She Was Sent to Die in the Alpha King’s Castle — But He Recognized His Mate

She was dragged through the snow, the heavy iron gates of the Wolf King’s castle closing behind her. She expected to be torn apart by the monster who ruled the north. Instead, the towering alpha dropped to his knees, inhaled her scent, and whispered a single word, mine.

The winter wind did not merely blow, it howled like a starved beast against the wooden frame of the prison carriage. Vivian Lancaster sat huddled in the corner, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, shivering beneath the threadbare woolen blanket that smelled of damp earth and horses. Her breath plumed in the freezing air, each exhale a ghostly reminder of the life she was rapidly leaving behind.

Outside the iron barred window, the lush rolling green hills of the southern kingdom of Okehaven had long since vanished. In their place rose the jagged, unforgiving spires of the Valerius mountains, the realm of the lycans, the domain of the alpha king. Vivian’s wrists were chafed raw from the heavy iron shackles binding her.

The metal was bitterly cold, biting into her skin, but the physical pain was a distant ache compared to the agonizing sting of betrayal that gnawed at her heart. She was not supposed to be here. By the laws of the treaty of blood and frost, forged a century ago to keep the northern werewolves from slaughtering the southern humans, a noble bride was to be sent to the alpha king as a tribute every ten years.

This year, the tribute was supposed to be Genevieve, the pampered, cruel daughter of Vivian’s uncle, Lord Reginald Lancaster. But Reginald was a man who valued his own bloodline above honor. When Vivian’s father, the honorable Lord Richard, died under highly suspicious circumstances a year prior, Reginald had seized control of the Lancaster estate.

He stripped Vivian of her titles, dressed her in the rags of a scullery maid, and when the northern emissaries demanded their tribute, he had dragged his weeping niece from her bed in the dead of night. You are an orphan and a burden, Vivian, Reginald had whispered, his fingers digging into her arms as his guards bound her. The beast in the north will not know the difference between a lord’s daughter and a lord’s niece.

Serve your family one last time. Go and die so my Genevieve might live. And so, she was sent to the slaughter. The carriage jolted violently, hitting a deep rut in the frozen mud. Vivian slammed against the wooden wall, a sharp gasp escaping her cracked lips. Outside, she could hear the cruel laughter of Captain Royce, the commander of her uncle’s guard.

He and his men had been tasked with delivering her to the border. They had spent the last two weeks mocking her, loudly discussing the gruesome rumors of what the Alpha King, Alister Montgomery, did to his human brides. They say he doesn’t even wait for the wedding night. Captain Royce’s voice drifted through the howling wind, laced with sadistic amusement.

They say the beast shifts into his monstrous form the moment he smells human blood. The last tribute, what was her name? The duke’s daughter. They say they found pieces of her silk gowns scattered across the snow the very next morning. Another guard laughed. At least this one is skinny. Might get stuck in the monster’s teeth.

Think the king will mind that Lord Reginald sent him the runt of the litter? Vivian squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the hot tears that threatened to freeze on her cheeks. She would not cry. She had shed all her tears in the dungeons of her own home. If she was going to die in the ice, she would do it with the quiet dignity that her father had instilled in her.

The carriage ground to a sudden, agonizing halt. The horses whinnied in terror, their hooves striking the frozen earth as if desperate to flee. Vivian’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She pulled herself up to the small barred window and peered out into the encroaching twilight.

Before them loomed Ironhold Castle. It was a fortress carved directly into the black stone of the mountain. A colossal, terrifying monument to the raw power of the predators who built it. Its towers pierced the heavy snow-laden clouds, and massive gargoyles, no statues of snarling wolves, flanked the titanic iron gates.

There was no moat, only a sheer drop into a pitch-black abyss on either side of the narrow stone bridge that led to the entrance. Get out, Captain Royce barked, unlocking the carriage door and hauling Vivian out into the blistering cold by her hair. She stumbled, falling hard onto the snow-covered bridge.

The ice cut into her palms, but she bit her lip, refusing to give Royce the satisfaction of a scream. He dragged her to her feet, shoving her roughly toward the towering iron gates. The southern guards were trembling, their hands white-knuckled on the hilts of their swords. They were terrified.

They were in the heart of monster territory, and they knew that if the wolves decided the treaty was no longer to their liking, not a single human would leave this mountain alive. Open the gates, Royce shouted, his voice cracking with fear. We bring the tribute of Okehaven, as demanded by the treaty.

For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happened. The wind screamed through the stone archways, and then, a deep, mechanical groan echoed through the valley. The massive iron gates began to swing inward, revealing a courtyard swallowed by shadows. Out of the darkness, figures began to emerge.

They were impossibly large, men and women standing over six feet tall, draped in heavy furs and leather armor. Their eyes caught the dim light, glowing with an unnatural predatory luminescence, amber, gold, and piercing ice blue. A low, collective growl vibrated through the air, a sound so deep it rattled the marrow in Vivian’s bones.

Leave her, a voice echoed from the courtyard. It was a woman’s voice, harsh and commanding. A tall, scarred female warrior stepped forward, her golden eyes fixed on Captain Royce with undisguised contempt. And ride back to your cowardly king before we decide your horses look like a good meal.

Royce didn’t need to be told twice. He shoved Vivian forward one last time, turned on his heel, and sprinted back to his men. The carriage was turned around so fast it nearly tipped over, the southern guards whipping their horses in a desperate frenzy to escape the mountain. Vivian was left entirely alone.

Shivering in her ragged dress, surrounded by a ring of predators, she stood at the edge of the shadow, the gates slowly groaning shut behind her, sealing her inside the Wolf King’s domain. She lifted her chin, wrapping her arms around her freezing shoulders. She was ready for death.

The interior of Ironhold Castle was a stark contrast to the elegant tapestried halls of the south. Here, the architecture was brutalist and imposing, constructed from dark stone and heavy timber. Massive hearths roared with blazing fires, casting long flickering shadows against the walls, which were adorned with the mounted skulls of massive, unrecognizable beasts, and the torn banners of defeated enemies.

Vivian was marched through the corridors by the scarred female warrior, whose name she had not yet been given. The halls were lined with the members of the king’s pack. They did not speak. They only watched her, their nostrils flaring as they caught her scent. She could feel their predatory gazes crawling over her skin.

She knew what they saw, a frail, fragile human, prey. She was led to the great hall, a cavernous room supported by colossal pillars of black stone. At the far end of the room, upon a dais of dark iron, sat the Alpha King’s throne. The hall was packed with hundreds of werewolves, all murmuring in low rumbling tones.

When Vivian entered, the murmuring ceased instantly. A suffocating silence fell over the room. The female warrior pushed Vivian forward, forcing her to stand alone in the center of the vast cold floor. The tribute from the south, my king, the warrior announced, bowing her head deeply.

Vivian forced herself to look up, her eyes tracing the steps of the dais until they landed on the man sitting upon the throne. Alister Montgomery, the wolf king of the north. The rumors had painted him as a deformed monster, a beast that walked on two legs covered in coarse fur and dripping with blood.

But the man looking down at her was terrifyingly, devastatingly human, at least in form. He was massive. His broad shoulders and thick chest straining against the dark fine leather of his tunic. A heavy fur cloak was draped over one shoulder. His face was ruggedly handsome with sharp aristocratic cheekbones and a strong jaw, but a brutal jagged scar ran from his left temple down to his collarbone, a testament to a life lived in violence.

His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, falling loosely around his face. But it was his eyes that stole the breath from Vivian’s lungs. They were not human. They were the color of molten gold, burning with an intense ancient fire that seemed to pierce right through her flesh and look directly at her soul.

Alister leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked forward, agitated. He hated the treaty. He despised the humans of the south for their deceit and their weakness. Every ten years they sent him a trembling weeping noblewoman expecting him to marry her to secure their borders.

He never killed them. That was a myth the humans invented to terrify their own children, but he never touched them either. He usually locked them in a comfortable tower, ignoring them until they grew old and died, preserving the peace while keeping his bloodline pure.

He looked at the frail shivering girl in the center of his hall. She was dressed in literal rags. Her dark hair was tangled, her face smeared with dirt, her lips blue from the cold. Alister sneered, his deep voice vibrating through the hall like distant thunder. Lord Reginald insults me.

He sends me a beggar instead of his daughter. Does he think the wolves of the north are blind to the filth he sweeps from his streets? The pack erupted into angry snarls. The sound was deafening. Vivian’s knees buckled and she fell to the cold stone floor.

The heavy iron shackles on her wrists clanking loudly. She closed her eyes waiting for the massive wolves to descend upon her and tear her to pieces. On the throne Alister stood up. He intended to order his beta to throw the girl in the dungeons until he could decide how to punish the southern king for this insult.

He stepped down from the dais, his heavy boots echoing on the stone as he walked toward her. He was angry. His beast was restless, clawing at the inside of his chest. He stopped a few feet away from the trembling human girl, looking down at her bowed head in disgust.

And then, the heavy metallic scent of the freezing wind shifted, carrying something else to him. Alister froze. His lungs expanded as he took a breath and a scent hit him so hard it felt like a physical blow. It was the scent of night-blooming jasmine, crushed pine needles, and sweet intoxicating honey.

It was a scent that bypassed his human logic and struck directly at the primal core of his lycanthrope soul. His golden eyes dilated, the pupils swallowing the irises until his eyes were entirely pitch black. His heart, which beat at a steady slow rhythm, suddenly exploded into a frantic violent cadence.

The beast within him, usually a dark controlled shadow, roared to life, violently taking control of his senses. Mate. The word echoed in his mind, ancient and absolute. The moon goddess’s decree, the other half of his soul. It was a myth, a legend that most wolves never experienced in their lifetime.

To find a true fated mate was the rarest of blessings. To find one in a human, in a filthy, shivering, bruised human sent as a sacrificial lamb was impossible. But the beast did not care about politics. The beast did not care about the treaty. The beast only knew that the fragile creature on the floor belonged to him.

And she was bleeding. Alister let out a sound that terrified even his most hardened warriors. A deep, guttural vibrating rumble that shook the dust from the rafters. The pack instantly dropped to their knees. Baring their necks in absolute submission to the overwhelming, suffocating wave of alpha aura that exploded from their king.

Vivian whimpered, curling herself into a tighter ball, waiting for the killing blow. Instead, she heard the heavy thud of Alister dropping to his knees on the stone before her. The heat radiating from his massive body was like a furnace. Large, calloused hands, surprisingly gentle, reached out and grabbed the thick iron chains binding her wrists.

With a sickening crunch of metal, Alister snapped the iron shackles as if they were made of brittle clay. He tossed the chains aside. Vivian gasped, finally opening her eyes. The alpha king was mere inches from her face. His chest heaved. He reached out.

His large fingers trembling slightly as he brushed a tangled lock of hair from her dirt-streaked cheek. He leaned in, burying his face into the curve of her neck. Vivian stiffened. Her heart stopping, entirely convinced he was about to rip her throat out. Instead, he inhaled deeply, his nose dragging against her freezing skin.

He let out a ragged, possessive sigh that sent a shockwave of heat straight to her core. When he pulled back, his eyes were glowing brighter than the sun. He looked at her not with hunger for flesh, but with an absolute, terrifying devotion. Mine, Alister whispered.

His voice rough and thick with emotion. He didn’t wait for her to process the word. Before Vivian could even breathe, Alister scooped her up into his massive arms, cradling her against his chest as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. He stood, turning his terrifying gaze upon his stunned pack.

If anyone in this castle so much as looks at her with disrespect, Alister roared, his voice echoing with absolute authority. I will tear their spine from their body. She is your queen. She is my mate. The shock in the hall was palpable. A heavy silence that was quickly broken by the unified echoing howl of the pack acknowledging their new Luna.

But Vivian didn’t hear it. The warmth of Alister’s body, combined with the sheer overwhelming terror and exhaustion of the past weeks, finally took its toll. Her vision went black, and she fainted in the arms of the monster who had just claimed her as his soulmate.

When Vivian awoke, the biting cold of the Valerius Mountains was gone. She found herself buried beneath layers of unbelievably soft furs, lying upon a massive bed draped in rich crimson velvet. A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth, filling the room with the comforting scent of cedar and wood smoke.

It was a chamber fit for an empress, a jarring contrast to the bloody dungeon she had expected. The heavy oak door creaked open, and Vivian scrambled backward, pulling the furs up to her chin. The scarred female warrior from the courtyard entered, carrying a silver tray laden with roasted meats and fresh bread.

You are awake, the woman said, her tone unexpectedly gentle. I am Matilda, the king’s beta. By his order, I am your personal guard. Where am I, Vivian rasped, eyeing the food suspiciously. Is this a trick? Matilda let out a short barking laugh.

If the Alpha King wanted you dead, little bird, he would not have snapped iron chains to hold you. He claimed you as his mate. To him, you are the most precious thing in this world. Your uncle thought he was sending you to the slaughter. Instead, he handed the most powerful man in the north his greatest treasure.

Before Vivian could process the concept of being a werewolf’s fated mate, the door swung open again. Alister Montgomery filled the doorway. Without his heavy furs, dressed only in a dark linen shirt that clung to his heavy chest, he was even more intimidating. Yet, the moment his golden eyes locked onto Vivian, the tension in his broad shoulders melted away.

Leave us, Matilda, Alister commanded softly. The beta bowed and slipped out. Alister took a slow, deliberate step into the room, approaching the bed as if approaching a skittish deer. Vivian pressed herself harder into the headboard, her knuckles white. The sheer power radiating from him was suffocating.

You are frightened, Alister said. His voice a deep, gravelly rumble. You have been told your whole life that I am a mindless monster, aren’t you? Vivian whispered, clinging to her Lancaster defiance even as her heart raced. A sad smile touched Alister’s lips.

I am a killer. I am a warlord, but I am not your executioner. Slowly, the terrifying alpha king sank to his knees beside the bed, bowing his head in a gesture of absolute submission. I am yours. My life, my crown, my pack, they belong to you.

Over the next week, Alister stayed true to his word. Vivian was not treated as a prisoner, but revered as a deity. She was dressed in fine silks and winter furs. When she walked the halls with Matilda, the massive werewolves bowed in absolute submission to their new Luna.

Alister visited her every evening, keeping a respectful distance. He brought her ancient books, taught her northern history, and spoke to her as an equal. The terror gripping Vivian’s heart began to thaw, replaced by a blossoming, undeniable warmth. But a golden cage is still a cage, and not all wolves welcomed a fragile human queen.

Lord Cassius, a massive grizzled pack elder, despised humans. He remembered the old wars and the burn of silver. To Cassius, a human Luna meant a weak bloodline and the eventual downfall of Ironhold. The betrayal happened on a crisp afternoon.

Vivian was admiring pale blue blooms in the castle’s glass winter conservatory, accompanied by Matilda. Without warning, a heavy crash shattered the peace. Three massive, fully shifted werewolves burst through the conservatory doors, fangs bared and saliva dripping from their maws. Cassius, the leader, let out a bloodcurdling howl and lunged for Vivian.

Run, Matilda screamed. She shifted midair, her human skin ripping away to reveal a massive gray wolf. She collided with Cassius, the two beasts crashing into a table of orchids in a violent tangle of snapping jaws. Vivian stumbled backward, dropping her book.

The other two rogue wolves circled the room, easily bypassing Matilda’s brawl. Their glowing yellow eyes locked onto Vivian as they stalked toward her, low to the ground. She backed up until her spine hit the freezing glass wall. There was nowhere left to run. The wolves lunged.

Suddenly, the entire glass roof of the conservatory shattered inward. A massive shadow dropped from the sky, landing with the force of a meteor between Vivian and the rogues. Shards of glass rained down like diamonds. It was Alister, but he was not human.

He had shifted into a Lycan form so colossal and terrifying that the rogues instantly halted, whining in fear. Standing eight feet tall, covered in pitch-black fur with claws like steel scythes, Alister let out a deafening roar. His golden eyes were entirely devoid of mercy.

In a blur of monstrous speed, Alister slaughtered them. He seized the first wolf by the throat, crushing its windpipe with a sickening snap. As the second tried to flee, Alister caught its hind leg, dragging it back and clamping his massive jaws down on its spine. In less than a minute, the pristine white marble was painted red.

Alister, still in his blood-soaked beast form, turned slowly toward Vivian. He was breathing heavily, gore dripping from his muzzle. He took a step toward her. Vivian was trembling violently on the floor, but as the beast loomed over her, the murderous fire in his eyes faded into agonizing panic.

He dropped to his massive knees, carefully hiding his blood-soaked claws behind his back. He let out a soft, heartbreaking whimper, a plea for forgiveness for frightening her. Vivian looked at the carnage, then up at the terrifying monster kneeling before her like a chastened puppy.

He had torn through solid glass to protect her. Slowly, her hand trembling, she reached out and pressed her palm against the beast’s fur-covered cheek. Alister leaned into her touch, a deep purr rumbling in his massive chest. In that moment, Vivian knew the truth.

He was a monster, yes, but he was her monster. The blood on the conservatory floor was cleaned, but the shift in Ironhold Castle was permanent. Word of the Alpha King’s ruthless defense of his human mate spread through the Valerius Mountains like wildfire.

Any remaining whispers of dissent among the pack were silenced. Vivian was no longer seen as a fragile southern tribute. She was the Luna, chosen by the Moon Goddess, protected by the king’s own claws. In the weeks that followed, the terrifying king of the north showed Vivian a tenderness she had never known.

He taught her the history of his people, sitting with her for hours by the roaring hearth in his private library. He showed her maps of the snowy tundra, tracing the borders of his vast kingdom with a calloused finger. And, most importantly, he gave her back her voice.

When she spoke, Alister listened with an intensity that made her heart race. He did not treat her as a subordinate or a delicate flower. He treated her as his equal. But, the peace of the frozen north was a fragile thing, easily shattered by the greed of the south.

Three hundred miles away, in the lavish, sun-drenched capital of Okehaven, Lord Reginald Lancaster realized his fatal mistake. Spies from the border outposts had brought back impossible news. The Alpha King had not slaughtered the girl in rags. He had crowned her.

Reginald was consumed by a cold, paralyzing terror. He knew that once Vivian solidified her power, she would tell the king the truth about her stolen inheritance and the suspicious death of her father, Lord Richard. The Alpha King would descend upon Okehaven with an army of immortal beasts, and Reginald would be ripped to shreds.

Desperation breeds treacherous lies. Reginald demanded an emergency audience with King Frederick Alden, the aging and paranoid ruler of the southern kingdom. Reginald fell to his knees before the throne, weeping mock tears, and delivered a masterfully crafted fabrication.

My king, the beasts of the north have broken the treaty of blood and frost, Reginald cried out, his voice echoing through the grand hall. I sent my beloved daughter Genevieve as tribute, but the monster rejected her. He kidnapped my poor niece Vivian, dragged her into the ice, and now holds her hostage.

He is gathering his packs. The Alpha King plans to use her capture as an excuse to march on our lands and slaughter us all. King Frederick, terrified of the lycanthropes and easily manipulated by his closest advisers, bought the lie entirely. He authorized the deployment of the Silver Vanguard, an elite legion of five thousand men armed with silver-forged weapons commanded by the decorated veteran General Cedric Hawthorne.

Reginald, insisting on rescuing his beloved niece himself, rode beside the general. The warning bells of Ironhold Castle rang on a bitter, freezing morning. Vivian was in the war room standing beside Alister at the massive obsidian table when Matilda burst through the heavy oak doors, her chest heaving.

My alpha, Matilda gasped, dropping to one knee. A southern army marches through the frozen pass. They bring siege engines, ballistas loaded with silver-tipped bolts. They are flying the banners of Okehaven and the Lancaster crest. Vivian’s blood ran cold.

Reginald. Her uncle had not come to rescue her. He had come to silence her before the truth could destroy her. Alister’s golden eyes flared with a lethal, blinding light. The air in the room grew heavy, suffocating under the weight of his sudden, overwhelming fury.

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck ticking as his beast clawed at the surface. They dare bring silver to my borders, he growled, the sound vibrating through the stone floor. They dare march on my home. He turned to Vivian, his massive hands gently gripping her shoulders.

The murderous rage in his eyes softened for a fraction of a second as he looked at her. Matilda will take you to the underground catacombs. You will be safe there. I will break their lines and paint the snow with your uncle’s blood. No, Vivian said.

Alister blinked, stunned. Vivian, silver is lethal to us. It is not a place for… I said no, Alister, Vivian interrupted, her voice steady, ringing with an authority she hadn’t known she possessed. She stepped out of his grip and moved toward the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where hundreds of werewolves were already shifting, their roars shaking the foundations of the castle.

She turned back to face the Alpha King. She was no longer the shivering girl in rags. She wore a tailored gown of deep crimson velvet, a thick cloak of black wolf fur draped over her shoulders, and a necklace of northern iron resting against her collarbone.

My uncle is using my name to justify this war, Vivian said, her dark eyes flashing with fierce determination. He manipulated King Frederick. If you slaughter that army, you will be confirming every lie Reginald told them. It will start a war that will last for generations, and your people will die.

Alister stepped closer, towering over her. What would you have me do, little bird? Let them breach the gates? No, Vivian said, lifting her chin. I want you to let me speak to them. General Cedric Hawthorne is an honorable man. He was my father’s oldest friend.

If I can show him the truth, the vanguard will stand down. It is too dangerous, Alister rumbled, his wolf rejecting the idea of putting her anywhere near the enemy. Vivian reached out, pressing her hand over his hammering heart. You told me this pack belongs to me.

You told me I am your Luna. Let me protect our people. Alister looked down at the fierce, beautiful woman who held his soul in her hands. The beast within him whined in protest, but the king recognized the absolute strength of his queen. Slowly, he nodded.

We ride together. If they fire a single arrow, I will tear the general’s head from his shoulders. The snowy plains of the Valerius Valley were a sea of gleaming steel. Five thousand southern soldiers stood in perfect formation, their breath rising in thick white plumes against the freezing air.

At the front of the lines, massive ballistas were loaded with heavy bolts of pure silver, aimed directly at the towering iron gates of the Wolf King’s fortress. General Cedric Hawthorne sat upon his armored warhorse, his face grim beneath his helmet. Beside him, Lord Reginald Lancaster practically vibrated with nervous energy, his eyes darting toward the terrifying statues flanking the bridge.

Give the order, General, Reginald hissed, pulling his fur-lined cloak tighter around his neck. Tear the gates down. We must rescue my niece before the beast devours her. General Hawthorne raised his hand, preparing to signal the artillery.

Suddenly, the mechanical groan of the massive iron gates echoed through the valley. The vanguard instantly drew their swords. The sound of five thousand blades sliding from their scabbards ringing like a death knell. The soldiers braced themselves, expecting a horde of monstrous bloodthirsty beasts to pour out from the darkness.

Instead, a single massive black direwolf emerged from the shadows. It was the size of a draft horse, its eyes burning like molten gold, radiating an aura of power so intense that the southern horses whinnied in terror and stepped back. But it was not the Alpha King’s monstrous form that caused General Hawthorne to freeze.

It was the rider. Seated upon the massive beast’s back, her posture perfectly straight, was Vivian Lancaster. She wore no armor, only the rich, heavy furs of northern royalty. Upon her head rested a delicate crown of woven dark iron and winter sapphires.

She looked ethereal, untouchable, and undeniably alive. Behind her, the king’s vanguard marched out two hundred lycan warriors in their human forms, moving with terrifying predatory grace, halting directly behind their queen. Matilda stood closest, her hand resting on the hilt of a massive broadsword.

Hold your fire, General Hawthorne bellowed, lowering his arm rapidly. Hold. Reginald’s face drained of all color. He stared at his niece, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish. It’s a trick, he stammered, panic rising in his throat.

The beast has bewitched her. Shoot her. Shoot the monster she rides. General Hawthorne! Vivian’s voice rang out, clear and sharp, carrying across the frozen expanse. She slipped gracefully from Alister’s back. The massive black wolf stepped forward, pressing his side against her legs in a protective stance, his chest rumbling with a low, continuous growl that shook the earth beneath the soldiers’ feet.

General Hawthorne spurred his horse forward a few paces, his brow furrowed in deep confusion. Lady Vivian, your uncle claims you were taken by force, that you were tortured. We came to bring you home to Okehaven. My uncle is a liar and a traitor to the crown, Vivian declared, her voice never wavering.

She pointed a steady finger directly at Reginald. He did not send his daughter as tribute. He stripped me of my titles, bound me in iron, and sent me here to die, hoping to erase the true Lancaster heir. Murmurs of shock rippled through the front lines of the vanguard.

Lies! Reginald shrieked, his voice cracking. He drew his sword, turning to Hawthorne. She is corrupted! Kill her! She speaks the truth, Cedric, Vivian said, using the general’s first name, her gaze softening slightly as she looked at the old veteran. Look at me.

Do I look like a prisoner? I am the Luna of Ironhold. I am the Alpha King’s mate, and I have one more truth to share, one that Reginald hoped to bury in the snow. The entire valley fell dead silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

My father, Lord Richard, did not die of a sudden fever, Vivian announced, her voice thick with suppressed grief and righteous anger. Arthur Pendleton, the estate’s apothecary, confessed to me in secret before I was dragged away. Reginald paid him with Okehaven gold to slip nightshade into my father’s wine.

Reginald Lancaster is a murderer, a usurper, and he has used the king’s army to cover his tracks. General Hawthorne’s face went rigid. Richard Lancaster had been a brother to him on the battlefield. Slowly, agonizingly, Hawthorne turned his head to look at Reginald.

Reginald was trembling violently, his sword shaking in his grip. General, you cannot believe the words of a whore who mates with dogs. I command you to… He never finished the sentence. With a lightning-fast motion, General Hawthorne drew his heavy steel broadsword and struck the flat of the blade against the side of Reginald’s head.

The treacherous lord collapsed off his horse, tumbling into the snow unconscious. Hawthorne sheathed his sword and dismounted. He walked forward, completely ignoring the massive, snarling black wolf that bared its fangs at his approach. He stopped ten paces from Vivian and slowly, deliberately, dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

My lady, Hawthorne said, his voice thick with emotion, your father was the greatest man I ever knew. I failed to protect him. I will not fail his daughter. The vanguard stands down. We will drag this traitor back to Okehaven in chains, and King Frederick will hear the truth.

Vivian exhaled a long, shaky breath, the tension leaving her shoulders. Thank you, General. Tell King Frederick the North desires peace, but tell him also the North does not forgive. Hawthorne nodded, rising to his feet. He signaled his men, and the massive southern army began to slowly turn around, leaving the frozen pass without a single drop of blood being spilled.

Vivian stood in the snow, watching them leave. She felt a sudden, massive wave of heat envelop her from behind. Alister had shifted back to his human form. He wrapped his thick, heavily muscled arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, burying his face in her dark hair.

You are terrifying, little bird, Alister murmured, his deep voice vibrating against her spine. Vivian leaned back into his embrace, placing her hands over his. She looked out at the jagged, beautiful spires of the Valerius Mountains, no longer a prison, but a kingdom. Her kingdom.

I had a good teacher, she whispered. Alister turned her gently in his arms, his golden eyes filled with an endless burning devotion. He cupped her face, leaning down to press his lips against hers in a slow, searing kiss that sealed their bond for eternity.

She had been sent to the ice to die. Instead, she found a love that could melt the winter and a king who would burn the world to keep her safe.