. I would have gone to meet her, or found the fare to bring her home.

I touched the folded sleeve. The court’s account might satisfy Marta, but it left me with questions I couldn’t answer from Cinderholt. I needed to speak to someone who had known Claire there, someone who had seen her before she left.

I got up and took the household money from the shelf.

It was nearly dark, and I hadn’t lit the lamp. I counted the coins twice, moving closer to the window when I couldn’t make them out. Then I set aside the coach fare and worked out what I would have left for food and lodging.

The southern road to the Royal Court took three days by coach. The hill passes took two and a half, if I could bear the cold.

I had enough for the journey and a week in the town outside the court. I would need to find work before the money ran out. The Queen’s household accepted applications from women who could sew and do domestic work; Claire had told me when she applied.

I could do both. If they hired me, I could earn my keep and ask about her without having to turn around and go home after a few days.

I put the coins back, lit the lamp, and sat down with a sheet of paper. Claire’s dress took up most of the table. I moved it away from the flame and made room beside it for my application.

Then I began to write.