The Alpha’s Regret: My Secret Siphon Heirs

Chapter 7: The Crown of Thorns

POV: Selene

I watched from the balcony as the dust settled behind Cassian’s horse. He rode like a man possessed, his dark cloak billowing behind him like the wings of a vulture. He didn't look back. He never looked back.

I gripped the stone railing, the jagged edges biting into my palms, but I welcomed the sting. It was the only thing that felt real in this hollowed-out fortress. Around me, the Silver Moon Pack House was a symphony of decline, and no matter how much jasmine incense I burned or how many golden tapestries I hung, the scent of rot persisted.

"Pathetic," I hissed into the wind, the word tasting like bile.

I turned and caught my reflection in the glass of the French doors. I was beautiful magnificent, even. My hair was a waterfall of spun gold, my gown a masterpiece of Northern silk that cost more than a border village’s yearly tribute. I was the daughter of the High Priestess. I was the blessing this pack had begged for.

So why did I feel like a placeholder in my own kingdom?

I walked back into the Alpha’s suite, my heels clicking a sharp, angry rhythm against the marble. The room still smelled of him—cedarwood and that irritating, electric spark of lightning. But beneath it, there was that other thing. The ghost scent. The one he thought I couldn't smell because I wasn't his "true" mate.

*Wildflowers and rain.*

Even five years later, the memory of that Null girl hung over this room like a shroud.

Elena.

A name that should have been erased from history, yet it remained etched into the very foundation of Cassian’s soul.

"She’s dead, you fool," I whispered to the empty room. "I made sure of it."

I remembered the night at the White River. I hadn't pushed her. I didn't have to. I had simply provided the evidence of her "treason," orchestrated the whispers, and watched as the pack’s grief turned into a lynch mob.

I had watched her run into the mist, a broken thing in a shredded dress. The blood on the stones had been the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. It was the ink that signed my marriage contract.

But the "blessing" I was supposed to bring had turned into a slow-motion disaster.

The Fading.

I felt a cold shiver crawl down my spine. The pack magic was leaking, drying up like a stream in a drought. My mother, the High Priestess, insisted it was because the land was rejecting a King whose heart was divided. She told me I had to secure the bloodline, that an heir would anchor the magic and restore the Silver Moon.

But how could I provide an heir to a man who touched me as if he were performing a chore? Every time Cassian came to my bed, his eyes were vacant, his mind a thousand miles away, lost in a river of grey water and brown eyes.

Fenris, his wolf, wouldn't even look at me. The beast would curl in the corner of Cassian’s mind and growl whenever I drew near.

I walked to the vanity and stared at the vials of potions my mother had sent. Fertility charms. Mood-altering mists. Desperation in liquid form.

"And now he goes to Oakhaven," I muttered, sweeping a crystal bottle off the table. It shattered against the floor, splashing jasmine-scented oil across the rug. "For a Siphon. An abomination."

The thought of a Siphon in the Pack House made my blood run cold. My mother had warned me about them creatures who didn't create magic, but stole it. If Cassian brought a Siphon here, she would see right through the glamours I used to hide the cracks in my own power. She would feel the void where the "Priestess’s Blessing" was supposed to be.

But there was something else in Cassian’s eyes today. Not just desperation for Silas.

It was a spark of recognition.

“The wind from the south... it smells of wildflowers and rain.”

I had heard him muttering it in his sleep. If that girl was alive—if by some miracle of the Goddess that Null had survived—everything I had built would burn. The alliances, the crown, my very life. A rejected mate returning from the dead was a death sentence for the one who took her place.

I walked to the bell pull and yanked it violently. A moment later, a young omega scurried into the room, her head bowed low.

"Yes, Luna?"

"Send for the Head Tracker," I commanded, my voice cold and sharp. "And tell my mother’s messenger to prepare for a journey. If my husband is going to Oakhaven to find a miracle, I want to know exactly what kind of 'miracle' he finds."

The girl nodded and hurried away.

I went back out to the balcony, watching the treeline where Cassian had disappeared. The sky was bruising into a deep, angry purple. The Fading was getting worse. The shadows were stretching longer.

I reached up and touched the heavy gold collar around my neck—the symbol of my status. It felt like a noose.

"She is dead, Cassian," I said, my voice cracking with a sudden, sharp fear. "I will make sure she stays dead this time. I didn't sacrifice my soul for this crown just to let a ghost take it back."

I looked toward the south, toward Oakhaven. I could feel a storm brewing, one that didn't bring rain, but a reckoning.

If this "Shadow Healer" was who I feared she was, I wouldn't just bring her here by the throat. I would bury her so deep the Goddess herself couldn't find her.

The Silver Moon belonged to me. The King belonged to me. And I would burn every forest in the North before I let wildflowers bloom in my garden again.