The Villainess Became My Alpha Husband Chapter 25: Rael’s Harsh Words

Dust caked my leathers and veil like a second skin, gritting between my teeth as I hit the ground again—hard-packed earth jarring my bones, breath exploding from my lungs in a ragged gasp.

This was beyond any expectation; that alpha knight was a goddamn wall of muscle, her honed strength shrugging off my raw shoves like I was a child hurling pebbles at a wall.

Without tricks—without my alley-honed feints or chain snaps—I couldn’t touch her. My silver hair, once a neat bun, hung in ruined tangles streaked with dirt, lilies crushed and wilting, pearls scattered like fallen stars across the field.

I staggered up, lungs burning, and charged again—boots churning divots—but she sidestepped with predatory ease, her gauntleted hand clamping my shoulder and hurling back down in a blur of sky and dirt.

"Your Highness, I’ve seen more than enough for now," Rael’s voice cut through the haze, steady as forged iron, carrying the weight of a hundred battlefields. He turned to the assembled knights, his plu swaying lazily in the breeze. "That’s all for today, everyone. Dismissed—return to your posts."

They bowed low first to , fists over hearts, then to him, boots thudding in disciplined retreat across the field, leaving only the whisper of settling dust and distant banner snaps in their wake.

I pushed to my feet, forcing a tight smile through split lips that stung with every twitch, the veil torn at the hem and sared thick with mud like war paint.

My arms trembled—not from bone-deep exhaustion, but a seething fury boiling at her, this traitorous body, and the empire’s invisible chains binding it all.

Rael faced squarely, his helm casting deep shadows over his scarred, weathered features, eyes like chipped flint. "Your Highness, let’s speak plainly. You lack the raw physical strength for this kind of brawl."

"I know that!"

"Forgive my bluntness, but you’re petite by nature—not built for grappling brutes or trading blows. A determined opponent will overpower you like a ragdoll in a storm, no matter your will."

"Tell sothing I don’t already know, Commander," I snarled back, wiping a trickle of blood from my chin with the back of my glove, olive eyes blazing fierce behind the grimy, clinging veil.

The ache climbed through my ribs like hot needles, but I stood tall, refusing to buckle.

"Your raw power output? It’s less than what I’d expect from a teenage alpha fresh from presentation—pure force alone, that is," he continued, his tone carrying no malice, just the cold honesty of a man who’d buried too many impulsive nobles under the training grounds. "I’ve tested enough recruits to know."

So why the hell did you make grapple that mountain first thing? The question burned unspoken in my throat, fists clenching at my sides until leather creaked.

"So, what now? Lay it out for ," I demanded, voice steady despite the fire lancing my side, stepping closer to et his gaze head-on.

Rael nodded approvingly, gauntlet tapping rhythmically on his sword hilt. "Your Highness, what impresses is your recovery speed and agility—you bounce back like coiled spring’s steel, pivoting faster than most alphas I’ve drilled, slipping strikes like smoke through fingers."

"Is that good?"

"Remarkable for an oga. But against brutes like Count Jennife? Her sheer alpha dominance will freeze you in place before you can blink; that pheromonal pressure pins ogas like hounds on a scent trail, turning legs to lead."

"My magic crushes fools like her flat!" I shot back, flexing my fingers that itched to summon Aether flas or soul-weave a curse right through his helm. "You know my magical prowess!"

Rael’s gauntlet paused mid-tap, his voice asured. "True—gifted by your royal blood, Emperor Lirien’s spark and Empress Elowen’s soul-weaving finesse flowing through your veins. Potent weapons in open duel."

"So, can I win this easily, right?"

"But what if Jennife demands a magic blockade? She’s crafty as a viper—wards etched in null-runes, amulets that choke the Aether flow. Nobles pull that trick when cornered; she’ll strip your spells and leave you bare."

My head dipped low, silver strands curtaining a flush of sha—assassins didn’t crumple to politics or parlour gas. "I can still exploit her weakness, turn it against her."

"Hit her balls and try to capitalize on the stagger?" He arched a scarred brow, unflinching as if reading my mind from the dirt.

"How in the hells did you—?!"

"Your thoughts scream predictable, Your Highness, plain as a recruit’s first swing," he said with a wry edge, gesturing firmly at my mud-streaked veiled face. "Ogas default to that low blow in desperation—instinctive, yes, but every alpha drill counters for it."

"Then what?"

"And see this prejudice carved into every seam? This veil isn’t so royal flair; it’s a rut-shield. Alphas catch a glimpse of your features mid-fight—those olive eyes, that silver hair—and instinct flips the duel to rutting frenzy. They’ll claim instead of yield."

"I know damn well what it is," I bit out, the gossar fabric clinging damply to my skin, narrowing my sightlines to frustrating slits—yet another gilded cage in this world.

"But it blocks your vision too, doesn’t it just?" Rael pressed on, beginning to circle slow like a drill sergeant eyeing fresh at. "How do you fight blind against her three-ter Greatsword that cleaves plate like parchnt, or her bear-trap grapples? Daggers glancing off her guard? Punches? They’ll bounce harmless as rain on stone."

"Why are you mocking like this?!" I hissed, whirling to step into his space, clumps of dirt crumbling from my leathers like shed weakness.

"Not mocking, Your Highness—warning you straight," he replied firmly, voice dropping to a grave rumble as his eyes locked onto mine through the veil. "Use every trick in your arsenal, every hidden edge you’ve got. But going in raw like this? You’ll lose, and badly."

"What are you saying, Rael?!"

"Do I want you broken and bleeding in the dust? No, not one bit. What I care about is you’re impulsive as a sparked powder keg—challenging her to a duel without the slightest shred of a plan to actually defeat her. That’s suicide in noble circles."

"I challenged her because I had to prove sothing real," I whispered, venom lacing every syllable like poison on a blade. "Not so frail oga stereotype."

"You’ll prove nothing but how ’weak’ ogas are to the whole damn world," Rael countered, planting his boots wide in the dirt. "Fuel the hate, hand them the whip. Duel’s no ga for egos, Your Highness—it’s steel and blood. Plan properly, or you’ll perish before the sun sets on that arena."

The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long and lethal like drawn blades across the field. Ti to sharpen mine—or break trying.