Bond Rejected at the Tribute Gala

Rowan stood nearby, a vial of ward-bane clutched in his hand, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

"Two whole years you spent weaving that territorial seal. Let's see you show off in front of Aurora now that it's ruined."

My vision went red. My fist connected with his face before I even realized I'd swung.

"You're always spreading rumors that I make you work like a servant?" I grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, hauling him close enough to catch the bitter satisfaction in his scent. "Fine. For the next three days, you will serve me. You're going to clean every inch of this weaving chamber until it's spotless."

That's when the door burst open.

Aurora stormed in, her dominant Alpha presence flooding the room like a cold tide. She took one look at the scene and immediately pulled Rowan behind her like a shield.

"Alaric, can you please get your temper under control?" Her voice dripped with disapproval. "Rowan tries so hard. Yes, he comes from a difficult background—an Omega without pack protection—but why do you always have to target him?"

My chest heaved. "Aurora, you need to understand—he started this—"

Before I could finish, Rowan ducked further behind her, his face crumpling into a mask of wounded innocence. His scent shifted to something pitiful and trembling.

"Aurora, it's my fault. I was just trying to help Alaric organize the weaving chamber, and I accidentally knocked over the ward-bane onto his territorial seal." His voice cracked perfectly. "He said he'd sell me to a rogue pack's pleasure den. And then he—he called my mother a scent-marked whore. Said she gave birth to a little whore who would spread his legs for any Alpha."

Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I can take the hitting. I can take the yelling. But why did he have to drag my mother into this?"

He was good. I had to give him that. Every sob, every trembling word, every carefully crafted note of distress in his scent—flawless.

Aurora didn't ask me for my side. Didn't investigate. Didn't even hesitate.

She just looked at me with cold disappointment. "Alaric, what's happened to you? I don't even recognize you anymore."

I wanted to howl.

Even with Aurora defending him, I refused to back down. Rowan served those three days as promised.

When it was over, Aurora acted like nothing had happened. She just sighed—light, dismissive.

"Alaric, that temper of yours... when are you going to grow out of it? It was just a ward-weave." She waved her hand. "You've had your revenge. Let it go."

I was naive enough to believe it was over.

A few days later, word spread through the territories that the Frostvein Pack's resources had been frozen by decree of the Pack Council.

Aurora was placed under formal sanction shortly after, leaving me to deal with the wreckage.

At first, I wasn't worried. Even if the Frostvein Pack collapsed, I still had my parents—the Alpha and Luna of House Duskvale.

I sent courier stone messages immediately.

Both connections had been severed. No response. No scent-trace.

Panic clawed at my throat. I rushed to the Duskvale estate—only to have Garrick Ironhollow deliver the news in a hollow voice.

The day the Frostvein Pack's troubles became public, my parents had rushed back across the sea to help. Their traveling party hit a territory collapse on a mountain passage—a ward failure that triggered a landslide.

Neither survived.

My world collapsed overnight.

No parents. No mate to lean on. I sold everything I owned and moved into a damp cellar den, hiding from the rogue enforcers who'd somehow inherited my family's resource debts.

I couldn't sleep. Every creak, every shadow, every unfamiliar scent—I waited for them to find me.

They did.

A group of claw-marked rogues stormed into the cellar with wooden clubs. I curled into a ball, but it didn't matter.

Two ribs, broken. My wrist, shattered beyond what any healer could fully mend.

I would never weave another ward again. My scent-channels were damaged beyond repair.

It took three years for me to accept my fate.

I gave up everything—my art, my pride, my hope—just to survive.

And now I was being told it was all a lie.

Aurora's "Pack Sanction" had stripped me to the bone and rebuilt me into someone I didn't recognize.

A courier stone pulsed with warmth against my palm.

A scent-sealed note from Aurora.

"Alaric, my sanction ends in three days. Don't forget to escort me home."

My hand tightened around the stone until my knuckles went white. A dull ache spread through my chest where the mate bond should have hummed with warmth.

Even now, she was still playing her part.

She was already at the celebration gathering. I'd seen it with my own eyes—her arms around Rowan, the massive feast spread across the table, the beautiful decorations of moonflowers and silver ribbons, everyone celebrating her supposed release.

And she was still treating me like a fool.

I stared at those words until tears blurred my vision.

I blinked them away and read the message again.