Gravity is a cruel master.
High above the jagged rocks of Ethelred’s Drop, a tiny whimpering pup slipped from the icy ledge.
Isabel threw her entire weight forward, her fingers closing around a fragile ankle, just as the frozen earth crumbled beneath her own boots.
Death awaited them both.
Winter in the northern reaches did not arrive with a gentle frost.
It struck like a hammer against the stone walls of Keep Ethelred.
Isabel pulled her tattered wool cloak tighter around her thin shoulders.
Her breath pluming in the freezing air as she scaled the steep, treacherous path of the western crags.
She was an omega, a wolf who had never shifted, a genetic failure in a pack that valued primal strength above all else.
To the rest of the pack, she was little more than a ghost, tolerated only for her expansive knowledge of medicinal roots that grew in the deadliest parts of the mountains.
King Garrick ruled the northern reaches with an iron fist and a heart hardened by grief.
His mate had died two years prior, leaving behind a single heir.
But the boy, Leo, was a runt.
In a medieval society governed by the phases of the moon and the law of the strongest jaw, a runt born to the alpha king was a political disaster.
The ruling council, led by the harsh and calculating elder Godwin, whispered daily that the boy should be cast out to preserve the strength of the royal bloodline.
Garrick had violently silenced those whispers, but a king could not be everywhere at once.
Frost crunched under Isabel’s boots as she reached the precipice known as Ethelred’s Drop.
The cliff face was a sheer drop of 600 feet into a roaring ice-choked river.
She knelt near the edge, carefully using a bone-handled knife to pry a cluster of silver leaf root from the frozen soil.
A sharp, terrified yelp cut through the howling wind.
Isabel froze.
It was a sound no larger than a bird’s cry, but her sharp ears caught the unmistakable pitch of a wolf pup in distress.
She abandoned her harvest, creeping quietly along the jagged ridge, peering around a massive boulder, she witnessed a scene that made her stomach drop.
Little Leo, barely the size of a winter hare in his russet fur, was backing away, trembling violently.
Looming over him was Randall, one of the king’s elite guards, a man fiercely loyal to Lady Marguerite, a high-ranking female who desperately wished to become Garrick’s new mate and provide him with stronger heirs.
Randall wasn’t attacking the pup outright.
He didn’t need to.
He was simply stepping forward, an intimidating, massive figure, forcing the terrified runt closer and closer to the crumbling edge of the drop.
“Careful now, little prince.
” Randall sneered, his voice barely carrying over the wind.
“The rocks are slippery.
It would be a tragedy if you lost your footing, a terrible, unavoidable tragedy.
” Isabel’s heart hammered against her ribs.
If she intervened, Randall would slaughter her.
An unshifted omega attacking a royal guard was treason, punishable by a slow, agonizing death.
But as she watched the pup’s hind paw slip on a patch of ice, sending a shower of pebbles into the abyss, her instincts overrode her fear.
“Hey!” Isabel screamed, stepping out from behind the boulder, waving her hands to draw the guard’s attention.
Randall whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he recognized her.
“You worthless omega, turn around and walk away, or I’ll throw you over myself.
” In that split second of distraction, Leo tried to scurry past the guard, but the pup’s paws were numb from the cold, and the stone beneath him was brittle.
The edge gave way with a sickening crack.
Leo tumbled backward, his tiny claws scrambling uselessly against empty air.
Isabel didn’t think.
She sprinted across the slick stone, diving headfirst toward the abyss just as Randall lunged to intercept her.
She slid across the ice on her stomach, thrusting her arms out over the terrifying void.
Her left hand clamped around empty air, but her right fingers dug into the thick russet fur of the pup’s hind leg, slipping down to lock firmly around his tiny ankle.
The momentum of her dive, combined with the shifting ice, dragged her forward.
Her torso slid over the edge.
Her hips followed.
Desperation fueled her.
Isabel slammed her left hand down, driving her bone-handled knife deep into a thick, exposed tree root that snaked along the cliff’s lip.
The blade wedged into the wood, halting her slide with a violent, shoulder-wrenching jerk.
She was hanging halfway off the cliff.
Beneath her, 600 feet of empty air and jagged rocks.
In her right hand, the alpha king’s only son dangled, whimpering in terror.
Above her stood Randall, a cruel, calculating smile spreading across his face.
Pain ripped through Isabel’s left shoulder, the joint threatening to dislocate under the combined weight of her own body and the pup.
Below her, Leo was completely still, paralyzed by a fear so absolute it radiated up Isabel’s arm.
“Well, well.
” Randall mused, stepping to the very edge and looking down at her.
He didn’t offer a hand.
He slowly drew his broadsword.
“The tragedy just became a double casualty.
The clumsy omega tried to save the clumsy prince, and they both perished.
The king will weep, but the pack will grow stronger.
” “Randall, please.
” Isabel gritted out, her fingers whitening around the handle of her knife.
The root it was embedded in creaked under the strain.
“He is your future king.
If you do this, the goddess will curse your line for eternity.
” “My line will thrive under Queen Marguerite.
” Randall replied coldly.
He raised the heavy iron sword, aiming the point directly at the knuckles of Isabel’s left hand.
“Let go, omega, or I take your hand, and you both fall anyway.
” Isabel squeezed her eyes shut.
She wasn’t going to let go.
She braced herself for the agony of the blade.
Suddenly, a massive concussive roar shook the very air, vibrating through the stone and echoing off the mountain peaks.
It was a sound that commanded total, absolute submission, the roar of the alpha king.
Randall froze, the color draining from his face.
He scrambled backward just as a monstrous, pitch-black wolf, easily the size of a draft horse, bounded over the crest of the hill.
King Garrick.
He was flanked by a dozen royal guards, their armor clanking loudly in the winter air.
Randall immediately dropped to his knees, shifting his face into a mask of pure panic.
“My king! Thank the goddess! The omega, she went mad.
I caught her trying to throw the prince over the edge.
I was just about to strike her down to save him.
” Isabel’s blood ran cold.
She couldn’t speak.
All her energy was focused on not dropping the pup.
The root she was holding onto gave a terrifying snap, tearing partially away from the stone.
She dropped another inch, crying out in pain.
Garrick shifted back to his human form in a blur of motion, throwing a heavy fur cloak over his broad, scarred shoulders.
His storm-gray eyes locked onto the scene.
He didn’t look at Randall.
He strode directly to the edge of the cliff, dropping to his stomach on the ice.
He leaned over the abyss, his massive hand shooting down to firmly grasp Isabel’s forearm.
The sheer strength of his grip was instantly reassuring.
“I have you.
” Garrick’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble that cut through her panic.
“Do not let go of my son.
” “I I can’t hold him much longer.
” Isabel gasped, tears of pain freezing on her cheeks.
“My shoulder.
” “Hold him.
” Garrick commanded.
He signaled to two of his elite guards, Captain Fenwick and a tracker named Cedric.
“Secure my legs.
” The guards grabbed the king’s boots, acting as an anchor.
Garrick slid further down the cliff face.
He reached past Isabel, his long arm extending just far enough to grasp the scruff of little Leo’s neck.
“Release him.
” Garrick ordered her.
Isabel let her numb fingers uncurl.
Instantly, Garrick hauled the crying pup upward, tossing him safely onto the snow behind him, where the royal physician immediately swarmed the boy.
Garrick then looked back down at Isabel.
Her knife finally tore through the dead root.
She dropped, but Garrick’s iron grip on her forearm held fast.
With a single, powerful heave, pulling against the weight of his guards, he dragged Isabel over the precipice and onto the solid, snow-covered earth.
Isabel collapsed, gasping for air, clutching her right arm to her chest.
Her whole body shook with adrenaline and the biting cold.
Garrick stood up, towering over her.
His expression was unreadable, a terrifying mix of relief, fury, and alpha dominance.
He looked at his son, who was shivering but unharmed, and then his gaze slowly dragged to Randall, who was still kneeling in the snow.
“My king.
” Randall stammered, bowing his head to the dirt.
“As I said, I caught this crazed omega.
” “Silence.
” Garrick’s voice cracked like a whip.
He turned his intense gaze to Isabel.
She was a nobody, a dirt-streaked gatherer shivering on the ground.
“You, omega, tell me exactly what happened here.
And know that if I smell a single lie on your breath, I will throw you back over that ledge myself.
” Isabel struggled to her knees.
She looked at Randall, whose eyes burned with a silent, deadly threat.
If she accused him, a decorated royal guard, it would be her word against his, an omega against a warrior.
Marguerite’s political faction would have her head on a spike before sunset.
But as she looked past Randall, she saw little Leo peering out from the physician’s cloak.
The tiny pup looked at her, his amber eyes wide, and let out a soft, grateful whine.
Isabel swallowed hard, lifting her chin to meet the terrifying gaze of the alpha king.
“He is lying, your grace.
” Isabel said, her voice shaking but clear.
“I was gathering silver leaf root.
I saw Randall back the prince toward the edge.
He told the boy his death would be a tragedy that would make the pack stronger.
He was trying to murder your heir.
A deadly silence fell over the mountaintop.
The wind seemed to hold its breath.
Randall leaped to his feet drawing his blade.
Lying I will cut out your tongue.
Before Randall could take a single step, Garrick moved faster than the human eye could track.
His hand clamped around Randall’s throat lifting the grown man off the ground with a single arm.
The king’s eyes flashed brilliant violent gold.
Throw him in the dark cells, Garrick growled tossing Randall to Captain Fenwick like a discarded ragdoll.
I will deal with him when I return.
Garrick then turned back to Isabel.
He crouched down his massive frame blocking out the biting wind.
He reached out taking her bloodied bruised hand the one that had held his son over the void.
You saved my bloodline today, Garrick said quietly the harshness completely gone from his voice.
What is your name? Isabel, sire.
Well, Isabel, the king murmured standing up and unfastening his own heavy fur-lined cloak.
He draped it over her shivering shoulders.
The lingering warmth and the scent of pine and alpha power washing over her.
You are an omega no longer.
You are coming with me to the Citadel.
We have much to discuss regarding the enemies hidden within my own walls.
Stone walls of Keep Ethelguard offered no true warmth only the illusion of safety from the biting winds of the northern reaches.
Isabel sat on the edge of a massive feather stuffed bed.
Her fingers nervously tracing the intricate velvet embroidery of the gown she had been given.
It was a deep emerald green a color reserved for the king’s honored guests far removed from the coarse undyed wool she had worn her entire life.
A roaring fire crackled in the hearth yet a deep persistent chill lingered in her bones.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor followed by the heavy creak of oak as her chamber door swung open without a knock.
Lady Margaret Cavendish swept into the room bringing the scent of heavy rose perfume and underlying malice.
She was a vision of aristocratic perfection with spun gold hair and piercing blue eyes hailing from the powerful Cavendish family a lineage so wealthy and connected they practically rivaled the crown itself.
Margaret was flanked by two of her personal guards their hands resting lazily on the hilts of their broadswords.
So, Margaret drawled her gaze raking over Isabel with undisguised disgust.
This is the gutter rat who has bewitched our king.
An unshifted omega playing the hero.
How utterly quaint.
Isabel stood up forcing her knees to stop trembling.
She was out of her depth thrust into a political game where the players used words as daggers and poison as currency.
I only spoke the truth my lady.
Your guard tried to kill the prince.
Randall is a fool who misunderstood his orders, Margaret snapped stepping closer until she invaded Isabel’s personal space.
Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper.
Do you truly believe King Garrick cares for you? He is a grieving widower desperate to protect his fragile useless runt.
He uses you as a shield but shields break Isabel.
Tomorrow at the high council you will retract your accusation against Randall.
You will claim the altitude sickness clouded your mind.
If you refuse Lord Henry Rothschild my family’s chief ally and the financier of the royal army will ensure you are tried for treason against the nobility.
You will hang before the moon reaches its peak.
Margaret didn’t wait for a reply.
She turned and swept out of the room leaving the threat hanging heavy in the air.
Sleep evaded Isabel that night.
Morning arrived with the harsh blast of hunting horns.
Two guards arrived to escort her to the great hall.
A cavernous room built from black stone lined with the banners of the allied packs.
King Garrick sat upon the high seat his massive frame radiating an oppressive heavy authority.
To his right stood Elder Godwin a wizened cynical man who believed only in the ruthless laws of nature.
To his left sat Margaret looking serene and untouched by the previous night’s threats.
Bring forth the prisoner Randall.
Garrick commanded his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
The heavy iron doors at the back of the hall opened but there was no prisoner.
Captain Fenwick strode in alone his face pale and grim.
He knelt before the king.
Speak captain, Garrick rumbled his eyes narrowing.
Sire, Randall is dead, Fenwick announced.
Gasps erupted from the assembled nobles.
We found him in the dark cells this morning foam at the mouth black veins nightshade poisoning.
Isabel’s heart plummeted.
Margaret had tied up her loose ends.
Without Randall to interrogate Isabel’s accusation was nothing but the word of an omega against a dead decorated warrior.
Elder Godwin slammed his staff against the stone floor.
Convenient.
A loyal guard is dead and we are left with the word of an outcast.
This omega clearly poisoned him to cover her own lies.
She was gathering herbs near the drop was she not? She possesses the knowledge to brew such a toxin.
Preposterous, Garrick growled standing up.
The sheer force of his presence silenced the room.
She was under heavy guard since she arrived.
She had no access to the dungeons.
Then she had an accomplice, Margaret chimed in her voice dripping with fake sorrow.
My king I beg you do not let your love for your son blind you to the dangers of this snake.
She seeks to dismantle your guard from within.
The council members murmured in agreement.
The tide was turning rapidly.
Isabel stepped forward raising her chin.
She refused to cower.
I did not poison Randall, Isabel said her voice carrying clear across the hall.
But I know who did.
Only high ranking nobles have access to the cells without logging their presence with the warden.
Check the warden’s ledgers.
See whose retainers visited the lower levels last night.
Margaret’s serene mask slipped for a fraction of a second her jaw tightening.
Garrick looked at Isabel his storm gray eyes softening for a fleeting moment before hardening back into the gaze of an alpha.
The ledgers will be checked but until this matter is resolved Isabel’s life is under my direct protection.
Furthermore, she proved her loyalty upon the cliffs.
From this day forth she is the official royal ward and protector of Prince Leo.
Any strike against her is an act of war against my crown.
The hall erupted into outraged shouts.
An omega elevated above the nobility? It was unheard of.
It broke every sacred tradition of their kind.
But Garrick simply bared his fangs a low guttural snarl vibrating from his chest that forced every wolf in the room to lower their eyes in submission.
Later that evening Garrick visited Isabel’s chambers.
He looked exhausted the weight of his crown pressing heavily upon his broad shoulders.
He dismissed the guards and stood near the hearth watching her.
You played a dangerous game today little wolf, Garrick said softly.
Margaret’s allies will not rest until you are removed.
I am not afraid of her, Isabel replied.
Though her pulse raced as he took a step closer.
Garrick reached out his calloused fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.
You should be but you are not.
You have no wolf to shift into.
Yet you possess more courage than my entire council combined.
Why? Because Leo deserves to live, Isabel answered looking up into his intense eyes.
And you deserve a pack that follows you out of loyalty not fear of deceit.
Garrick’s gaze dropped to her lips the tension between them shifting from political to something deeply primal.
You are a puzzle Isabel and I intend to solve every piece of you.
Winter storms battered the keep for a fortnight trapping the Viper’s Den indoors.
The tension within Ethelguard reached a boiling point.
Margaret Cavendish frustrated by Garrick’s relentless protection over Isabel began holding secret meetings with Lord Henry Rothschild and Elder Godwin.
They were plotting a coup masked as a tragic accident to remove the weak elements from the royal line.
Isabel spent her days in the royal nursery with Leo.
The young prince had attached himself to her completely.
He was a sweet observant child deeply traumatized by his near death experience yet slowly regaining his spirit under Isabel’s gentle care.
She taught him the names of the mountain flora turning the cold stones of his room into a classroom of survival.
On the eve of the winter solstice feast a grand celebration meant to appease the goddess and pray for an early spring the castle kitchens were a chaotic frenzy.
Servants rushed back and forth carrying platters of roasted venison and flagons of spiced wine.
Isabel sat beside Leo at the high table placed shockingly close to the king.
Garrick’s presence beside her was a constant burning heat.
Every time he offered her a choice cut of meat or leaned in to whisper a translation of a foreign dignitary’s speech the pack elders scowled deeper into their goblets.
A young serving girl trembling slightly approached the high table bearing a silver tray.
Upon it sat a single ornate golden goblet encrusted with rubies.
A gift from Lady Margaret to honor the young prince’s health the serving girl whispered placing the goblet in front of Leo.
The liquid inside was a thick dark plum wine steaming and fragrant with cinnamon and clove.
Garrick nodded respectfully toward Margaret who sat further down the table raising her own glass in a silent smiling toast.
Leo reached his small chubby hands toward the golden cup.
Wait, Isabel said her voice sharp.
Her hand shot out covering the rim of the goblet before Leo could grasp it, Garrick turned to her, his brow furrowing.
Isabel? What is it? Isabel leaned closer to the cup, inhaling deeply.
Beneath the overpowering scent of the heavy spices, her trained nose caught something faint, a sharp metallic bitterness.
It was an odor she knew intimately from her days foraging in the deadliest ravines of the mountains.
Do not drink this, Isabel said, her voice trembling, not from fear, but from a rising white-hot fury.
She picked up the goblet and turned to the king.
It is laced with Aconitum napellus, monkshood, a concentrated extract.
It causes complete respiratory failure in minutes.
The cinnamon is meant to mask the bitterness.
The music in the hall abruptly died.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Marguerite stood up, her chair screeching violently against the stone floor.
How dare you, you paranoid lying wretch? You accuse me of trying to poison the prince in front of the entire court.
I accuse you of exactly that, Isabel said, stepping out from behind the table, holding the goblet out.
You thought the spices would hide it, but monkshood leaves a distinct residue.
Look at the edges of the wine.
See the faint oily blue sheen? Elder Godwin stepped forward, his face flushed with anger.
This is madness.
The king must execute this omega for slandering a noble house.
If it is madness, Garrick’s voice cut through the room, cold and lethal.
He stood, his massive frame casting a terrifying shadow over the table.
He walked slowly toward Marguerite, taking the goblet from Isabel’s hand.
He held it out to the noblewoman.
Then drink it, Marguerite.
Prove her wrong.
Drink the wine you offered my son.
Marguerite stared at the golden cup.
The color drained completely from her beautiful face, leaving her as pale as the winter snow.
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard.
She looked at Lord Rothschild, seeking help, but the financier had taken a step back, severing his alliance in the face of absolute ruin.
I I cannot, Marguerite whispered, her facade crumbling.
I am allergic to cloves.
Drink it, Garrick roared, the sound accompanied by the terrifying bone-rattling sound of his bones beginning to crack as his wolf fought to break the surface.
His eyes were no longer human.
They were glowing, monstrous pools of liquid gold.
Marguerite fell to her knees, sobbing.
It was for the good of the pack.
The boy is weak.
You need a strong heir, Garrick.
You need me.
Treason, Captain Fenwick shouted, drawing his blade, mirrored instantly by a dozen royal guards who surrounded Marguerite and her retainers.
Garrick looked down at the weeping woman with absolute disgust.
You speak of strength, yet you resort to the tactics of a coward.
You are stripped of your titles, your lands, and your rank.
Take her to the dark cells and find every co-conspirator who helped her acquire this poison.
They will all hang before morning.
As the guards dragged a screaming Marguerite from the hall, the remaining nobles fell to their knees, bowing their heads in complete submission to their alpha king.
Garrick ignored them all.
He turned his back on the court and walked back to the high table.
He looked at little Leo, who was clutching Isabel’s skirts, and then he looked at Isabel.
She stood tall, her chest heaving, the firelight catching the defiant spark in her eyes.
She had saved his son again, not with claws or fangs, but with a brilliant mind and an unyielding spirit.
Garrick reached out, taking both of her hands in his.
The terrifying alpha aura dissolved, leaving only the man underneath.
The pack values the strength of the wolf, Garrick said, his voice loud enough for every kneeling noble to hear.
But true strength comes from the heart.
You have protected my bloodline, rooted out my enemies, and shown more bravery than any warrior in my army.
He dropped to one knee before her, shocking the entire hall.
A king bowed to no one.
Isabel, Garrick murmured, pressing his lips to the back of her scarred hand.
I do not care that you cannot shift.
My wolf recognizes your soul.
You are my equal.
Will you do me the honor of standing by my side, not as a ward, but as my mate, as the queen of the northern reaches? Tears finally broke free, spilling down Isabel’s cheeks.
She looked at Leo, who was beaming up at her, and then down at the fierce, loyal alpha king who offered her the world.
Yes, she whispered, her voice steady and sure.
I will.
Isabel’s journey from a discarded omega to a powerful queen proves that true strength isn’t defined by physical power, but by bravery, intellect, and an unyielding heart.
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