Rejected By The Alpha, Desired By The King

AYLA — POV

I woke to the taste of silence.

No bond. No pulse of other wolves.

Just me.

For the first time since the rite—since scent magic was twisted around my throat and fate yanked me into Kael's orbit—I felt the edges of myself again.

Clear. Sharp. Unforgiving.

The Grove was quieter. Even the birds seemed unsure if they were allowed to sing again.

I sat up slowly. My hands were clean. No blood. No rune-light. Just skin. But the scar across my collarbone—it still burned faintly.

I remembered everything.

The memory-wolves. The bloodwell. The Echo, whispering with my voice. Neris, crowned in fire. The bond shattered in my chest like a star collapsing.

And Kael.

His arms are holding me.

The ache in his voice when he said. "You've always been mine."

But I wasn't. Not anymore.

Rylan was the first to greet me. He didn't bow. He didn't dare. He stood at the grove's edge, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

"You remember who you are?" he asked.

I nodded.

He exhaled slowly. "Then we have a problem."

"What kind?"

He glanced past the wardline.

"To be unbonded and still standing—that makes you sacred to some."

"And dangerous to the rest," I said.

"Exactly."

Daya returned with news from the outposts.

The Western Claw had declared independence.

The Tide-born were offering allegiance—if I would accept a bond trial. And Neris? Gone.Vanished from the vault where her powers had shattered.

"They say she's fled to the borderlands," Daya muttered, "but I don't believe it."

"She's waiting," I said.

"For what?"

"For me to stumble."

Kael didn't speak to me for two days.

He watched from a distance. Never too close, never far. When he finally came to me, it wasn't with a question. It was the truth.

"You unbound us," he said.

"Yes."

"I still want you."

I met his eyes. "Wanting isn't enough."

"I know," he said.

Then left, and somehow, that hurt more than the bond ever had.

***

The Seer Council returned with a proposal.

"If you wish to rule, you must forge a new rite," they said. "One that proves sovereignty without submission."

"A rite without a bond?" I asked.

They nodded. "We call it The Threadless Throne."

"And the cost?"

Their silence was answer enough because power always costs. Even when it's yours to begin with, I stood beneath the ash tree that night.

Alone. My wolf is silent. Not gone. Waiting.

Because the next era wouldn't be forged in prophecy or pain.

It would be made in choice.

And I would make it mine.

Even if I stood alone to do it.

They gathered at dusk beneath the ash tree.

Not for a coronation.

Not for war.

For something older than both: The naming.

In the time before the bond, before packs swore to scent and magic, wolves choose their leaders by act—not aura. By the weight of decision. By what they were willing to lose.

This, the Seers told me, was the way of the Threadless Throne.

"You do not wear a crown," the eldest said. "You forge it."

The trial was to begin at first moonrise.

Three acts.

One: the Offering. Two: the Return. Three: the Divide.

Each one carried a different price. None of them told me what the price would be.

"Why now?" I asked.

"Because wolves follow power. But they serve legacy."

"And if I fail?"

"Then you remain free. But never sovereign."

The Grove emptied by midnight.

Only Kael stayed behind. He didn't speak. Just stood beneath the ash branches, watching the sky.

I approached him slowly.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I'm not here for you," he said.

That hurt more than I admitted.

He turned to me.

"I'm here because if you fall, I need to be the one who carries you."

I stepped closer.

"There's nothing left to carry."

"There's everything left," he said. "You just haven't decided what it's worth yet."

The Offering began in silence.

I entered the sacred ring barefoot, wrapped in shadowcloth. At the center, a mirror of obsidian. Not to reflect my face. To reflect the wolves I'd failed.

Cassia. The healer boy who died in the Blood Grove. Myself—when I first denied the Luna inside me.

Each image flickered.

Each one asked a question:

"What did you give?"

"What did you take?"

"What will you never get back?"

I answered them all.

Out loud.

And the mirror did not crack.

It burned and when it cooled—My face remained. Unchanged.

The Return was worse. I was told to walk into the old vault—where the bond had once been forged.

To find the name I was given at birth.

Not the one tied to my rank but the one I forgot. It was written in bone. On a child's carving.

AYLEN.

I held it and remembered the healer's ward.

My mother's scent.

The day I first saw Kael.

The day I stopped being a girl and became a mark.

I wept. And then I burned the carving. Not to erase it. To free it.

When I returned, the Seers stood waiting.

"All that remains," they said, "is the Divide."

"What must I divide?" I asked.

But I already knew.

I looked at Kael.

To Rylan.

To Daya.

To the wolves who stood waiting to serve or walk.

And I raised my voice.

"If you believe the bond is sacred, you may leave."

No one moved.

"If you believe I should claim the old ways, you may stay."

Still no one moved. 

Then Kael stepped forward.

"I don't believe either," he said. "I believe in you."

And the wolves howled. Not in rage. In recognition.

The Seers lit the final fire.

Ashes of the bond rites.

Ashes of my old name.

Ashes of the throne that ruled through blood.

And when the flame died—I stepped into the circle.

A Luna with no bond.

No mark.

No crown.

Only choice.

And the realm bent around it.

But in the distance, beneath the moon's edge...Something stirred. A scent I hadn't smelled in months.

Sharp.

Metallic.

And wrong.

I turned slowly.

And there, standing at the threshold of the Grove...

Was Neris.

Alive.

Unbound.

And whispering:

"You forged a throne. Let's see if you can keep it."

The Grove felt colder with her standing there, Neris. Not the fractured version of herself who had fled after the bond's unraveling.

But a new one.

Sharper.

Healed.

And burning with a fire not bound to any court. I stepped down from the Seers' dais. But my spine locked tight, and my wolf stirred within me, uncertain.

"You weren't invited," I said.

"I wasn't dead either," she answered. "You think that rite makes you safe?"

"No," I said. "It makes me sovereign."

She moved closer. Her clothing was wrong. Not Bone Court silk. Not Luna-robes. Simple, dust-dark armor stitched with claw runes.

She carried no weapon. But her scent was wrapped in something I hadn't smelled since the old trials.

Alpha venom.

Pack breaker essence.

Kael stepped forward, already shifting.

But I held up a hand.

"No."

"I can't let her stand this close to you."

"You will," I said.

Because this wasn't a battle of claws. It was a test of strength. Not of body, of belief.

The Grove cleared again. The Seers watched in silence. Even Daya stood still. Only Kael remained near—his aura pulled tight, ready to strike.

Neris extended a hand.

"I came with an offer."

"I'm not interested in illusions," I replied.

"This isn't an illusion," she said. "It's a truth you haven't considered."

I said nothing.

So she continued:

"There is another realm. One unbound. One born from the bond's first fracture. I found it."

"You mean a rogue plane," I said.

"No," she said. "I mean a refusal. An entire pack born without legacy, without kings, without Lunas. And they chose me."

"Because you gave them power?"

"No," she said. "Because I showed them what power looks like when it isn't inherited."

I stared at her.

"What do you want?"

"To build with you," she said. "Not against. A dyad. Not duality. We share history. We could share the future."

Kael snarled.

"She tried to kill you."

Neris met his gaze. "And she forgave me."

"I pitied you," I said.

Neris shrugged. "Maybe that's how all new empires begin. Pity, then purpose."

She took a step back.

"I'm leaving," she said. "But I'll send my envoys. When you're ready to shape something bigger than a throne, you'll find me."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll build it without you."

She turned and as she vanished through the trees—She left behind a single carved token.

It bore my sigil.

And hers.

Split down the center. Waiting to be joined or shattered.

The Seers did not speak.

But the wind did.

Soft.

Heavy.

And Kael whispered beside me:

"She's not done."

And neither was I.

THE WOLVES WHO DO NOT KNEEL 

The token stayed on the Grove's altar for three days.

Half my mark. Half hers. One carved thread between them.

It didn't glow. It didn't hum but it watched, and in its silence, wolves began to whisper.

"What if we followed neither?"

"What if the new world needs no throne?"

"What if the Luna is meant to lead from behind, not above?"

It wasn't a rebellion.

It was evolution.

The Seers approached again. Not with warnings, with invitation.

"There's a summit," they said. "Not hosted by us. Not ruled by you."

"Then who?"

"The ones who never took a side. The Packs Between. The Deepline, the Smokeborn, the Forgotten Tundra kin."

"What do they want?"

"To see if you're still worth listening to."

I asked Kael to join me.

He didn't hesitate.

"I follow you," he said. "Not the bond. Not the crown. You."

"And if I walk into a circle that wants to erase the Luna line?"

He paused.

"I'll draw my sword when you tell me to. And not a moment sooner."

The Packs Between had no Grove.

No tree.

No altar.

They met in a ravine filled with mist, beneath a sky that never fully turned dark.

One hundred wolves. No hierarchy. Just questions.

I stood in the center, breath steady, cloak heavy.

They didn't bow.

Didn't growl.

Just watched.

Then a Smokeborn Elder stepped forward.

"What are you now?"

I didn't say Luna.

Didn't say queen.

I said, "I am Ayla."

And that, somehow, was enough to be heard.

The questions came fast.

"Why did you sever the bond?"

"To stop it from owning us."

"What do you rule with now?"

"Choice."

"Do you still believe in thrones?"

"No."

That one drew gasps, but not from Kael. He only watched me like I'd just admitted a truth he already knew.

Then the final question came:

"If you don't want power... why are you here?"

And I said:

"Because I believe in a world where wolves do not kneel to survive. They stand. They shape. They speak. And I will do the same."

And the silence that followed—Was not a rejection. It was recognition.

When I left, they gave me no title. Only a new name: "She Who Stands When All Kneel."

And when I returned to the Grove—

The token was gone. In its place: A single claw mark. Across the altar, burned in bonefire, Neris's mark.

And beneath it:

A message.

"Round two begins when you stop watching the sky and start protecting your spine."

I smiled.

Let her come. This time—I wouldn't kneel either.