The Alpha King and His Rogue Queen

Kingly

Winston sank into the high-backed chair behind his mahogany desk, the wood groaning faintly under his weight. The palace office smelled of aged parchment, cedar smoke from the dying fire, and the faint metallic tang of old blood—remnants of decisions made in this very room. He reached for the nearest stack of reports without looking up.

Nickolas lingered by the door a moment longer before crossing to the opposite side of the desk. "What are you going to do about Rain?" he asked, voice low. "She's getting bolder by the week. At this rate, she'll be untouchable before the year ends." A short, humorless chuckle escaped him. "I still can't believe she's stripping the smaller packs bare—vaults emptied, no resistance, and she's gone like smoke before they even blink."

Winston flipped a page, eyes scanning numbers that suddenly meant less than they had an hour ago. "Everyone wants her head," he murmured. "But heads on pikes don't solve problems. They just make more enemies."

Nickolas crossed his arms. "She's a rogue. Rogues are malicious by nature. That's their thing."

"Not always." Winston finally looked up, gaze steady. "Every wolf starts in a pack. Something breaks them—betrayal, loss, cruelty. They don't wake up one morning craving chaos. We find out what turned her rogue, we find the root. Cut that out, and the rest crumbles."

Nickolas exhaled sharply through his nose. "You really believe there's good left in her?"

"I believe everyone has a story worth hearing before we bare teeth." Winston leaned back, steepling his fingers.

"Should we just drag her in for questioning?" Nicholas asked.

"Have you located her camp?"

"No." Nickolas shook his head. "Ivan and Fred came back half-mad. Couldn't remember where they lost her, or what happened in the hours before. Hysterical. Like their minds had been scrubbed."

Winston's lips quirked, not quite a smile. "She's not dumb. She probably scented them a mile off, waited until they were close, then… something. A spell, maybe. A trap. She wouldn't sit and let herself be taken."

Nickolas frowned. "That's the other strange part. The alphas she hits, they empty their vaults without a fight. No questions, no struggle. By the time they snap out of it, she's vanished with everything valuable."

"Not strange to me," Winston said quietly. "Not if she's wielding magic. Dark magic, most likely. Only a handful of wolves can touch that kind of power without burning out."

Nickolas's brow furrowed deeper. "You think she's using compulsion? Or glamour?"

"Something like it. But magic like that doesn't come free. It feeds. Slowly at first, then all at once. If she keeps going, she'll lose herself completely. No coming back."

Nickolas stared at him. "You're considering saving her? She's a rogue thief, for f**k's sake. A menace."

Winston's expression softened, just a fraction. "Yeah. So what? Everyone needs saving, Nick. Even the ones who bite hardest." He pushed the papers aside, decision settling like a weight on his shoulders. "If she's willing to be saved, I'll give her the chance. But first we have to find her."

Nickolas studied him for a long beat. "You really think she'll listen?"

"I think she might listen to me." Winston stood, rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off the day's frustrations. "Get the rest of the guys. Ivan, Fred, whoever's still got their wits. We're going hunting."

Nickolas pushed off the desk, a reluctant grin tugging at his mouth despite himself. “You, me, and a handful of trackers against the ghost who’s outsmarted every alpha in the territory. Should be… interesting.”

“Interesting’s one word for it,” Winston said, eyes already sharpening with purpose as he moved toward the door. “She’s running out of time. If the darkness takes her first, there won’t be anything left to reach.”

He moved toward the door, the firelight catching the hard lines of his face. Rain was out there, bold, broken, and running out of time. If anyone could reach her before the darkness claimed her entirely, it was him.

And if not… well. Mercy had limits, even for a king who believed in second chances.

WINSTON

Rain. The name alone was enough to pull my focus these days, though I couldn’t decide which part of her intrigued me more: the way she reduced seasoned trackers to gibbering wrecks with nothing but a glance, or the sheer audacity of thumbing her nose at my entire kingdom. She was everywhere and nowhere, slipping through borders, emptying vaults, vanishing like mist yet I hadn’t truly noticed her until her raids grew bolder, almost deliberate. As though she were testing me. Taunting me. Sending a message I hadn’t yet deciphered.

I told Nickolas we were hunting to save her from herself. Part of me meant it. The larger part, the king’s part knew I couldn’t let her run unchecked much longer. My kingdom was already whispering. A rogue thief making fools of alphas reflected poorly on the one who ruled them all. Small fry or not, she was becoming a problem I could no longer ignore.

Stark stirred restlessly inside me, his presence like heat rising from coals. 'What’s there to be intrigued about?' he growled. 'She’s a filthy rogue. We don’t need her sob story. Find her. End her. End the gang. Done.'

I let a faint smile touch my lips. 'As king, we don’t get to be that simple. Slaughter everyone who crosses us and we’ll rule ashes.'

'Then we build something new,' he shot back without hesitation. 'Procreate. Repopulate. Rule whoever’s left or whoever we make.'

I nearly laughed aloud. 'Procreate without a mate? I’d love to see you explain the mechanics of that one.'

'We don’t need a fated mate for heirs,' he countered, smug. 'Pick a strong she-wolf. Queen, mistress, whatever. Doesn’t matter.'

'And risk meeting our fated mate when we are already bonded to another? No, thank you.'

'Now that is where you are wrong. We have been waiting for our mate for too long. I don't see her magically appearing all of a sudden, isn't it time to start exploring other options?' he pointed out, and it stung not only because he revealed his plan of not wishing to wait around any longer before choosing a mate, but I am never going to let him do that.

'Nope' I replied, making sure to pop the letter P in the word, the refusal came automatically, ironclad. 'Besides, you’ve managed those… urges just fine on your own for years. No need to start breaking hearts now.'

He huffed, a low rumble of irritation that vibrated through my chest. 'Sometimes I wonder why the Moon Goddess saddled me with such a weak, stubborn human.'

'And I wonder the same about being stuck with an impulsive beast who thinks with his teeth,' I replied lightly. 'Yet here we are. You chose me, remember? Must’ve seen something you liked.'

'Stubborn. Unmanageable. Stiff-necked, human.' he muttered, the mental equivalent of turning his back.

'Love you too,' I teased.

He receded with one final, exasperated huff, leaving the familiar quiet in my mind.

We disagreed often, Stark wanted blood where I wanted answers, action where I wanted reason but we balanced each other. He was the storm; I was the hand on the rudder. Together we’d survived worse than a clever rogue.

I was ten when he first spoke to me, the youngest wolf-emergence anyone had ever heard of. My mother, an omega had been executed on a whim by Alpha Dimitri for some imagined slight against his Luna. The memory still tasted like ash. After that night, the alpha’s warriors came for me next. I was small, untrained, and terrified.

I killed them all.

Bare hands. No training. Just raw, royal fury pouring out of me before I even knew what it was. Stark was royal-bred, born to rule, and he’d chosen me the moment my mother’s blood hit the ground. For six months I hid in the forest, hunting at night, surviving on instinct. Hiding was killing him slowly, royal wolves weren’t made for shadows.

When I finally stepped into the light, everything changed. My first shift at twelve revealed a beast so massive even I flinched at his reflection in the stream. My aura spilled uncontrollably; higher-ranking wolves dropped to their knees without understanding why. I didn’t know how to leash it yet, so dissent ended quickly and messily. By the time I learned control, I’d carved out a territory, built a castle, and claimed a throne.

Now, at twenty-nine, I could walk among ordinary wolves without them flinching. I’d learned restraint. Mercy. The value of questions before claws.

But I still hadn’t found my mate.

I’d attended every mating gathering, scoured every pack, endured endless introductions. Nothing. No spark. No pull. Just polite smiles and fading hope.

Proposals poured in instead, daughters of prominent alphas offered as chosen mates, queens-to-be. When I refused, some offered themselves as mistresses. I turned them all away. The refusal wasn’t pride; it was certainty. She was out there. Somewhere. Waiting for the same moment I was.

I would wait. No matter how long.

In the meantime, there was Rain.

A rogue bold enough to challenge an entire kingdom. Clever enough to evade every trap. Dangerous enough that even Stark wanted her blood.

I would find her. Hear her story. Offer the hand I’d offered no one else.

And if she spat on it, if she truly was beyond saving, then Stark would have his hunt after all.

But something told me she wasn’t just another thief. Something told me she was exactly the kind of puzzle I’d been waiting to solve.