30 Days with The Ruthless Alpha King

A Costly Intervention

“He’s my mate,” Elara said quietly.

I stared at her in disbelief, the words hitting me like a splash of cold water. “Your mate?” My voice came out softer than I meant, almost a whisper over the fading cheers from the wrestling ring. The bitter taste of the beer still lingered on my tongue, mixing with the dust in the air.

Elara sighed and took another long drink from her tankard, wiping foam from her lip with the back of her hand. “Yeah. Seven years ago, during one of Blackstone’s attack. His pack was conquered. He was brought here as a slave, like so many others.” She shrugged, but her shoulders stayed tight. “He doesn’t even know. I’ve never told him.”

I sat there, the wooden bench hard under me, trying to process it. Blackstone wasn’t some protector kingdom. They were conquerors. They swept into weaker territories, took what they wanted, and absorbed the rest.

An uncomfortable knot twisted in my stomach. Lucian’s world had built itself on that kind of power. And here I was, wrapped up in it, feeling like I belonged.

Elara gave a bitter laugh, staring out at the ring where her mate was being helped to his feet. “Can you imagine? The Moon Goddess looked at every Alpha, noble, warrior, and lord in the kingdom… and somehow decided my mate would be a slave.”

There was real pain behind the humor in her voice. It made my chest ache for her. She waved it off quickly, forcing a smile. “Enough of that. Today is supposed to be fun. Come on.”

She grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the pavilion, the crowd noise swallowing us again. The carnival smells hit me. Fresh warm dough, sizzling oil, sweet sugar. We stopped at the first food stall that caught her eye, buying giant pretzels coated in salt and melted butter.

The bread was hot and chewy in my hands, the salt crunching between my teeth with every bite. Elara insisted we try everything else and I had no choice than to oblige. We had sticky honey cakes, spiced sausages, and fried dough dusted with cinnamon. We laughed between bites, her teasing me about my face after the beer earlier, I taunted back at how she’d nearly jumped into the ring herself.

For a little while, everything felt normal. Like we were two friends just enjoying their day out.

As we wandered deeper into the crowded paths, a prickling sensation started at the back of my neck. Like someone’s eyes were boring into me. I turned once, scanning the sea of faces around us but nobody stood out. I shook it off.

A few minutes later, it came back stronger. I glanced over my shoulder again. Still nothing. Yet I couldn’t shake it. My mind drifted straight to Zara. Was she out here somewhere, watching me? The guilt and pity mixed in my chest like a heavy stone. I remembered her bruises, the hatred burning in her eyes when they dragged her away. The threat she’d hissed at me. I swallowed hard and focused on the fruit now in my hand, but the uneasy feeling stuck.

We came across a portrait stall next and Elara squealed in excitement. An old artist sat there with his brushes and easel, offering quick paintings and caricatures. Elara wasted no time in suggesting.“We have to do this,” she said, pulling me onto the stools before I could argue.

The painter asked us to pose. Elara struck the most ridiculous stance I had ever seen. Her hand on her hip, chin raised high like she was about to conquer the whole kingdom. I burst out laughing. “You can’t possibly hold that pose.”

“Watch me,” she grinned, holding it perfectly still while her eyes danced with mischief.

I chose something simpler, sitting straight with my hands folded neatly in my lap, the way I’d been trained as a girl. Every bit the proper Luna I was raised to be. The artist worked fast, his brush scratching against the canvas. The feeling of being watched returned halfway through, stronger this time. I scanned the crowd again. Nothing but happy faces and swirling colors. Still, it wouldn’t leave me.

When the artist finally turned the paintings around, Elara gasped in horror. Her caricature exaggerated everything. Her nose was huge, her expression looked like a puffed-up rooster. I laughed so hard my eyes watered, clutching my sides. Then he showed mine. It was even worse. My elegant posture looked stiff and snooty, my face stretched into something prim and ridiculous. Elara doubled over, laughing until tears streamed down her cheeks. We left the stall carrying our embarrassing portraits, the paper crinkling in my hands, still giggling like kids.

As we walked away from the noise, I suddenly remembered something. “Lucian doesn’t know we’re here in the village,” I said, a flicker of worry in my voice. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Elara rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh please. What exactly is he going to do? Lock us up?”

She laughed, but the joke landed like a punch to my gut. My smile faded. Lock us up. The words echoed in my head. Because I had been locked up. I still was, technically a slave with fifteen days left on some fragile deal. I couldn’t just leave Blackstone. I couldn’t go home.

There was no home to even go to.

A cold feeling settled deep in my chest. I’d been so caught up in Lucian’s warmth, in the way he held me at night and made love to me, that I hadn’t let myself think about what this kingdom really was. A place built on conquest. On taking everything from others. Including me.

The carnival noise pulled me back as a large crowd formed ahead. Shouting echoed down the street; angry voices, someone crying out, begging. “Please… stop…”

Elara frowned. “What’s going on?”

No one gave a clear answer, but the crowd parted fast when we approached. We moved closer, the air growing thicker with the metallic smell of blood and the dusty grit of the road.

In the center of the circle, a man was being beaten by two guards. Their fists landed hard, the thuds sickening. Blood stained the dirt under his knees. He could barely stay upright, his face swollen and cut, clothes torn. The crowd watched but no one moved to help him. some people shifting uncomfortably while others just staring blankly. One guard struck him again, and the man groaned, spitting red.

Elara grabbed a nearby villager’s arm. “What happened?”

The man muttered, “He was asked to be a fortress guard. But he refused. Said he would never work for an alpha that took everything from him and even called Alpha Lucian the devil himself”

I barely heard the rest. Because as we stepped closer, the man’s face came into focus. Bruised. Bloody. But familiar. My breath caught sharp in my throat. The world seemed to tilt, the carnival sounds fading to a dull roar. It wasn’t just any slave.

It was Jace. Kael’s younger brother.

Jace slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine through the swelling. Shock flashed across his battered face, raw and clear. I didn’t even think. One second I was frozen beside Elara, the next I was pushing forward, shoving past the guards’ arms.

“STOP! Don’t you dare lay a single finger on him again” My voice rang out across the square, louder than I expected.

Silence fell heavy over the crowd. Every eye turned toward me. The guards paused, fists still raised, staring in surprise. Jace looked up at me, blood trickling from his lip, his expression a mix of pain and disbelief.

My heart hammered in my chest, the metallic scent of his blood filling my nose, the sun suddenly too hot on my skin. What had I just done?