Everyone feared the Alpha King. They said his glare could shatter bone and his beast was untamable.
But when he approached me, all I could hear was his terrifying warhorse sighing in my mind.
Oh, great. He’s doing the brooding jaw clench again. Give me a carrot and end my suffering.
The cobblestone courtyard of the Iron Hold Citadel was freezing, yet the 50 noble women standing in a perfectly straight line dared not shiver.
This was the royal selection, a barbaric medieval tradition resurrected solely because the Alpha King needed an heir and the pack’s elders were growing restless.
Harper Sinclair stood near the end of the line adjusting the stiff suffocating lace of her emerald gown.
As the daughter of a minor lord from the rainy lowlands, she had no delusions of grandeur.
She was here as a formality, a political pawn offered up by her father to avoid increased taxation.
Harper didn’t want the Alpha King. In fact, she didn’t want much to do with the Lycan nobility at all.
They were entirely too loud, too violent and far too arrogant. Besides, Harper had a secret that made castle life incredibly dangerous.
In a kingdom where anything remotely magical was condemned as witchcraft and punishable by the pyre, Harper could hear the thoughts of animals.
It wasn’t a faint empathetic feeling. It was crystal clear, ringing in her mind like spoken dialogue.
And right now, the ravens perched on the castle battlements were being incredibly inappropriate about the plunging necklines of the visiting ladies.
A sudden deafening horn blast shattered the morning air. The massive iron gates groaned open.
The man murmur of the court instantly died. Out of the shadows rode King Cayden Sterling.
He was a terrifying sight, a mountain of a man clad in dark hardened leather and furs.
His expression as unyielding as a freshly forged broadsword. His reputation preceded him, a ruthless warlord who had conquered the eastern territories before his 25th birthday, a wolf so dominant that lesser alphas were forced to their knees just by making eye contact.
He rode atop a monstrous jet black destrier. The warhorse stood at least 18 hands high, its coat gleaming like polished onyx, its hooves striking stone with thunderous weight.
The court collectively held its breath, trembling at the sheer overwhelming power radiating from the king and his steed.
Harper lowered her eyes respectfully, bracing herself for the overwhelming suffocating aura of the Alpha.
Then a deep, incredibly dry voice echoed in her mind. Ugh, honestly, if he pulls on this left rein one more time just to make my neck arch, I’m going to bite his kneecap.
We get it, Cayden. You’re brooding. You’re dark. My hooves are freezing. Move it along.
Harper blinked, her head snapping up. She stared directly at the terrifying black warhorse. The beast snorted, tossing its massive head.
Oh, look at them all trembling, the horse’s voice continued, practically dripping with sarcasm. Huh.
He practiced that stony glare in the mirror this morning. I watched him do it.
Took him 20 minutes to get the eyebrow furrow just right. Pathetic. Harper slapped a hand over her mouth.
A violent, desperately suppressed sound escaped her throat. It wasn’t a gasp of fear, it was a snort of laughter.
In the dead silence of the courtyard, the sound was like a gunshot. King Cayden pulled the reins.
Oh, stop it, you heavy-handed brute. The horse grumbled and halted directly in front of Harper.
The king’s golden eyes, practically glowing with predatory intensity, locked onto her. The air around them seemed to crackle and drop in temperature.
His jaw clenched. There it is, the horse sighed in Harper’s mind. Tch, the jaw clench.
He thinks it makes his cheekbones pop. If only these women knew he sleeps with a stuffed velvet wolfhound because his feet get cold.
Harper couldn’t help it. The sheer absurdity of the terrifying warlord being roasted by his own mode of transportation broke her.
A full, bright, genuine laugh spilled from her lips. She tried to cover it with a cough, but it was too late.
The surrounding nobles gasped. Lady Beatrice Remington, a viciously beautiful woman who had been practically measuring the curtains for the queen’s chambers, looked at Harper as if she had just signed her own death warrant.
Cayden stared at her, his golden eyes widening a fraction of an inch. Suddenly, the wind shifted.
A rich, intoxicating scent washed over Harper Petrika, sharp pine and cold steel. Her wolf clawed at her chest, a primal, undeniable recognition slamming into her very soul.
Mate. Mate who? Cayden froze, the terrifying warlord completely unmoored. He inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as the scent hit him, too.
His pupils dilated, consuming the gold until his eyes were almost entirely black. I’ll thank the goddess.
The black horse muttered. He found her. Finally. Maybe now he’ll stop pacing the balcony at 3:00 in the morning reciting terrible poetry to the moon.
Seriously, lady, you have no idea how bad the rhyming is. It’s physical torture. Just claim him so I can get some sleep.
Harper looked from the devastatingly handsome, shell-shocked king to the sarcastic horse, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper just to keep from laughing again.
You! Cayden growled, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that sent a shiver down the spine of every woman present.
He dismounted smoothly, stepping into Harper’s personal space. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently tipping her chin up.
What is your name? Harper Sinclair, my king, she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Mine, Cayden rumbled, the possessive command echoing across the courtyard. The court erupted into chaos.
The king had found his mate in a lowly lord’s daughter who had just laughed in his face.
Great. Lovely. Beautiful moment. Ah, the horse interjected. Now, someone take this saddle off me before I kick a noblewoman into the moat.
Within an hour, Harper’s entire life was upended. She was ushered into the royal wing of the Iron Hold Citadel, surrounded by silks, roaring fireplaces and a dozen wide-eyed handmaidens.
But beneath the luxury, the danger was palpable. The court was a viper’s nest. During the evening feast, Harper felt the venomous glares of the nobility burning into her back.
Lady Beatrice Remington, whose family controlled the crucial silver mines in the north, sat two seats down, a smile not quite reaching her cold blue eyes.
She made a point of talking loudly about Cayden’s past conquests and the fragility of lower class wolves.
Through it all, Cayden sat beside Harper, an immovable wall of muscle and stoicism. He barely spoke, only occasionally shifting closer to press his thigh against hers, a silent territorial claim that made Harper’s pulse race.
He was trying to be the intimidating, protective Alpha, but every time he’d leered at a courtier who looked at her too long, Harper couldn’t help but remember that he apparently slept with a stuffed hound.
The next morning, suffocating under the weight of the castle’s politics, Harper sneaked away. She bypassed the sprawling gardens and headed straight to the royal stables.
She needed grounding. She needed the truth. The stables were massive, smelling of fresh hay and oiled leather.
In the largest stall at the back, Cayden’s black destrier was aggressively chewing a turnip.
Harper leaned against the wooden gate. So, you’re the famous beast. The horse paused mid-chew.
Oh, look who it is. The girl who laughed. I’m Barnaby, by the way. Don’t call me Goliath or Nightmare or whatever edgy nonsense Cayden put on my nameplate.
Harper smiled warmly. I’m Harper and I promise I won’t tell him you’re talking behind his back.
Barnaby dropped the turnip. His massive head swung toward her, his dark eyes wide. Wait.
You can hear me? Oh, cloud and clear. Barnaby let out a sound that was half whinny, half laugh.
Oh, this is brilliant. The moon goddess has a sense of humor after all. Listen to me, Harper.
You have to save me. The man of his a disaster. Do you know he spent 3 hours, 3 hours, yesterday trying to decide which black tunic made his shoulders look broader for the selection?
They all look exactly the same. Harper burst out laughing, the tension of the past 24 hours melting away.
He seems so terrifying, though. Everyone is terrified of him. It’s a brand, Barnaby snorted, nudging her shoulder over the gate.
A complete fabrication. I mean, yes, he can rip a man’s throat out in battle, but at home, he’s a soft touch.
He feeds me sugar cubes from his pocket when he thinks the stable master isn’t looking.
He talks to me about his feelings. It’s exhausting. Yesterday he asked me if I thought his jawline was getting soft.
I’m a horse, Harper. What am I supposed to do with that information? Harper. Look at She spun around.
Kaelen was standing at the entrance of the stable dressed in a perfectly fitted dark tunic.
His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable. Though his golden eyes tracked her every movement.
Here we go. Barnaby chimed in her head. Look at the posture. He practiced leaning against that exact post.
Slipped on a patch of wet straw the first time and bruised his hip. Ask him why he’s limping on his left side.
Harper bit her lip hard looking down at the hay-covered floor to hide her massive smirk.
My king. I was just getting acquainted with your horse. Kaelen walked slowly toward her, his heavy boots silent on the straw.
He stopped inches away, his scent wrapping around her like a warm blanket. He reached out, his knuckles lightly brushing against her cheek.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to her toes. “His name is Blood Drinker.”
Kaelen said in a low, dangerous whisper meant to impress her. Harper coughed. Barnaby let out a loud, aggressive snort that sounded suspiciously like a scoff.
Blood Drinker. I ate a dandelion 5 minutes ago. “Very impressive.” Harper managed to say, meeting Kaelen’s intense gaze.
“Though he seems quite gentle.” Kaelen frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. “He is a weapon of war, Harper.
He answers only to me. He has trampled grown men. I stepped on a guy’s foot by accident because Kaelen steered me into a ditch.
Barnaby corrected. Tell him his tunic looks nice. He needs the validation. Sir. “You look very handsome today, Kaelen.”
Harper said softly. The terrifying warlord’s ears actually turned a faint shade of pink. He cleared his throat, standing a little taller.
“Thank you. I I had it specially made. Told you. Barnaby thought smugly. Suddenly Barnaby’s ears pinned back against his head.
His demeanor changed instantly, the sarcasm vanishing replaced by a tense, heavy silence. Harper noticed the shift immediately.
“What is it?” She asked Kaelen, though she was looking at the horse. “Nothing.” Kaelen replied, confused.
Harper. Barnaby’s voice was suddenly grim in her mind. Two stalls down, Lord Alister’s roan gelding just told the man next to him why they rode so hard last night.
Harper froze. Lord Alister Croft was Kaelen’s cousin and a key military advisor. He had smiled warmly at her during the feast, offering a toast to their union.
“What did he say, Barnaby?” Harper thought back, projecting her mind toward the destrier. “Sir isn’t here for the wedding.”
Barnaby replied. “His horse says there are 50 mercenaries camped in the old ruins of the Silver Woods.
They are waiting for a signal. Alister is smuggling wolfsbane powder into the castle’s meat supply to weaken the royal guard tonight.
It’s a coup, Harper.” Harper’s blood ran cold. She looked up at Kaelen, who was currently watching her with a mixture of adoration and mild confusion, completely unaware that his life and his kingdom were hours away from a bloody slaughter.
She couldn’t just tell him, “Hey, your horse just gossiped with a traitor’s pony.” She would be thrown in the dungeons for witchcraft before sunset.
Mate or no mate. She had to find a way to expose Lord Alister, save the king who secretly loved terrible poetry, and somehow keep her head attached to her shoulders in the process.
The real gains have just begun. The heavy wooden doors of the stable swung shut, leaving Harper alone with a warlord who thought he was intimidating and a warhorse who knew he was a softy.
Her mind raced. Exposing high-ranking nobleman like Lord Alister Croft, Kaelen’s own blood, was a dangerous game.
If she outright accused him of treason based on the gossip of horses, she would be locked in the asylum tower or burned at the stake.
She needed proof, and she needed it before the sunset. “Kaelen.” Harper said, her voice trembling slightly, though not for the reason he likely assumed.
She placed a hand on his leather-clad chest. The muscles beneath were like granite. “Before the feast tonight, I wish to prepare a traditional dish from my lowlands, a meat pie seasoned with herbs from my home.
It is a customary offering for a new mate to present to her alpha.” It was a complete lie.
The lowlands were famous for boiled cabbage and soggy potatoes. But Kaelen’s golden eyes softened, the dark pupils expanding with a surge of affection.
“You wish to cook for me?” He murmured, clearly touched. Oh, by the goddess, look at him.
Barnaby groaned in her head. He’s practically melting. Tell him you want to polish his boots next.
He might actually faint. But hurry up, Harper. Alister’s men are moving. “I must go to the kitchens immediately.”
Harper insisted, stepping back. “To select the finest cuts of venison before the cooks begin their roasting.”
No lot. Ice. Kaelen nodded, signaling to a heavily scarred guard standing outside the stable archway.
“Commander Harrison Montgomery will escort you. No harm will come to you in my keep, little wolf.”
Harper offered a tight smile, dipping into a curtsy before hurrying across the courtyard with Commander Montgomery close behind.
The royal kitchens were a chaotic inferno of roasting fires, shouting chefs, and scurrying scullery maids.
The air was thick with the smell of garlic, rosemary, and the rich metallic scent of raw meat.
As soon as Harper stepped inside, the cacophony of human noise was instantly drowned out by the chatter of the kitchens’ animal residents.
“Stupid humans dropping the fat trimmings in the ash.” Complained a scarred ginger tomcat lounging on a flour barrel.
“They put the bitter dust in the royal deer.” A rat squeaked from the rafters, grooming its whiskers.
“Saw the tall man do it. Smells like death. Smells like the purple flowers by the graveyard.
Wolfsbane.” Harper’s blood ran cold. The rat had confirmed it. She walked swiftly past the bewildered head chef and approached the massive oak tables where three freshly slaughtered stags lay waiting to be butchered.
Standing over them was a man Harper recognized from the courtyard. Thomas Finch, a trusted squire of Lord Alister.
He was hastily rubbing a dark, coarse salt mixture into the meat. “Stop.” Harper commanded, her voice ringing with the authority of an alpha’s mate.
The entire kitchen fell dead silent. Thomas Finch froze, his hands still buried in the meat.
He looked up, his face paling, but he quickly masked it with a polite, albeit strained, smile.
“My lady.” Finch bowed stiffly. “I am merely preparing the king’s venison with Lord Alister’s special seasoning.”
“That is not seasoning.” Harper said, stepping closer. She could smell it now. Beneath the heavy scent of blood and salt was the faint, acrid tang of wolfsbane.
It was a poison that wouldn’t kill an alpha as powerful as Kaelen instantly, but it would strip him of his wolf, paralyze his muscles, and leave him utterly defenseless.
“I demand you step away from the meat.” She ordered. Finch’s eyes narrowed. “With respect, Lady Harper, you are new to the Iron Hold.
You do not understand our culinary traditions. Lord Alister “Commander Montgomery.” Harper interrupted, turning to the towering guard beside her.
“Seize him and do not let him wash his hands.” Montgomery hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, grabbing Finch by the collar of his tunic.
Finch struggled, panic flashing in his eyes. “This is an outrage. You cannot treat Lord Alister’s man this way.”
Just then, the heavy kitchen doors banged open. Kaelen strode in, his presence immediately suffocating the room.
Behind him was Lord Alister himself, looking deeply offended. “What is the meaning of this?”
Kaelen demanded, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. He looked at Harper, his protective instincts flaring, but his eyes darted to his cousin.
“Your new mate has gone mad, Kaelen.” Alister said smoothly, offering a condescending smile. “She is disrupting the kitchens and insulting my squire.
I understand she is overwhelmed by the grandeur of the citadel, but this is unacceptable.”
“He poisoned the meat.” Harper said firmly, refusing to back down. She pointed at the slaughtered stags.
“With wolfsbane. They meant to serve it to you and the royal guard tonight.” Alister let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
“Wolfsbane? Ridiculous. It is a rare northern spice blend. Finch, show the king. Finch held up his hands, visibly trembling.
Kaelen stepped forward, leaning over the meat. He inhaled deeply, his brow furrowed. The scent is masked with heady salts and iron.
I cannot be certain. Because there is nothing to be certain of, cousin. Alister pressed, stepping closer to Kaelen.
She is paranoid. Let my men finish the preparations. Harper’s mind raced. She needed undeniable proof.
Her eyes darted around the kitchen and landed on the scarred ginger cat on the flower barrel.
Hey, cat. Harper projected her thoughts sharply. If you jump down and eat a piece of that meat right now, I swear on the moon goddess, I will have you fed fresh salmon every day for the rest of your life.
Seal. The cat paused mid-lick, its green eyes locking onto Harper. Salmon every day? The pink fatty fish?
Yes. I am the future queen. I command the fish now. Deal. Nack-so. Avana mabri.
Without hesitation, the ginger cat leaped from the barrel, landed gracefully on the preparation table, and snatched a small raw scrap of the seasoned meat that had fallen near Finch’s hand.
Get that filthy beast off the table. Alister roared, reaching for the cat. But it was too late.
The cat swallowed the meat whole. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the cat let out a horrific high-pitched yawl.
It collapsed onto its side, its limbs seizing violently, foam bubbling from its jaws. The kitchen erupted into screams.
Kaelen’s eyes widened in horror, and then a terrifying guttural snarl ripped from his chest.
His human facade vanished, replaced by the primal murderous fury of the alpha king. His eyes snapped to Alister, glowing a brilliant deadly gold.
Alister didn’t hesitate. Realizing his coup was exposed, he drew a hidden dagger from his cloak and lunged not at Kaelen, but at Harper.
Time seemed to slow. Harper braced for the impact of the blade, but before Alister could cross the distance, Commander Montgomery threw his massive body in the way.
Catching the dagger in his shoulder with a grunt of pain. Treason! Montgomery bellowed, drawing his broadsword with his good arm.
Kill them all! Alister screamed to Finch and two other kitchen workers who suddenly drew concealed weapons.
The mast berserkers are already in the courtyard. The keep is ours. Kaelen moved with a speed that defied logic.
He didn’t bother drawing a weapon. He lunged at his cousin. His hands transforming into massive lethal claws.
He slammed Alister into the stone wall with such force the entire kitchen shook. You betray your king?
Your blood? Kaelen roared, lifting Alister off the ground by his throat. Outside, the unmistakable sound of a war horn shattered the evening air.
It wasn’t the royal horn. It was harsh, jagged. Shouts and the clash of steel echoed from the main courtyard.
Captain Declan Hayes and his mercenaries had breached the lower gates, expecting to find a weakened, poisoned guard.
Instead, they were walking into a fortress that was rapidly arming itself. Kaelen threw Alister to the ground, rendering him unconscious with a brutal strike to the temple.
Montgomery, secure the traitor. Guard my mate with your life. No, Harper said, grabbing Kaelen’s arm as he turned toward the door.
I am coming with you. It is too dangerous, Harper. Stay here. I am your Luna, she said, her voice steady.
And you are going to need Barnaby. Kaelen blinked, his alpha rage momentarily short-circuiting. My My horse?
Trust me, she said. They sprinted from the kitchens to the courtyard. Chaos had descended.
50 heavily armed mercenaries led by Captain Declan Hayes were clashing with the royal guard.
Blood stained the cobblestones. Kaelen let out a deafening, earth-shattering roar that made half the mercenaries drop their weapons in sheer terror.
Harper didn’t wait for Kaelen to lead the charge. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, projecting her voice toward the stables.
Barnaby, break the door. Kaelen needs you. A second later, a horrific crash echoed from the stables.
The heavy wooden door splintered into a thousand pieces as the massive jet-black destrier burst out.
Barnaby wasn’t wearing a saddle or bridle. He was pure, unadulterated muscle and fury. Duh.
I have been waiting for this all week. Barnaby’s voice roared in Harper’s mind. The horse charged directly into the flank of the mercenaries.
He didn’t just trample them, he fought with terrifying intelligence. He grabbed a mercenary by the leather armor with his teeth and threw him into three others.
He spun around, his massive iron-shod hooves kicking out and shattering the shields of Declan Hayes’s front line.
Sir, that you unwash barbarians. Ha! Barnaby yelled telepathically. Sue. This is for interrupting my dinner.
Kaelen, duck, you idiot. Ha! Harper screamed. Kaelen, duck. Kaelen instinctively dropped one knee just as a mercenary’s halberd swung through the space his head had occupied a second before.
Barnaby crashed into the attacker, trampling him into the dust. Kaelen looked at his horse, then back at Harper, sheer bewilderment cutting through his bloodlust.
But there was no time to question it. The king of Ironhold unleashed his full power.
He moved like a shadow, his strikes precise and devastating. Together, the king, his terrifying warhorse, and the rallying royal guard decimated the mercenary forces in minutes.
Captain Declan Hayes, realizing the battle was lost and the coup had failed, threw down his sword and fell to his knees in the blood-soaked dirt.
The remaining mercenaries followed suit. Silence descended on the courtyard, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the heavy breathing of the combatants.
Kaelen stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving, his clothes stained with blood.
He looked like the terrifying warlord from the legends. He slowly turned toward Harper, who was standing on the steps, entirely unharmed.
Barnaby trotted over to Kaelen, nudging the king’s shoulder aggressively. Tell her she did a good job.
And tell her I want those fancy honey oats tomorrow. The ones imported from the south.
Kaelen reached up, absentmindedly stroking the horse’s neck. He walked toward Harper, his golden eyes filled with awe.
You knew, Kaelen said softly, stopping in front of her. You knew the meat was poisoned.
You knew to warn me to duck. And blood drinker, he responded to you. Harper took a deep breath.
She had saved his life, but witchcraft was still a capital offense. I have a confession, my king.
I I can hear them. Animals. I can hear their thoughts. Kaelen stared at her for a long, agonizing moment.
The courtyard held its breath. Please don’t burn me at the stake, she whispered. Kaelen’s stern, terrifying facade finally broke.
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, making him look devastatingly handsome. He reached out, pulling her flush against his chest, burying his face in her hair.
Burn you? He murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. You saved my kingdom. You saved my life.
You are the greatest gift the moon goddess could have ever given me. He pulled back slightly, a look of sudden horror crossing his features.
Wait. If you can hear animals Harper smirked. Yes, Kaelen. I know you practice your brooding face in the mirror.
Kaelen closed his eyes, a groan of profound embarrassment escaping him. His cheeks burned bright red.
And don’t forget the stuffed hound. Barnaby chimed in, trotting up behind them. Bring that up during the honeymoon.
>> [clears throat] >> And Barnaby says you talk to him about your feelings, Harper added, laughing as Kaelen buried his face in his hands.
Barnaby? Kaelen mumbled through his fingers. His name is blood drinker. No, it’s really not.
She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist. The alpha king, the most feared warlord in the realm, sighed in defeat, resting his chin on the top of her head.
He had lost his terrifying reputation, but he had gained a kingdom secured, a mate he adored, and a horse who would never, ever let him live down his vanity.
Harper and Kaelen’s story proves that sometimes the most fearsome alpha is just a soft-hearted king who needs his mate and his sarcastic horse to save the day.
