Forsaken By The Prince, Destined For The Alpha King

Brynn Webb POV:

"My Lady, His Highness won't even open the gates! Let's hurry back to the War Marshal's Manor before we embarrass ourselves any further!"

My fingers dug into the rough fabric of the carriage seat. I forced down the violent shivering of this frail body and steadied my breath.

Outside the wooden walls, low, guttural growls mixed with sharp laughter. The Crown Prince's Manor had barred its gates against me-his betrothed-on our alliance day.

In the corner of the carriage, my personal maid, Chloe Tucker, shrank back and trembled. She wiped a fake tear from her cheek while her eyes darted toward my waist.

I turned my head and stared at her. My ice-blue eyes held none of the old Brynn's cowardice. Chloe's breath hitched, and her jaw snapped shut.

Bang!

A heavy object slammed against the side of the carriage. The wooden frame rocked violently. A thick, rotting stench filled the air, and dark red blood splattered through the window gap, landing right on the heavy skirts of my alliance gown.

Chloe let out a piercing scream, threw her arms over her head, and curled up on the floorboard.

My stomach churned. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, reached out, and yanked the blood-soaked curtain aside.

Beyond the tall wrought-iron gates of the Crown Prince's Manor, several guards in gold-trimmed armor were laughing. One of them tossed a bloody wooden club from hand to hand. At the base of my carriage wheels lay the mangled, rotting corpse of a wild dog.

The street outside the manor was packed with commoners and low-ranking pack members pointing at my carriage.

"Look at that useless wolfless trash from the War Marshal's Manor," a man in the crowd jeered loudly. "In Silvermoon Kingdom, every werewolf gets their inner wolf by eighteen, yet she doesn't even have a scent! How dare an ugly freak with no inner wolf come here to claim a marriage alliance with the Crown Prince!"

Chloe scrambled across the floor and grabbed the edge of my sleeve.

"My Lady, I beg you! His Highness is warning us! If we don't leave now, we'll lose our lives!"

I looked down at her trembling hands. Beneath her panicked expression, a flash of gloating flickered in her eyes. This maid wasn't worried about my safety; she had been bought off to make sure I ran away in disgrace on my wedding day.

I flung her hand off my sleeve.

"Jaydan King dares to throw a rotting dog at his betrothed on our alliance day," I said, my voice as cold as winter frost. "My parents died fighting at the northern border for the royal family. If I go back today, what happens to the pride of the War Marshal's Manor?"

Chloe's face drained of all color at my direct use of the Crown Prince's name. She lunged forward, reaching out to clamp her hand over my mouth.

"Lady Have you lost your mind Speaking His Highness's name like that is treason! Do you want us both to die like this?"

I shifted my weight, dodged her palm, and locked my right hand around her wrist. My thumb pressed hard into the nerve cluster above her pulse.

Chloe gasped as the entire right side of her body went numb.

"Shut your mouth," I said, looking down at her as the faint scent of medicinal herbs on my fingertips brushed her nose. "Touch me again, and I will cripple your hands."

Chloe stared at me with wide, terrified eyes. I let go of her wrist, leaving her to collapse onto the floorboards like a puddle of mud. Turning around, I raised my booted foot and kicked the heavy carriage door open.

The wooden door banged against the frame. The laughter in the street cut off instantly.

I gathered my heavy, blood-spotted skirts, stepped out of the carriage right over the puddle of dog blood, and stood with my spine straight. A cool breeze brushed against the thick layer of ugly mud paste I wore to hide my real face. Several commoners near the carriage took a half-step back.

Behind the iron gates, the guard holding the bloody club frowned. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

"Step back, lowly wolfless!" he barked. "The Crown Prince gave orders that he is seeing no one today!"

I stopped three paces from the gate, my gaze locking onto him.

"Seeing no one?" I raised my voice so it carried down the entire street. "The Crown Prince welcomes the eldest daughter of the War Marshal's Manor with a rotting corpse on our alliance day. Is this the royal etiquette of the Alpha King's bloodline?"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even among werewolves who worshiped strength, insulting a fallen general's orphan like this was shameless.

The guard's face flushed dark red. With a metallic ring, he drew his longsword and thrust the tip through the gap in the iron gate, stopping an inch from my throat.

"Insolent wretch! Dare to slander His Highness, and I'll cut your head off right now for treason!"

The cold steel chilled my skin. I didn't blink. Instead, I took a half-step forward, bringing my neck right up to the blade's edge.

It was all a desperate gamble of mine-the lands and military power of the War Marshal's Manor came with an old rule set by the late king: if the eldest daughter had no inner wolf, she must marry into the royal bloodline, or everything my father left behind would be carved up among the rest of the family. I was twenty-four years and ten months old-only two months remained. The late king had arranged my betrothal years ago, and Jaydan was the man named in it. It wasn't that I wanted to marry him; it was simply that marrying him was the fastest way-the only way-to keep what my father had left behind.

"Kill me, then," I said, enunciating every word. "One hundred thousand iron cavalry of the War Marshal's Manor are still stationed at the northern border. If your blade cuts my throat today, let's see if the Alpha King skins you alive to calm the army's wrath!"

The guard's hand jerked. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and the sword tip wavered.

Hurried footsteps echoed from inside the courtyard. A middle-aged man in a tailored butler's uniform marched toward the gate, flanked by four armed guards.

Chloe poked her head out of the carriage door and cried out in relief, "Butler Edgar! It's Butler Edgar!"

Edgar Foster, the butler of the Crown Prince's manor, stopped behind the iron bars, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe with undisguised disgust.

Brynn Webb POV:

Edgar let out a loud, fake sigh through the iron bars.

"Miss Brynn, His Highness is unwell today," Edgar said, his tone dripping with mock pity. "This dead dog was merely dropped here by a stray wolf. It was an accident. Why must you make such a scene at the gates?"

I let out a cold laugh and pointed at the dead dog's blackened gums.

"An accident? A dog killed by Bone-Rot Grass poison just happened to land on my carriage? Your excuse is pathetic, Butler Edgar."

Edgar's eyelids twitched. He clearly hadn't expected a pathetic wolfless who couldn't even use the pack's Mind-Link to recognize a rare poison. He quickly straightened his collar and sneered.

"Nonsense! What would a useless wolfless know about poisons?"

The commoners around us nodded in agreement, muttering that the War Marshal's trash was just making things up to save face.

Ignoring their whispers, I reached up and pulled a plain silver hairpin from my hair. Before anyone could react, I stepped back to the carriage wheel, crouched down, and plunged the silver pin deep into the dead dog's mouth.

"Stop!" Edgar roared, his face twisting. "What is this crazy woman doing?"

I pulled the hairpin out and held it high in the air. Under the bright sunlight, the tip of the silver pin had turned pitch-black.

"Silver turns black upon touching Bone-Rot Grass," I said, my voice ringing clear across the square as I stared at Edgar's pale face. "This dog died less than an hour ago. Tell me, how did a stray wolf get its paws on a high-grade poison that only exists in the Crown Prince's private vault?"

Dead silence fell over the street. To werewolves, silver was a deadly weakness that burned their flesh and destroyed their inner wolves, so only the royal family controlled the silver mines and high-grade toxins. Even the lowest commoner understood what this meant. Someone inside the manor wanted me dead or terrified.

Veins bulged on Edgar's forehead. Realizing he was cornered, he pointed a shaking finger at me and shouted, "She's insane! She dared to bring a poisoned silver weapon to the Crown Prince's Manor! Guards, seize her!"

The gates swung open. Two guards charged out with drawn swords, reaching out to slam me into the dirt.

My eyes narrowed. Inside my wide sleeve, three hair-thin silver needles coated in nerve-paralyzing toxin slid between my fingers.

Just as I shifted my weight to strike, a sharp whistling sound cut through the air from the shadowed alley across the street.

Crack!

A pebble struck the right guard's knee joint with terrifying force. He screamed as his leg gave out, dropping him to his knees right in front of me.

The guard on the left froze in shock. Before he could swing his blade, a second pebble blurred past his wrist. The impact numbed his arm, and his heavy longsword clattered to the cobblestones.

My gaze flicked toward the dark alley. Between the shadows, I caught a glimpse of a black velvet cloak and smelled a faint, icy scent of pine mixed with suppressed blood. That was the crushing aura of a top-tier Alpha-one far stronger than anyone in the Crown Prince's manor.

Edgar stumbled back, looking around wildly. "Who's there? Who dares interfere with the Crown Prince's guards?"

The alley remained silent. Yet the invisible pressure hanging in the air made the surrounding werewolves gasp for breath.

Since someone in the shadows was handing me an opening, I wasn't going to waste it.

While Edgar was distracted looking at the alley, I stayed rooted to the spot and secretly flicked a poisoned needle from my sleeve at the butler. The poisoned needle struck the back of the butler's hand, and I pulled it back into my sleeve.

Edgar opened his mouth to bark another order, but only a raspy "Guh-uh-" came out. His vocal cords locked up as if scorched by fire.

He clutched his throat with both hands, his eyes bulging in sheer terror as he pointed at me.

"What's wrong, Butler Edgar?" I asked, tilting my head as I looked down at him. "Is your guilty conscience making it impossible to speak?"

The commoners gasped, stepping further back. First the guards collapsed out of nowhere, and now the arrogant butler had gone mute. The way they looked at me shifted from mockery to fear.

Suddenly, Chloe scrambled out of the carriage on her hands and knees.

She threw herself at the feet of the disarmed guard, pointing at me and shrieking at the top of her lungs, "Arrest her! She's hiding a deadly silver weapon on her body!"

My brows knitted together as I looked down at the traitor.

"I saw it with my own eyes!" Chloe screamed like a rabid dog, desperate to please the manor's masters. "She hid a pure silver dagger inside her waistband! She came here today to assassinate the Crown Prince!"

The crowd exploded into panic. Carrying a pure silver blade into an Alpha's residence was treason punishable by the execution of one's entire clan.

A dozen fully armored guards poured out of the manor gates, surrounding me in a tight circle of steel.

Standing at the center of the blades, I brushed my fingertips over the hard lump hidden inside my waistband, and the corners of my lips curled up.

Brynn Webb POV:

Over a dozen cold sword tips hovered inches from my chest.

Hiding behind the guards, Chloe pointed at my waist, her voice cracking with excitement. "Right there! That hard lump is a silver dagger! She wanted to stab His Highness during the alliance ceremony!"

I stood still inside the ring of steel, not bothering to offer a single word of defense.

At the edge of the square, an unmarked black carriage rolled to a stop. Though I couldn't see inside, the icy pine scent from earlier drifted on the wind, telling me the mysterious Alpha was still watching.

"Make way!"

A harsh female voice barked from the courtyard. The guards parted as a tall, muscular woman with a scarred face marched out. It was Martha Price, the head female enforcer of the Crown Prince's Manor, notorious for torturing offending servants to death.

Her small, cruel eyes locked onto me. "How bold of a wolfless trash to murder someone and still bring silver here!"

Martha cracked her thick knuckles and strode toward me.

"To catch a thief, you need stolen goods," I said, lifting my chin. "Which one of your eyes saw me assassinate anyone?"

"Still talking back?" Martha sneered. "Once I rip your clothes off and pull that murder weapon out in front of everyone, we'll see how tough your mouth is!"

She lunged forward, her massive hand clawing straight for the collar of my gown to tear it open in the middle of the street.

My eyes turned frigid. Instead of stepping back, I slid half a step to the side at a sharp angle. Martha's hand grazed my shoulder, grabbing nothing but air.

Throw off balance by her own momentum, she stumbled forward. Furious, she whipped her left fist around, channeling her Alpha strength to smash my jaw.

I didn't block force with force. My hands shot out like vipers, wrapping around her thick wrist. Using her own forward weight, I yanked her arm down hard and drove my right knee straight up into her stomach.

"Ugh!"

Martha grunted, her heavy body stumbling backward three steps as she clutched her belly, staring at me in disbelief.

The surrounding guards froze. In werewolf society, genetics determined everything. An Alpha or Beta warrior possessed immense physical strength, while a wolfless had the weak body of a human child. None of them could wrap their heads around how I had just knocked Martha back.

Martha's face turned a dark, bruised purple. She ripped a wide-bladed short sword from her belt and leveled it straight at my throat. "Kill her! Dead or alive!"

The guards snapped out of their daze and raised their swords to charge. Blades surged toward me from every direction, the nearest tip stopping just inches from my heart. My fingers tightened around the poisoned needles in my sleeve, ready to fight to the death-but if I killed them all here, the treason charge would stick forever.

"Halt!" A herald ran out from the main hall and shouted, "His Highness the Crown Prince orders the assassin brought to the main hall for personal interrogation!"

Martha lowered her blade, spitting blood onto the ground as she glared at me. "You got lucky, bitch. Inside the hall, His Highness has a hundred ways to make you beg for death."

I let go of my needles and smoothed down my wrinkled skirts. "Lead the way. I'm quite eager to meet my noble fiancé."

Surrounded by guards, I walked through the iron gates, leaving the murmuring crowd behind.

Esteban King POV:

Inside the black carriage, I leaned back against the velvet cushions, tapping my long fingers lightly against my knee.

Through the narrow gap in the window curtain, I watched the slender figure in the blood-stained gown walk fearlessly into the lion's den. Even with that hideous mud smeared across her face, her ice-blue eyes burned like cold stars.

Beside me, my shadow guard, Vance Sullivan, lowered his head. "My Lord, the silver poison in your veins is acting up again. Should we return to the castle?"

I raised a white handkerchief to my lips and coughed softly, suppressing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. For years, the entire Silvermoon Kingdom believed Lord Esteban was a dying cripple ruined by silver poison, unaware that the ancient Lycan bloodline in my veins was merely devouring the toxin.

"Not yet," I said, my voice low and raspy. "That little wildcat has claws. Drive to the side entrance. I want to see how my dear nephew plans to handle this."