Chapter 1 - The Cursed Omega Was Actually the Lost Queen
The bidding started at one copper coin.
Not for a horse.
Not for a sack of grain.
For a woman.
She knelt on the rain-soaked auction platform with chains around her wrists and a filthy burlap sack tied over her head.
“Cursed Omega!” the slave merchant shouted. “Rejected by her own fated mate! Who wants her?”
The crowd laughed.
“One copper!”
“Two if she can clean pig pens!”
Under the sack, Isolda silently cried.
Three days earlier, she had been waiting to become a Luna.
Now men were bidding on her like damaged livestock.
And she had no idea that the most feared Alpha King alive was watching.
Only three days earlier, Isolda had stood before Alpha Tristan Caldwell of the Riverlands.
Her fated mate.
The man the Moon Goddess had supposedly chosen for her.
But Tristan wanted someone else.
Lady Rowena.
Beautiful.
Wealthy.
And accompanied by a promised army of thousands.
Isolda was only an orphaned Omega.
She had no gold.
No soldiers.
No influential family.
So Tristan needed a reason to reject her without appearing dishonorable.
He invented one.
“You are cursed.”
Isolda stared at him.
“What?”
Tristan pointed toward the faint violet markings appearing beneath her pale skin.
“A disease is consuming your face.”
Fear swept through the watching pack.
Isolda touched her cheek.
“But I’m not sick.”
“Silence!”
Tristan grabbed a burlap sack and forced it over her head.
Darkness swallowed her.
“I reject you, Isolda.”
The mate bond tore through her chest.
She screamed.
Tristan did not even flinch.
“You are a blight upon my pack.”
Then he sold her to a flesh peddler named Bartholomew for three silver coins.
Now she knelt in Oak Haven’s black market while freezing rain soaked through her dress.
Bartholomew kicked her ribs.
“Look at her! Even her mate couldn’t tolerate her face!”
Laughter erupted.
Isolda lowered her head.
Maybe Tristan was right.
Maybe she really was disgusting.
Then the wind changed.
At the edge of the market sat a massive black warhorse.
On its back was King Cedric Ashford.
The Iron Wolf.
Alpha King of the Northern Wastes.
He had conquered the Highland packs, crushed rebellions, and united territories no other ruler could control.
He was feared because he showed enemies almost no mercy.
But Cedric despised slavery.
He had stopped in Oak Haven only to secure winter supplies.
“Your Grace,” Commander Gideon murmured, “we should leave.”
Cedric was about to agree.
Then he smelled it.
Lavender.
Rain.
Vanilla.
His entire body locked.
His wolf exploded awake.
Mate.
Cedric stared at the auction platform.
Impossible.
He was thirty years old.
He had stopped believing the Moon Goddess had given him a mate.
Yet his wolf was roaring so violently he could barely breathe.
And its attention was fixed on the chained woman with a sack over her head.
Bartholomew raised his gavel.
“Two coppers! Going once—”
“A gold sovereign.”
Silence crashed through the marketplace.
Bartholomew slowly turned.
His face went white.
“Y-Your Grace,” he stammered. “Surely you misunderstand. She is diseased.”
Cedric dismounted.
Wolves dropped to their knees as his Alpha aura rolled through the square.
“If you speak about her again…”
His amber eyes glowed.
“…I will feed your tongue to the crows.”
Bartholomew stopped breathing.
Cedric climbed onto the platform.
He knelt before Isolda.
She recoiled.
His hands closed around her chains.
Crack.
The iron links shattered.
Isolda scrambled backward.
“Please!”
Her hands flew protectively toward the sack.
“Don’t remove it!”
Cedric froze.
“I’m cursed,” she whispered. “Please don’t look at me.”
Something murderous awakened inside him.
Not toward her.
Toward whoever had taught his mate to fear her own face.
Cedric removed his fur-lined cloak and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders.
“You are safe.”
Then the most feared king in the North lifted the rejected Omega into his arms.
He turned toward Gideon.
“Burn this market down.”
Three days later, they reached Castle Dunbarton.
Isolda still refused to remove the sack.
Cedric never forced her.
He gave her food.
Warmth.
Space.
And a promise.
“No one will hurt you here.”
Finally, his head housekeeper, Beatrice, led Isolda into the royal bathing chamber.
Warm lavender water surrounded her bruised body.
“Child,” Beatrice whispered, holding silver shears, “please let me remove it.”
Isolda began shaking.
“Tristan said my face makes Alphas violent.”
Beatrice’s expression broke.
“He lied.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then let us discover the truth together.”
After a long silence…
Isolda nodded.
Snip.
The rope fell.
The wet burlap slid from her head.
Beatrice stared.
Then the shears slipped from her fingers.
They struck the floor with a metallic clang.
Isolda immediately covered her face.
“I’m sorry!”
“By the Goddess…”
“Please put it back!”
Beatrice dropped to her knees.
“Isolda…”
Slowly, she pulled the Omega’s hands away.
“Who told you that you were ugly?”
An hour later, the doors of Cedric’s study opened.
Cedric turned.
Beatrice entered first.
Behind her stood Isolda.
No sack.
No chains.
No mud.
Cedric’s wine goblet slipped from his hand.
It smashed against the floor.
Isolda flinched.
Her hair fell to her waist in waves of shimmering silver-blonde.
Her skin was flawless.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were luminous amethyst.
Cedric stopped breathing.
He knew those eyes.
Every Alpha child in the North knew the legends.
Only one bloodline had ever possessed silver hair and violet eyes.
A royal lineage supposedly exterminated centuries ago.
“The blood of Valoria…”
Cedric whispered.
Isolda mistook his horror for disgust.
Tears immediately filled her eyes.
“I warned you.”
She stepped backward.
“I’m hideous.”
Cedric crossed the room.
Isolda squeezed her eyes shut, expecting pain.
Instead…
The Iron Wolf dropped to one knee.
He gently cupped her face.
“My queen…”
Isolda’s eyes opened.
Cedric looked at her as if the Moon Goddess herself stood before him.
“You are the dawn.”
She stared at him.
“Queen?”
His wolf roared.
The ancient prophecy rushed through his memory.
A surviving Lunar Sovereign.
A woman carrying the purest blood of the Moon Goddess.
A queen whose awakening could heal dying lands…
Or place enough power in one kingdom to change the entire continent.
And Tristan Caldwell had rejected her.
Sold her.
Hidden her beneath a sack.
Cedric’s expression turned lethal.
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But there was one thing neither Cedric nor Isolda knew yet.
Hundreds of miles away, Tristan’s rivers were already turning black, his crops were dying—and an ancient historian had just discovered exactly who Isolda really was.
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