Forsaken By The Prince, Destined For The Alpha King

Brynn Webb POV:

"My Lady, His Highness won't even open the gates! Let's hurry back to the War Marshal's Manor before we embarrass ourselves any further!"

My fingers dug into the rough fabric of the carriage seat. I forced down the violent shivering of this frail body and steadied my breath.

Outside the wooden walls, low, guttural growls mixed with sharp laughter. The Crown Prince's Manor had barred its gates against me-his betrothed-on our alliance day.

In the corner of the carriage, my personal maid, Chloe Tucker, shrank back and trembled. She wiped a fake tear from her cheek while her eyes darted toward my waist.

I turned my head and stared at her. My ice-blue eyes held none of the old Brynn's cowardice. Chloe's breath hitched, and her jaw snapped shut.

Bang!

A heavy object slammed against the side of the carriage. The wooden frame rocked violently. A thick, rotting stench filled the air, and dark red blood splattered through the window gap, landing right on the heavy skirts of my alliance gown.

Chloe let out a piercing scream, threw her arms over her head, and curled up on the floorboard.

My stomach churned. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, reached out, and yanked the blood-soaked curtain aside.

Beyond the tall wrought-iron gates of the Crown Prince's Manor, several guards in gold-trimmed armor were laughing. One of them tossed a bloody wooden club from hand to hand. At the base of my carriage wheels lay the mangled, rotting corpse of a wild dog.

The street outside the manor was packed with commoners and low-ranking pack members pointing at my carriage.

"Look at that useless wolfless trash from the War Marshal's Manor," a man in the crowd jeered loudly. "In Silvermoon Kingdom, every werewolf gets their inner wolf by eighteen, yet she doesn't even have a scent! How dare an ugly freak with no inner wolf come here to claim a marriage alliance with the Crown Prince!"

Chloe scrambled across the floor and grabbed the edge of my sleeve.

"My Lady, I beg you! His Highness is warning us! If we don't leave now, we'll lose our lives!"

I looked down at her trembling hands. Beneath her panicked expression, a flash of gloating flickered in her eyes. This maid wasn't worried about my safety; she had been bought off to make sure I ran away in disgrace on my wedding day.

I flung her hand off my sleeve.

"Jaydan King dares to throw a rotting dog at his betrothed on our alliance day," I said, my voice as cold as winter frost. "My parents died fighting at the northern border for the royal family. If I go back today, what happens to the pride of the War Marshal's Manor?"

Chloe's face drained of all color at my direct use of the Crown Prince's name. She lunged forward, reaching out to clamp her hand over my mouth.

"Lady Have you lost your mind Speaking His Highness's name like that is treason! Do you want us both to die like this?"

I shifted my weight, dodged her palm, and locked my right hand around her wrist. My thumb pressed hard into the nerve cluster above her pulse.

Chloe gasped as the entire right side of her body went numb.

"Shut your mouth," I said, looking down at her as the faint scent of medicinal herbs on my fingertips brushed her nose. "Touch me again, and I will cripple your hands."

Chloe stared at me with wide, terrified eyes. I let go of her wrist, leaving her to collapse onto the floorboards like a puddle of mud. Turning around, I raised my booted foot and kicked the heavy carriage door open.

The wooden door banged against the frame. The laughter in the street cut off instantly.

I gathered my heavy, blood-spotted skirts, stepped out of the carriage right over the puddle of dog blood, and stood with my spine straight. A cool breeze brushed against the thick layer of ugly mud paste I wore to hide my real face. Several commoners near the carriage took a half-step back.

Behind the iron gates, the guard holding the bloody club frowned. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

"Step back, lowly wolfless!" he barked. "The Crown Prince gave orders that he is seeing no one today!"

I stopped three paces from the gate, my gaze locking onto him.

"Seeing no one?" I raised my voice so it carried down the entire street. "The Crown Prince welcomes the eldest daughter of the War Marshal's Manor with a rotting corpse on our alliance day. Is this the royal etiquette of the Alpha King's bloodline?"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even among werewolves who worshiped strength, insulting a fallen general's orphan like this was shameless.

The guard's face flushed dark red. With a metallic ring, he drew his longsword and thrust the tip through the gap in the iron gate, stopping an inch from my throat.

"Insolent wretch! Dare to slander His Highness, and I'll cut your head off right now for treason!"

The cold steel chilled my skin. I didn't blink. Instead, I took a half-step forward, bringing my neck right up to the blade's edge.

It was all a desperate gamble of mine-the lands and military power of the War Marshal's Manor came with an old rule set by the late king: if the eldest daughter had no inner wolf, she must marry into the royal bloodline, or everything my father left behind would be carved up among the rest of the family. I was twenty-four years and ten months old-only two months remained. The late king had arranged my betrothal years ago, and Jaydan was the man named in it. It wasn't that I wanted to marry him; it was simply that marrying him was the fastest way-the only way-to keep what my father had left behind.

"Kill me, then," I said, enunciating every word. "One hundred thousand iron cavalry of the War Marshal's Manor are still stationed at the northern border. If your blade cuts my throat today, let's see if the Alpha King skins you alive to calm the army's wrath!"

The guard's hand jerked. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and the sword tip wavered.

Hurried footsteps echoed from inside the courtyard. A middle-aged man in a tailored butler's uniform marched toward the gate, flanked by four armed guards.

Chloe poked her head out of the carriage door and cried out in relief, "Butler Edgar! It's Butler Edgar!"

Edgar Foster, the butler of the Crown Prince's manor, stopped behind the iron bars, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe with undisguised disgust.