Rumors echoed through the cobblestone streets of Willow Haven.
The Alpha King’s heir was a feral beast who drew blood from any noblewoman who dared approach.
They said the boy was cursed.
But curses are fragile things easily broken by a desperate starving omega who never asked to be a mother.
The year was 1453 and the bitter winter winds howling off the jagged peaks of the northern reach seemed to reflect the soul of King Alaric Blackwood.
Within the towering stone walls of the Iron Citadel the Alpha King ruled the most powerful lycanthrope territory in the realm.
Yet for all his absolute authority his treaties signed with blood and his unmatched prowess on the battlefield Alaric was completely powerless against a five year old boy his son Prince Leo.
Since the mysterious death of Queen Juliet two years prior a tragic carriage accident off the cliffs of Stavien Ridge the young pup had become entirely unmanageable.
The official palace records maintained that Queen Juliet had been a devoted mother a paragon of the Silver Claw Pack.
The grim reality hidden behind closed oak doors and silenced servants was far more sinister.
Juliet had despised the child viewing him as a painful tear to her vanity and a rival for the King’s attention.
She had subjected the boy to quiet psychological torments that left deep festering scars.
Now Leo trusted no one.
He was prone to shifting into his half wolf form at the slightest provocation his tiny claws shredding tapestries and his teeth snapping at anyone who came near.
He specifically harbored a violent hatred for women.
Highborn ladies who traveled from across the western territories to court the widowed King were met with vicious growls and drawn blood.
Governesses fled the Citadel in tears.
Nannies resigned with bandaged arMs. The boy is a wild animal Alaric.
Beta Silas muttered one freezing evening pouring a chalice of spiced wine for the King.
The council is growing restless.
They demand a stable heir and they demand a queen.
Lady Beatrice arrives tomorrow from the Red Main Pack.
You must at least pretend to entertain her suit.
Alaric rubbed his temples staring into the roaring hearth.
Beatrice is a viper wrapped in silk Silas.
My wolf recoils at the very scent of her.
And if she goes anywhere near Leo I fear for what the boy might do or worse what I might do to her if she harms him.
Down in the lowest wards of Willow Haven far from the velvet draped walls of the upper castle Lydia Hayes was fighting a very different kind of war survival.
Lydia was an omega.
In the harsh hierarchical society of medieval lycans unbonded omegas were a rarity often subjected to trafficking forced into breeding camps or claimed by cruel alphas as nothing more than property.
Following the brutal dissolution of her small rural pack during the border skirmishes of 1448 Lydia had fled to the capital.
To survive she lived a life of deliberate filth.
She masked her natural sweet scent a highly intoxicating aroma of crushed pine and rain by rubbing ash and stale mud into her skin and coarse woolen clothes.
Starving shivering and desperate as the first blizzards of the season hit Lydia joined the throngs of commoners begging for seasonal work at the Iron Citadel.
The castle was hiring extra scullery maids to prepare for the massive winter solstice gathering.
She was chosen purely because she looked the most pathetic.
Mrs Gable the ruthless head of the kitchens took one look at the soot stained trembling woman and shoved a heavy wooden bucket into her hands.
You scrub the southern corridors and haul the firewood the older woman barked.
Keep your head down.
Don’t look at the nobles and never ever go near the east wing.
That’s where the feral prince is kept.
For three weeks Lydia did exactly as she was told.
Her hands bled from the icy water her back ached from carrying logs that weighed half as much as she did.
But for the first time in years she had a warm corner near the ovens to sleep in and scraps of bread to eat.
She remained invisible.
She was a ghost in the grand machinery of the Alpha King’s court perfectly content to stay hidden.
But destiny in the northern reach has a cruel sense of humor and a mother’s instinct is a force that not even the thickest mud can suppress.
The arrival of Lady Beatrice was an event of suffocating grandeur.
The Red Main Pack had spared no expense draping the courtyard in crimson banners.
Beatrice herself was a vision of haughty beauty dressed in furs and jewels her scent a cloying mix of heavy roses and musk that made the castle staff gag in secret.
From the moment she arrived Beatrice made her intentions clear.
She was not just there to warm King Alaric’s bed.
She was there to break the feral prince and mold him into a compliant silent prop for her ascent to the throne.
On the afternoon of the solstice eve Lydia was tasked with carrying a massive bundle of oak logs up to the King’s solar.
The corridors were quiet the guards having been diverted to the lower halls to manage the influx of noble guests.
Lydia’s breath misted in the freezing air of the stone hallways her vision obscured by the rough bark of the firewood piled in her arMs. Suddenly a sharp frightened snarl echoed from the adjacent alcove.
Lydia froze.
She recognized that sound.
It wasn’t the sound of a beast preparing to attack.
It was the desperate cornered noise of a terrified pup.
Peeking around the stone pillar Lydia’s eyes widened.
Prince Leo was backed against a heavy tapestry his eyes flashed gold his tiny claws extended but he was visibly shaking.
Towering over him was Lady Beatrice.
The noblewoman’s face was twisted in an ugly sneer her manicured hand raised menacingly.
You little monster Beatrice hissed her voice devoid of the honeyed sweetness she used in front of the King.
You ruined my gown.
When I am your mother I will have the guards lock you in the under dungeons until you learn to behave like a civilized dog.
Leo bared his fangs and lunged his small teeth catching the edge of Beatrice’s expensive lace sleeve tearing it.
With a gasp of pure outrage Beatrice drew back her hand her own alpha strength flaring intent on backhanding the five year old across his face.
Lydia didn’t think.
The oppressive terror she had lived under for five years evaporated.
Her pack instincts the deep fundamental omega drive to protect a pup any pup surged through her veins like liquid fire.
She dropped the firewood.
The logs crashed against the stone floor with a deafening boom.
Beatrice jumped spinning around in shock her hand dropping to her side.
Lydia rushed forward wedging her small soot covered frame between the towering noblewoman and the trembling prince.
She didn’t look at Beatrice.
She knelt immediately turning her back to the threat and curled her body over Leo in a classic protective shield.
How dare you Beatrice shrieked recovering her wits.
You filthy scullery rat Guards Guards Beneath Lydia Leo was thrashing.
The feral boy accustomed to violence and pain from women raised his claws to slash at the stranger who had dared to touch him.
But as his claws caught the fabric of Lydia’s apron tearing it the thick layer of ash and mud was disturbed.
The disguise shattered.
Lydia’s true scent flooded the enclosed space of the alcove.
It was pure unadulterated omega.
It smelled of fresh rain washing over pine needles of safety of hearth fires and of deep unconditional warmth.
It was a biological sedative to a distressed lycan a scent so rare and pure that it instantly neutralized the aggression in the air.
Leo’s thrashing ceased abruptly.
The gold faded from his wide tear filled eyes replaced by a soft vulnerable brown.
His small clawed hands relaxed transforming back into the soft fingers of a human child.
He took a shuddering breath inhaling the scent that his soul had been starved of since the boy’s birth.
Instead of attacking the feral prince of the Iron Citadel threw his arms around the dirty scullery maid’s neck.
He buried his face in her soot stained neck his small body racked with heavy heartbreaking sobs.
And then in a voice hoarse from years of screaming and growling the boy whispered a single impossible word.
Mom.
The corridor fell deathly silent.
Lady Beatrice stood frozen her jaw unhinged.
Lydia’s heart hammered against her ribs.
She hesitantly wrapped her arms around the trembling boy her own tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt on her face.
She rocked him gently humming a low soothing lullaby that her own mother used to sing in the destroyed Borderlands.
Hush little wolf she murmured instinctively.
You’re safe.
I’ve got you.
Get away from him Beatrice suddenly shrieked drawing a silver hilted dagger from her belt humiliated by the scene.
You bewitched the prince you filthy rogue Before Beatrice could take a single step forward a terrifying bone rattling growl shook the very foundations of the corridor.
It was a sound that commanded absolute submission.
A sound that made the air itself feel heavy and suffocating.
King Alaric stood at the end of the hall.
Beside him stood Beta Silas and four heavily armed royal guards.
Alaric’s eyes were glowing a bright lethal crimson.
His gaze bypassed the cowering Lady Beatrice entirely locking onto the astonishing sight on the floor.
His feral unreachable son was sleeping soundly his face buried in the neck of a shivering dirty servant girl.
But it wasn’t just the sight that paralyzed the Alpha King.
It was the scent.
Alaric inhaled deeply his chest expanding.
His inner wolf which had been in a state of mourning and rage for two years suddenly slammed against his ribs howling in absolute primal recognition.
Mate.
Alaric slowly walked forward his heavy boots echoing like thunder in the silent hall.
Lady Beatrice fell to her knees exposing her neck in submission whimpering apologies that fell on deaf ears.
Alaric stopped inches from Lydia.
Lydia squeezed her eyes shut tightening her grip on the sleeping prince waiting for the killing blow.
She had touched the royal heir.
She had revealed herself as an omega.
In this world that was a death sentence.
Instead she felt a massive calloused hand gently brush a stray lock of dirt caked hair behind her ear.
Who are you King Alaric’s voice was a low vibrating rumble that sent shivers straight down her spine.
And how long have you been hiding in my castle The heavy silence in the stone corridor was broken only by the whimpering of Lady Beatrice and the ragged breathing of the sleeping child in Lydia’s arMs. King Alaric did not blink.
His crimson eyes the ultimate marker of an Alpha’s dominance remained fixed on the soot stained woman kneeling on his floor.
Silas.
Alaric’s voice was dangerously quiet a razor thin blade drawn across silk.
Escort Lady Beatrice to the guest dungeons.
Send a raven to her father Duke Hastings of the Red Main.
Inform him his daughter has committed treason against the Crown Prince.
My lord please Beatrice shrieked struggling as two heavily armored guards seized her elbows.
She is a witch a lowly rogue.
You cannot side with a filthy Gag her Alaric snapped not even sparing the noble woman a glance as she was dragged kicking and muffled down the long hallway.
Alaric knelt.
For a man who stood over six and a half feet tall a warlord who had conquered the rebellious southern territories of Lancaster and broke the siege of Stavion he moved with terrifying grace.
He reached out his massive hands gently taking the weight of Prince Leo from Lydia.
The boy stirred letting out a small panicked whine at the loss of Lydia’s warmth.
Come Alaric commanded his eyes meeting Lydia’s.
The sheer intensity in his gaze made her breath catch.
You will not sleep in the ashes tonight.
Within an hour Lydia’s world had violently shifted on its axis.
She was ushered into the royal apartments a sprawling suite of rooms draped in heavy furs warming fires and the deep intoxicating scent of cedar and old parchment that belonged entirely to the Alpha King.
Two handmaidens had been summoned sworn to secrecy to bathe the mud and ash from Lydia’s skin.
When Lydia finally emerged from the washroom wrapped in a thick woolen robe of royal blue she felt entirely exposed.
The filth that had been her armor for five years was gone.
Her dark auburn hair clean for the first time in a half decade fell in soft waves past her shoulders.
Her skin though pale and too thin from malnutrition glowed in the firelight.
Alaric was sitting by the hearth a sleeping Leo tucked securely into the crook of his arm.
The king looked up as Lydia entered.
His breath hitched audibly.
Without the suffocating layers of mud her natural scent that pristine rain washed pine filled the room.
It pulled at Alaric’s very soul the invisible unbreakable tether of the mate bond demanding his complete surrender.
Sit Alaric said his voice rough with restrained emotion.
He gestured to the velvet chair opposite him.
Lydia obeyed keeping her eyes cast downward terrified of the powerful Alpha.
The boy has not slept soundly in two years Alaric murmured brushing a dark curl from Leo’s forehead.
He wakes screaming.
He fights shadows.
Yet in your arms he found peace in seconds.
Why I I am an omega your grace Lydia whispered her hands trembling in her lap.
Our nature is to calm to nurture.
Omegas are rare yes but they are not magic Alaric countered leaning forward.
My wolf recognized you.
He calls you mate.
But there is something else.
When Leo’s claws tore your dress I saw a mark on your left shoulder a crescent scar.
Lydia instinctively reached up clutching the fabric of her robe over her collarbone.
My son Alaric continued his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper was born with that exact same mark.
A birthmark.
A crescent moon over his heart.
Tell me Lydia of the Lower Wards where did you get that scar Tears welled in Lydia’s eyes.
It is not a scar my lord.
It is a birthmark.
But that is impossible.
You are the king.
Queen Juliet was his mother.
Alaric’s jaw tightened.
Juliet was a monster wrapped in silver.
She despised this boy.
I always assumed it was because she lost her vanity in childbirth but she refused to nurse him.
She refused to hold him.
She looked at him with absolute disguSt. Alaric stood laying the sleeping prince gently on the massive four poster bed before turning back to Lydia.
Where were you in the winter of 1447 Lydia The date struck Lydia like a physical blow.
I I was a prisoner.
My small pack lived on the borders of the Lancaster territory.
We were raided by Lord Harrington’s men.
They threw me in the dungeon of his keep.
Alaric’s crimson eyes flared bright.
The siege of Somerset.
I led the vanguard against Harrington that winter.
I was gravely wounded.
A poisoned arrow to the cheSt. Yes Lydia gasped the memories flooding back in a violent rush.
The king’s men breached the dungeons.
I was brought up to tend the wounded because I had knowledge of herbs.
I I was brought to your tent.
You were burning with fever.
Your wolf was dying.
Alaric stepped closer dropping to one knee before her his large hands gently engulfing her trembling ones.
I remember a scent.
Rain and pine.
I remember pulling an angel into my bed to anchor my soul to the earth.
When I woke from the fever three days later the healers told me it was a hallucination.
They told me Queen Juliet had arrived from the capital and laid by my side to heal me.
It wasn’t her Lydia sobbed the dam finally breaking.
It was me.
And and a month later I was with child.
But Harrington’s remaining loyalists sold me to a convent in the Northern Reach.
When the baby was born a woman in a silver cloak came.
She took him from my arMs. She told the guards to slit my throat and burn the convent to the ground.
I barely escaped.
I thought I thought my baby was dead.
Alaric looked from the weeping woman in the chair to the sleeping boy on the bed.
The pieces of the darkest puzzle of his life slammed into place.
Juliet the barren ambitious queen had discovered her husband’s rut induced union with an omega.
Unable to produce an heir herself she had tracked Lydia down stolen the alpha bloodline to secure her own throne and attempted to erase the true mother from existence.
It was why Juliet hated the boy.
Leo was a daily breathing reminder of Alaric’s true mate.
A low terrifying snarl vibrated in Alaric’s cheSt. The sound was so filled with lethal intent that the windows of the chamber rattled.
He had mourned Juliet’s death out of duty but now he wished he could resurrect her just to tear her apart with his own claws.
They took five years from us Alaric swore pressing his forehead against Lydia’s trembling hands.
They made you live in filth.
They made our son a feral terror.
I swear to you Lydia by the old gods and the new no one will ever harm you again.
You are my mate.
And tomorrow the entire realm will know who the true queen of the Iron Citadel is.
The great hall of the Iron Citadel was a masterpiece of medieval architecture.
Its vaulted ceilings supported by massive oak pillars.
Its walls lined with the banners of a dozen conquered packs.
Tonight however the air was thick with the suffocating stench of tension sour wine and impending violence.
The winter solstice banquet was meant to be a celebration of unity a night where the alpha king would formally announce his intentions to court Lady Beatrice.
Instead Beatrice was locked in the dungeons and her father Duke Reginald of the Red Mane pack had arrived with two hundred heavily armed Lycan warriors stationed at the castle gates.
Duke Reginald stood at the center of the hall his hand resting menacingly on the pommel of his broadsword.
He was a massive scarred brute of an alpha flanked by his fiercest lieutenants.
The king’s council sat nervously at the high table whispering furiously amongst themselves.
You insult my house Alaric.
Duke Reginald’s voice boomed over the murmurs echoing off the stone walls.
You imprison my daughter on the word of a filthy scullery maid.
You allow a feral pup to dictate the politics of the realm The Red Mane demands justice or we demand war.
King Alaric sat on the obsidian throne his expression carved from stone.
He wore a tunic of deep black the silver crest of his pack gleaming on his cheSt. Beta Silas stood at his right his hand resting on his sword his eyes scanning the room for the first sign of drawn steel.
Your daughter Alaric spoke his voice carrying effortlessly over the massive room cold and absolute.
Attempted to strike the crown prince.
She drew a blade on him.
In my territory that is an act of treason.
You are lucky I did not send her head back to you in a box Reginald.
Murmurs of shock rippled through the gathered nobility.
Lies Reginald roared stepping forward.
An excuse to break the treaty.
Where is this supposed maid Bring her out.
Let her face the judgement of the alphas.
She will face no judgement.
A new clear voice rang out from the grand staircase.
The entire hall fell dead silent.
Every head turned.
Lydia stood at the top of the stairs.
She was no longer the invisible soot stained ghost of the lower wards.
She wore a gown of rich midnight blue velvet embroidered with silver threads that caught the torchlight.
The heavy ceremonial fur mantle of the alpha queen was draped over her shoulders.
But it was not the clothes that stunned the room into silence.
It was her aura.
With her head held high Lydia projected the pure unadulterated scent of a Luna.
It rolled over the crowd like a wave of calming rain instantly soothing the aggressive hackles of every wolf in the room.
Beside her clutching her hand was Prince Leo.
The boy who usually snarled and thrashed at the sight of crowds stood calmly dressed in a miniature tunic that matched his father’s looking up at Lydia with absolute adoration.
Alaric stood from his throne.
The pride radiating from him was palpable.
Duke Reginald’s face twisted in disguSt. You dare drape a rogue omega in the queen’s mantle You mock us Alaric.
She is nothing but breeding stock from the gutter.
Reginald drew his broadsword.
The harsh scrape of steel on leather was the spark that ignited the powder keg.
His lieutenants lunged forward drawing their own weapons.
But Alaric was faster.
He didn’t bother drawing a sword.
He didn’t even shift into his wolf form.
The alpha king vaulted over the heavy oak of the high table landing with a bone shattering thud directly in front of Reginald.
Before the duke could swing his blade Alaric’s hand shot out his fingers locking around Reginald’s thick throat.
The king lifted the massive duke off the floor with one arm his crimson eyes blazing with a demonic fury.
Listen to me very carefully Reginald of the Red Mane.
Alaric snarled his voice vibrating with a power that forced the other attacking lieutenants to drop to their knees in involuntary submission.
The woman standing on those stairs is Lydia of the Lancaster borders.
She is my fated mate.
She is the mother of my heir stolen from me by the treason of my late wife.
And she is your queen.
If you or any man in this room speak a single word of disrespect toward her again I will not just kill you.
I will wipe the Red Mane pack from the history of this realm.
He threw Reginald backward.
The duke crashed into a heavy wooden table splintering it into kindling.
He lay there gasping for air clutching his bruised throat staring up at the alpha king in absolute terror.
The silence that followed was absolute.
The lords and ladies of the realm looked from the trembling duke to the commanding king and finally to the woman on the stairs.
The realization washed over them.
The feral prince was calm.
The king was complete.
The rumors of the scullery maid were true.
But she was no rogue.
She was the missing piece of the Iron Citadel’s fractured heart.
Beta Silas stepped forward drawing his sword and holding it perfectly vertical in front of his face.
He dropped to one knee bowing his head toward the staircase.
All hail Queen Lydia.
All hail the mother of the realm.
One by one the nobles followed suit.
The metallic clatter of swords being laid on the stone floor echoed through the hall as the wolves submitted to their true Luna.
Even Duke Reginald’s lieutenants realizing their leader had been utterly broken bowed their heads.
Lydia looked down at the sea of bowing nobles.
Her heart pounded in her chest but she did not tremble.
She squeezed Leo’s small hand and the boy looked up at her offering a shy genuine smile.
Alaric turned back to the stairs walking up the steps until he stood before Lydia.
The fierce terrifying warlord melted away leaving only a devoted mate.
He reached out gently cupping her cheek his thumb tracing her cheekbone.
Welcome home my queen.
Alaric whispered leaning down to press a soft reverent kiss to her lips.
The winter winds continued to howl against the thick stone walls of the Iron Citadel.
But inside the cold era of Queen Juliet’s cruelty was finally dead.
The alpha king had found his mate.
The feral prince had found his mother.
And Lydia the starving omega of the lower wards had found the family she thought was lost to the ashes of history.
