After My Alpha Branded Me for His Mistress

The morning after the bone broth, a small porcelain jar appeared on my bedside table.

There was no note. The label on the glass simply read: *Apply nightly to scarred tissue.* The balm inside smelled of crushed wintergreen and crushed silver-fern. When I rubbed a dab onto the wolfsbane brand on my left shoulder, the dull, icy numbness that had lived under my skin for three years gave a faint, stinging throb.

I didn't know then that Healer Calla had gone straight to Rhodes after examining me. I didn't know she had told him the brand was no accident—that it was a deliberate, calculated dosage meant to strangle a wolf's voice indefinitely. Rhodes had listened in silence, his expression carved of stone, and quietly commissioned the salve without telling me a word.

All I knew was that for the first time in years, the scar felt warm.

Two days later, I walked through the inner gardens on my way to the library.

I had avoided the courtyard since arriving. In Ironvale, Bentley had lined the walkways with blood-red roses, and Sadie had worn the petals in her hair. Even the sight of that sharp, violent crimson made my shoulder ache with phantom fire.

I braced myself as I stepped through the arched stone entryway.

I stopped.

The flowerbeds were full, but the color was gone. Where rows of deep scarlet blooms had stood earlier in the week, there were only white hydrangeas, pale frost-lilies, and deep green ivy. The crimson banners that had hung from the stone balustrades were gone, replaced by midnight blue.

Rhodes was crossing the terrace, wearing a charcoal wool coat over a slate-grey shirt. Even his usual dark maroon collar pin had vanished.

He slowed when he saw me standing frozen by the fountain.

"Princess," he said, dipping his head.

I pointed toward the terrace wall, my brow furrowing. "Where did the crimson flowers go?"

Rhodes stopped two paces away. His golden-flecked eyes were calm, steady, and entirely free of pride.

"I had them removed," he said.

"Why?"

"Because they hurt you."

Four words.

He didn't make a speech. He didn't boast about the effort or ask me to thank him. He spoke as if ripping up an entire royal garden was as simple as opening a window to let in fresh air.

My chest caved in. A sudden, sharp lump lodged in my throat. I couldn't breathe, couldn't find a single sharp retort in my tactical catalog. No one had ever protected my peace without handing me an invoice first.

I turned on my heel and walked away before he could see my chin tremble.

That night, lying in the dark with the silver-fern balm sinking into my skin, the dead cold in my shoulder cracked.

Deep under my ribs, something shifted. It was a slow, heavy stretch. A faint, low rumble rolled through my chest—my wolf, blinking through a heavy, drugged fog. She wasn't awake yet, but she was listening.

***

The next morning, Dorian Pierce brought the intercepted wire directly into the war room.

"Ironvale got the formal announcement," Dorian said, tossing the encrypted Lycan intelligence file onto the glass table.

Rhodes and I looked down at the report together.

The news had hit Bentley like a physical blow. The report stated that within forty-eight hours of my severance, two northern packs had canceled their grain treaties with Ironvale, citing the absence of my countersignature. Bentley had spent three days shouting at his councilors while Sadie tried to soothe him with her practiced, breathless murmurs.

For the first time, Bentley hadn't bought it. The wire noted that he had snapped at Sadie, ordering her out of the study when she couldn't interpret the border tariff charts. And when the formal Lycan court dispatch arrived—confirming my bloodline as King William’s lost daughter and announcing my political engagement to Prince Rhodes—Bentley had smashed his whiskey glass against the wall.

Through the phantom thread of our severed mate bond, a dull, phantom throb pulsed against my collarbone. It was faint, but unmistakable: Bentley’s Alpha pride was rotting into panic.

"You left personal property behind," Rhodes said quietly, leaning over the table.

"My tactical notebooks," I replied, keeping my eyes on the map. "Five years of handwritten defense sketches and seasonal supply logs. If Bentley tries to decipher them on his own, he'll burn his eastern garrison to the ground."

"Then we retrieve them," Rhodes said. "Today."

***

We crossed into Ironvale territory before noon.

I didn't return on foot like a stray this time. Rhodes sent an escort of three black armored Lycan SUVs. Dorian rode in the lead vehicle, six royal guards flanked our sides, and the flags fluttering on the hoods bore the silver crest of the Lycan royal house.

The Ironvale border guards barely had time to scramble out of their posts before our convoy swept past the iron gates and pulled into the gravel drive of the main pack house.

I stepped out into the crisp mountain air.

Bentley was already waiting on the front porch, his Beta, Marcus, standing half a step behind him. Bentley’s arms were crossed over his broad chest, his jaw set in a hard, rigid line as he tried to project the unshakable authority of an Alpha on his home turf.

Sadie stood beside him, clutching his forearm.

She wore a bright, tailored crimson dress that brushed her knees, her blonde hair falling in delicate curls. The moment she saw me, her lips pulled into that familiar, sweet smirk.

"Well," Sadie said, her voice dripping with honeyed condescension as I climbed the porch steps. "Look who decided to come back. Was the runaway theatrics not getting you enough attention, Zara?"

Bentley didn't speak right away. He stood tall, his dark eyes raking over my clean clothes, the royal escort behind me, and the steady, untroubled look on my face. He squared his shoulders, preparing to deliver the Alpha command he assumed I still answered to.