My Alpha Groom Rejected Me for His Pregnant Mistress

The silence that followed my bold proposal seemed to stretch into eternity. I remained kneeling before Byron Harris, my heart hammering against my ribs as I awaited his response. The crowd's collective breath was held, their eyes darting between us.

Then Byron moved.

He rose from his seat with fluid grace that belied his massive frame. Standing at his full height, he towered over everyone present, his shoulders blocking out the moonlight. His Alpha aura expanded, pressing down on the gathering with suffocating intensity.

"Interesting," he rumbled, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing.

I dared to raise my eyes to meet his. Those silver eyes—cold and ancient—studied me with predatory interest.

"You dare to make such an offer after being rejected?" His tone held no mockery, only genuine curiosity.

"I dare because I recognize opportunity," I answered, my voice steadier than I felt. "And I dare because I will not be reduced to a breeding vessel for a pack that disrespects me."

Something flickered in Byron's eyes—approval, perhaps?

He turned his gaze to Jake, who had been watching our exchange with growing anger. The contempt in Byron's expression was unmistakable.

"My nephew seems to have forgotten the value of strategic alliances," Byron said, his voice deceptively soft. "And the honor due to a daughter of the Crescent Moon Pack."

Jake took a step forward, his face flushing. "Uncle—"

"Silence." The single word cracked like thunder, making Jake flinch.

Byron extended his hand to me. "I accept your offer, Amber Perkins. Rise and join me."

As I placed my hand in his much larger one, a ripple of shock passed through the crowd. His skin was warm despite his cold reputation, his grip firm but gentle.

"Let it be known," Byron announced, his voice carrying to every corner of the gathering, "that an insult to my future Queen is an insult to the Crown itself. Anyone who mocks her mocks me."

His words fell like stones into still water, sending waves of consequence rippling outward. I could see the pack members lowering their eyes, their attitudes already shifting.

"We leave for the Royal Territory immediately," Byron added, his thumb absently brushing over my knuckles.

Before we could depart, however, a commotion erupted near the VIP section. Alpha Marcus Harris—Jake's grandfather and the current Alpha of the Shadowclaw Pack—pushed through the crowd, his face contorted with fury.

"Jake!" he barked, his Alpha tone making his grandson wince. "What have you done?"

Jake straightened his spine defensively. "Grandfather, I've made my choice—"

"A foolish choice!" Marcus spat. "One that brings disgrace upon our pack!"

He turned to my father, who stood rigid with barely contained rage. "Alpha Perkins, I apologize for the insult offered to your daughter. This alliance was agreed upon in good faith, and this... this spectacle is inexcusable."

My father inclined his head stiffly. "Your apology is noted, Alpha Harris."

Marcus turned back to Jake, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Until the paternity of Zara's child is proven beyond doubt, and until you demonstrate the control and judgment befitting an Alpha, the transfer of power is suspended."

Jake's face drained of color. "Grandfather, you can't—"

"I can and I have." Marcus's gaze shifted to me, softening slightly. "I support Amber's decision to accept the Lycan King's offer. Perhaps it is for the best."

Zara's triumphant expression faltered as she realized what this meant—Jake's position was now precarious at best.

---

Hours later, I stood in the courtyard of the Royal Lycan Territory, shivering despite my thick cloak. The journey had been made in tense silence, Byron riding ahead while I followed with his guards.

"Your quarters are prepared," said a stern-faced Beta woman who introduced herself as Helena, Byron's head of household. "His Majesty has instructed that you be given every comfort."

The palace loomed before us—ancient stone walls rising against the night sky, windows glowing with warm light that somehow did nothing to soften its forbidding appearance.

Inside, the corridors were wide and high-ceilinged, decorated with ancestral portraits and ancient weapons. The atmosphere was as cold and impersonal as its master.

"Your rooms are here," Helena said, opening a heavy door. "His Majesty has arranged separate quarters for you until... arrangements are made."

I nodded, grateful for the privacy.

Later that night, I curled into a ball on the massive bed, waves of fever washing over me. The rejection sickness had set in—a painful consequence of a severed mate bond that would last days or even weeks.

A soft knock at the door roused me from my half-delirious state.

"Enter," I called weakly.

Byron stepped into the room, his powerful frame silhouetted against the hallway light. He carried a glass of water and a small vial.

"The healer left this for you," he explained, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "It will help with the fever."

As he approached, something shifted in the air between us. His scent—cedar and storm—filled my senses, and suddenly my wolf stirred within me.

The pain eased instantly, replaced by a strange warmth that spread through my body.

Byron froze, his nostrils flaring slightly as he scented the air between us.

"Your scent," he murmured, silver eyes darkening with something I couldn't name. "It's..."

He trailed off, but we both knew what this meant. What neither of us had expected.

This wasn't just a political arrangement anymore.