Bond Rejected at the Tribute Gala

My mate's Omega pack liaison deliberately destroyed a ward-weave I had spent two full years creating.

In my fury, I made him serve as a den-servant for three days—scrubbing the floors of my exhibition hall before the Territory Showcase.

Aurora Frostvein said nothing at first. Acted as though nothing had happened.

But three months later, her pack declared a resource freeze. She was marked with an Outcast Brand and sent to the isolation dens.

To settle the crushing territory debts she left behind, I took on three labor-bonds each day, running myself ragged across pack lines.

For three whole years, rogue enforcers cornered me in shadowed alleyways and humiliated me—snapping at my heels, forcing me to bare my throat in submission.

For a hundred silver marks, I accepted a contract as a "cursed-ground watcher"—sleeping in abandoned dens where dark spirits were said to linger.

Then one night, while I was serving at a feast hall, I caught her scent—Aurora Frostvein, who was supposed to be wasting away in the isolation dens—hosting a lavish celebration for her Omega liaison.

A voice from her court-circle drifted toward me. "Aurora, you gifted Rowan Ashclaw a moon-blessed timepiece worth a thousand territory claims, while your bonded mate risks his life in cursed dens for a hundred marks. How can your heart be so cold?"

Aurora breathed out a slow exhale, smoke curling from the ceremonial herbs she held, and laughed—a sound like cracking ice.

"Who told Alaric Duskvale to force Rowan into servant's work? These three years are his punishment."

"Once the three years end, I'll stage my return to power."

"And he'll still be my devoted mate."

My body swayed in the cold night wind. I stood frozen like a broken puppet, strings cut and dangling.

So these three years of living torment—they were all part of your design. Your Pack Sanction against me.

Fine then. I will repay you double.

1.

My entire being felt submerged in ice water. Yet from inside the hall, I could still hear another voice—Selene Nightbriar, a high-ranking Beta's mate from Aurora's court-circle.

"Aurora, he is still your bonded mate. Before you claimed him, he was an Alpha-blooded heir of the Duskvale line. Do you not think you have been too cruel?"

"The last time I saw Alaric, he looked terrible. Gaunt. His scent was fading. Like he is barely holding on."

Aurora's voice remained flat.

"We agreed on exactly three years. Not one day less."

"Besides, there is only a moon-cycle left. He has survived this long. What is another few days?"

Selene hesitated, then spoke again.

"He came to me a while back. Begging. He only wanted to borrow a few hundred marks for healing herbs."

"The great Alaric Duskvale, heir to the Duskvale bloodline—I have never seen him so desperate."

Aurora made a sharp sound of contempt. "You did not lend it to him, did you?"

"Of course not. You declared that anyone who helped him would be dead to you. I would not dare."

Through the haze of herb-smoke, Aurora smiled coldly.

"Smart she-wolf."

"Alaric Duskvale was always arrogant and difficult. Rowan accidentally damaged one of his ward-weaves, and he made Rowan serve as a house-servant for three days."

"That kind of Alpha arrogance needed correction. And look—three years of punishment truly did the work."

Her voice dripped with pride. Satisfaction.

As if her sanction had reformed me. Made me a new wolf.

Selene sighed and swallowed whatever else she had meant to say.

There were things she kept hidden.

Like what happened that day.

I had knelt before her.

Bared my own throat. Pulled aside my collar to expose the vulnerable flesh.

"Just five hundred marks. Please."

"Aurora is sick in the isolation dens. She needs healer's fees. I am five hundred short."

The she-wolves exchanged glances—then burst into laughter.

"Is this really the great Alaric Duskvale?"

"You used to be so proud. Would not wear pelts that cost less than ten thousand marks. Now you are selling your dignity for five hundred?"

I could only kneel there, listening, my face blank as stone.

What expression was I supposed to wear?

Every shred of pride, every ounce of honor—ground into nothing by this brutal reality.

"If you are willing to offer more..."

My voice cracked.

"I will submit however you want."