The Villainess Became My Alpha Husband

"You came into my room," I said, voice low, trembling around the edges. "You pinned me down. You rutted me while I told you to stop. Do you really have to ask if it hurt?"

Elaine flinched like I’d slapped her. "I didn’t know..." Her voice dropped, uneven. "I haven’t had sex before except you... that night of our wedding."

I clapped once, sharp and mocking, the sound slicing through the air. "Should I give you a trophy, then? Are you testing your sexual prowess on me?" The words tasted bitter, but I let them bite.

"I didn’t—" she started.

"Don’t," I cut her off, my voice rising now. "You don’t what? Don’t deny it, okay? You hate me—that’s fine. But why hurt me? I am not your property. You are my husband, and you should behave like one, not like some caged beast testing its claws."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. The word never came.

"I don’t care," I said, forcing the anger down into cold steel. "You go and sleep with that Count Gerald’s lover of yours if you want to learn. Just don’t apply it on me."

"You should execute me for this sin," she whispered, still kneeling, her hands clenched so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Don’t repeat that," I snapped, exhaling sharply through my nose. "Just... go away. Don’t come back until I’m clean, and I don’t want to see your face before then."

"The emperor and the empress have gone to travel across the whole empire," she added, almost like she needed to fill the silence.

I stared at her, the anger twisting into something heavier. "So you used that to hurt me, did you?" I sneered, kicking myself for forgetting. Every third week, they disappeared for a week-long tour across the realm. "A perfect time, right?" The realization settled on me like cold stone.

"No! I would never—" she tried, urgency breaking her voice.

"Awfully convenient," I said flatly. "Believe you? I’d believe a fox over you. Just fucking go."

She gave me one last guilty look—eyes shadowed, shoulders tight—then turned and left without another word. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the room heavy with silence and the fading scent of her musk.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, the pain between my legs flaring again as I shifted on the bed.

After a few seconds, I forced myself to sit up, slow and careful, every movement sharp. The door opened quietly, and the maids slipped in, led by Daisy. They moved with the measured care reserved for injured nobility, saying little, doing much.

I really wanted to kill her, but I controlled myself.

They helped me stand, supporting my weight, then guided me into the adjoining bathing chamber. Warm water, scented with herbs to ease tension, washed away the lingering stickiness, the heat soothing my raw skin more than my frayed nerves.

After the bath, they wrapped me in soft, loose clothing—a simple, breathable robe for the day’s business—then helped me into a lighter, but still formal, gown for the capital’s court.

My legs trembled more than I liked, but I gritted my teeth and stood straight. When they dressed my hair, they weaved it into an elegant, low bun, winding small white star lilies through the silver strands, the scent of the flowers softening the tension in the air.

As Papa and Mama were absent, I was the highest authority in the capital now—expected to govern, sign edicts, attend the noon court, and keep the empire’s heart steady for a week.

One of the maids stepped forward, holding a tray with a folded message. "Your Highness," she said, voice low, "Secretary Gorf is searching for you. He’s waiting in the outer hall."

I sighed, exhaustion dragging at my bones. "Tell him I will need at least ten minutes more," I said. "Then send him in. No, tell him to stay there. I will need ten minutes before I come out."

She bowed and left. I sat at the edge of the bed, the gown rustling softly around my legs, the mark on my neck pulsing faintly like a second heartbeat.

The pain was still there, a dull, throbbing reminder each time I shifted, but so was the anger—coiled tight under my ribs, simmering and ready.

My fingers curled into the fabric of the bedspread, the anger giving me a kind of strength my body didn’t have on its own.

After ten minutes, I went out. The air in the hall felt heavier, the stone corridors echoing with distant footsteps and the murmur of courtiers.

This time, they made me wear a veil again—thin lace brushed my cheekbones, obscuring my face and the mark on my neck completely. The weight of it pressed like a mask, both shield and prison.

Elaine was like those husbands from my previous world—the ones who thought they could do anything with their wives because the law and the gods had handed them power. If she thought that, she was wrong.

The only reason I wasn’t hunting her down with a blade was because she was the son of that fucking duke, and because she was popular among the knights of the empire. Her name carried weight, and killing her now would cause more chaos than I wanted.

But I would never forget this.

Not the pain. Not the way she’d knelt afterward, not the way she’d said ’sin’ like it meant anything. Even if she grovelled for a thousand years, I would not forgive her. That wasn’t a promise; it was a fact as solid as my bones.

Secretary Gorf was one of my Papa’s most trusted people. She trusted him the way she trusted a shield—quiet, reliable, unshakable.

He waited near the entrance to the council chamber, dressed in the formal dark robes of the imperial secretary, his eyes sharp and watchful.

He bowed slightly as I approached. "Your Highness," he said, voice low and respectful, "you will sit at the high table today. You will oversee the meeting."

"I will," I said, giving him a small, practiced smile—the kind meant to look confident. The veil did its job hiding my wince as I walked.

He studied me for a moment, the way a soldier studies the armor before battle. "Are you fine, Your Highness?" he asked. "You’re limping a bit."

"It’s fine," I said, the words automatic, smooth. "Just need to get used to the new shoes, that’s all."

He nodded, not quite fooled, but too disciplined to press. "The council is waiting. They’ll rise when you enter."

I stepped forward, the gown whispering against my legs, the pain throbbing, the anger steady. Today, I will sit where Papa usually sits.