"I am bound by duty, but I will not be chained. A crown weighs heavily, and sometimes the only way to rule is to break free."
I was about to lose my fucking mind.
The council chamber was suffocating in a thick haze of stale power and whispered betrayals hanging heavy in the air. Fifteen Alphas sat rigidly around the long obsidian table, their sharp suits and sharper gazes masking the roiling tension beneath. Three High Elders perched stiffly at one end, their silver hair and centuries-old wisdom a heavy reminder of tradition. Two territory liaisons sat quietly, trying to appear important but waiting for the session to end. Every voice bounced in endless circles, polishing meaningless words with diplomatic varnish. My wolf was restless, pacing inside me with claws clicking against my ribs. The constant strain of this political theatre was eating at my sanity. I could feel his ears pinning back, every muscle taut, every instinct screaming for action rather than empty words.
"…and with Luna's dowry secured, Your Majesty, we believe it is prudent to proceed with the crimson banners symbolic of the blood unity between your Northern reign and Luna Seraphine's Southern stronghold," a council member droned, eyes glinting like sharpened daggers beneath furrowed brows.
They were still talking about fucking banners, and I stood abruptly, the heavy oak chair scraping sharply against the marble floor. Silence snapped through the chamber like a blade.
"My answer remains the same," I said, voice low but cutting through the pretentious air like ice. "Choose gold. Choose crimson. Burn the banners altogether and start over if you must. But do not speak to me of fabric again."
A brief, awkward silence, and not even one dared contradict me. I turned sharply and strode out, my dark robes billowing behind me like a gathering storm. Marcus Delane, my Beta and most trusted advisor, fell into step beside me with long, purposeful strides.
"You're supposed to look like a king, Alpha," he murmured, voice low.
"I'm trying not to look like a monster," I snapped back, bitterness trailing each word. "They're making it difficult."
"You have not shifted in the council hall yet. That is commendable restraint."
"Don't tempt me," I drawled, a humorless laugh hovering on the edge of my lips.
Marcus smirked briefly. "Wouldn't dare."
We passed through the stained-glass corridor that led to the throne room. The painted shards caught the fading daylight, casting fractured colors on the polished stone floors, but none of the beauty could calm the storm raging inside me. My temple throbbed, my wolf growled deep and low, a warning that time was running out. The Luna Union was coming, closing in like an iron trap, a marriage forged of convenience and cold politics, not heart or desire.
Luna Seraphine was strong and respected, beautiful, but she could never mind.
I needed air and silence so that I could recollect my thoughts. I needed to disappear, if only for a while.
"I'm leaving," I said abruptly.
Marcus blinked, clearly taken aback. "Leaving? What about the council?"
"The kingdom," I corrected.
His gaze snapped at me. "Alaric—"
"Don't start," I cut him off sharply. "You are my advisor, not my leash. I am not going to war, but I am going for a drive."
"You can't just vanish, Your Majesty." Marcus pointed out.
His eyes widened. "You are the Alpha King. You are not allowed."
I gritted my teeth. "I can. I am the Alpha King, and no crown can hold me down." The growl that escaped rattled off the stone walls.
Marcus threw up his hands in frustration. "And I'm the one who has to answer for your disappearance."
I stopped and faced him fully, exhaustion bleeding into my voice. "I am not asking, Marcus. I need a break. Every manipulated word, every ceremonial game, every goddamned conversation about my mate as if I am a pawn to be traded like livestock."
Marcus stared at me long and hard, then finally exhaled a slow breath. "Fine. Two hours. Three. Where?"
"Anywhere that doesn't know my name."
Two hours later, the royal convoy was a distant memory, swallowed by winding roads and forgotten territory deep in the Appalachian outskirts. Roan Ridge: a patchwork of sleepy towns and cracked highways, barely tethered to the crown's iron fist. No diplomats. No cameras. Just rugged land and quiet, unassuming faces.
The SUV we drove was stripped clean of any royal insignia. No crest. No recognition. Just Marcus and me, two wolves hiding in plain sight.
"I missed this," I admitted quietly.
Marcus did not ask what I meant. He already knew. Before the crown, before the court, before the war tore the continent into fractured territories, we had been nothing more than two wolves running wild beneath the stars. He parked behind a battered bar with a flickering neon sign, Greyline. I stepped out into the night, cool air sharp with pine and the faint promise of rain, and my wolf lifted his head instinctively. Then I caught a scent on the wind, and that same scent from the dream and sharp and sweet.
Citrus. Strawberry, an Omega, and a male. My lungs seized in shock. This pull was not normal for an Alpha King. It rattled something deep inside me, something I had not felt in years. My wolf surged forward, muscles tightening, claws flexing beneath my skin. My eyes darkened, vision sharpening until every detail burst into crystal clarity.
Drawn. Pulled like a magnet, and the scent led me to the far end of the parking lot, toward a black armored truck.
There stood a man, lean and tall, casually leaning against the hood like he owned the block, even the whole city. His arms were wrapped in worn leather, muscles defined but relaxed. Dark curls fell over sharp cheekbones. His eyes flicked up the instant I moved, and his wolf was already surfacing, raw and wild. His body stiffened, and I knew that he scented my presence, and I knew I was there. Our eyes locked and clashed in a silent, brutal war of wills, and his jaw clenched, neck muscles taut. He was fighting the imprinting bond. I could see the struggle as clear as day.
I could not speak and could barely breathe, and every Alpha instinct in me screamed: Take him, mark him, and claim him. But I stood still as stone, fighting to keep my wolf from tearing free.
"You're not from here," he said finally, voice low and rough gravel wrapped in heat.
I smiled slowly and sharply. "Would it matter if I were?"
I swallowed hard, and the words slipped out softly, unfamiliar, but full of meaning. "Little wolf."
His nostrils flared. His eyes burned gold for half a second. His wolf whined, howled, and he was mine to claim. Something primal and dangerous shifted between us and fate in its rawest, cruelest form.
"You're an Alpha," he said after a moment, narrowing his eyes.
I stepped closer, letting the truth bleed into my voice. "I am your Alpha, little wolf."
He stared like I was a wildfire, deciding whether to run or burn. "You're insane if you think I'll fall in line because your wolf decided I'm his."
"I don't want you to fall in line," I murmured. "I want you to run, and I want to chase."
His breath hitched, and he cursed softly, chin lifting with stubborn pride. "My name's Elias Blackthorne," he said. "And I will never be fucking yours."
It was then that Marcus finally stepped forward, voice slicing through the tension. "This is Alpha King Alaric Vayne and address him as Your Majesty."
Elias's defiance flickered for a moment as he registered my identity, but his face curled into a cold, bitter smirk. "You're not my Alpha King." He turned, climbed into the truck, and roared away into the night.
"What the fuck was that?" Marcus whispered, stunned.
I smiled quietly, watching the color drain from Marcus's face as he groaned, "Oh no, please tell me that that is not the Omega you dreamt about."
"It is, "I chuckled, and a hearty laugh escaped my mouth, and it turned out into a full-blown laughter, and Marcus groaned and stared at me like I had gone insane.