The Lycan King’s Broken Queen

Handed Over Like Trash

Talia’s feet dragged uselessly against the frozen dirt, her toes long since numb beneath her thin slippers. On either side of her, two heavy-set pack guards held her up by her arms, their rough grips digging into her bruises. Her hands were pulled behind her back, bound tight by the cold, heavy iron cuffs.

The silver lining of the restraints continued its relentless, poisonous work. The dark metal sizzled faintly against her flesh, scorching through the soft skin of her wrists and leaving raw, smoking blisters that oozed blood down her palms. Every small stumble, every uneven step on the rocky path sent a fresh spike of blinding agony straight up her arms, vibrating into her chest.

Behind them came Beta Thomas and Alpha Barrett.

Thomas walked with a rigid, unyielding posture, his dark eyes scanning the foggy woods with suppressed anxiety. Beside him, Barrett moved with absolute, arrogant grace, his arms folded across his chest. And hovering just a few steps back, wrapped in a plush fur coat to protect her delicate skin from the damp chill, was Cynthia.

"Is this necessary, Alpha?" Thomas muttered under his breath, his voice barely carrying over the crunch of dead leaves beneath their boots. "Bringing the entire party to the actual borderline?"

"The Lycan King’s border guards do not cross into pack land," Barrett replied smoothly, his golden-brown eyes fixed ahead. "If we want this tribute transaction logged as an official fulfillment of the treaty, we hand her over at the boundary marker. Clean, official, and permanent."

Cynthia let out a soft, breathy sigh, adjusting the collar of her coat. "It’s just so eerie out here," she whimpered gently, her eyes darting toward Barrett with practiced vulnerability. "Barrett, what if those feral monsters attack us? You know what rumors say about the Lycans... they don't abide by standard wolf laws."

Barrett turned his head, his cold features softening instantly as he looked at Cynthia. He reached out, casually sliding his hand down her waist to pull her close against his side. "They won't dare touch us, my love," Barrett assured her, his voice dripping with absolute confidence. "We are surrendering the exact tribute their King demanded. The Beta's eldest daughter. Once they take this disgraced trash off our hands, our debt to Ironspire is settled forever."

Talia choked back a sob, her head hanging low as dark tears cut through the dirt on her cheeks. This disgraced trash. The words burned deeper than the silver eating into her wrists. Less than twelve hours ago, Barrett had held her in the garden, smelling her hair, calling her his precious moon-blessed mate. Now, he spoke of her as if she were rotting garbage waiting to be thrown into a pit.

"Stop sniveling," her father barked coldly from the front, not even turning around to look at her. "You’ve brought enough shame upon this family today, Talia. The least you can do is go to your execution quietly."

Before Talia could even process her father's cruel words, a sudden, heavy pressure slammed into the atmosphere.

The air temperature plummeted instantly. The fog around them didn't just drift—it froze, crystalline frost spreading rapidly across the dark tree trunks and dead leaves. The ambient sounds of the night woods vanished. The crickets went dead silent; the wind died down.

A suffocating, ancient weight descended upon the clearing. It was an Alpha presence, but it wasn't like Barrett’s. It was deeper, older, carrying the dense, terrifying density of an apex predator that sat at the absolute top of the food chain.

The two guards holding Talia instinctively froze, their inner wolves whimpering in terror inside their minds. Even Barrett stiffened, his arrogant demeanor flinching for a fraction of a second as his hand tightened reflexively around Cynthia’s waist.

From the dark, impassable shadows of the northern forest, three figures emerged.

They did not walk like standard wolves. They moved with absolute, terrifying silence, stepping out of the mist like giant, dark specters. They were massive—each man standing well over six-foot-four, clad in dark, iron-plated armor beneath heavy, black-furred cloaks. Their faces were shadowed by high collars, but their eyes glowed with a faint, luminous amber that sliced straight through the gloom.

The lead Lycan guard stepped over the stone border marker, his heavy combat boots crunching softly against the icy dirt. He stopped ten feet away from the Blood Moon party, his massive frame blocking out the faint moonlight behind him.

"Blood Moon Pack," the lead guard growled. The sound was a deep, chest-rattling rumble that made the ground beneath Talia’s feet vibrate. "You are five minutes past the agreed hour."

Thomas stepped forward, forcing a stiff, diplomatic bow. "Greetings, noble warriors of the Northern Court. I am Beta Thomas Vance. We have brought the required tribute to fulfill the border treaty decree."

The lead guard didn't return the bow. His glowing amber eyes flicked cold judgment over Thomas, slid over Barrett, and finally landed on the battered, shivering female held between the two guards.

"Is this the Beta’s eldest daughter?" the Lycan guard demanded, his voice devoid of any warmth.

"Yes," Thomas lied without a single stutter in his voice, his expression completely flat. "This is Talia Vance. The eldest bloodline of the Beta house. She has committed severe infractions against our pack law and has been stripped of her rank. She is hereby surrendered to the sovereignty of King Lucian."

The lead guard gestured with a single, gloved hand. "Bring her forward."

The two Blood Moon guards didn't hesitate. They shoved Talia violently forward, releasing her arms. With her hands bound behind her back and her strength entirely depleted, Talia lost her balance. She crashed heavily onto her knees right at the border line, her face burying into the freezing, dirt-stained snow.

A high-pitched, mocking laugh echoed from behind her.

Talia forced her cheek up out of the slush, her blurred vision catching Cynthia standing beside Barrett. Her half-sister wasn't even trying to hide her smirk anymore. Cynthia looked down at Talia on the ground, her hazel eyes shining with absolute, wicked triumph. She leaned into Barrett’s shoulder, whispering something into his ear that made the Alpha let out a quiet, dismissive chuckle.

"Take her," Barrett said coldly to the Lycan guards, stepping back and pulling Cynthia with him. "She is no longer a citizen of the Blood Moon Pack. Whatever fate King Lucian has planned for her, she deserves."

The lead Lycan warrior stepped across the border line and reached down. His massive, leather-gloved hand clamped around the back of Talia’s thin dress, hoisting her off the freezing ground with terrifying, effortless strength.

"Move," the Lycan guard barked, dragging her deeper into the thick fog of the neutral grounds.

The moment they crossed under the dense canopy of the dark northern trees, cutting off the line of sight from the Blood Moon Pack, the lead guard suddenly came to a dead halt.

The two other Lycan warriors following behind him stopped as well, their heavy armor clanking in the quiet woods.

Talia shuddered in the guard's grip, her knees shaking so badly she could barely stand. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the brutal blow, the sharp blade, or whatever horrific punishment these northern monsters had waiting for her.

"Hold," the lead guard whispered sharply.

The Lycan holding her didn't strike her. Instead, his head snapped slightly back, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep, deliberate breath of the cold night air surrounding Talia.

A strange, uncomfortable shift rippled through the three massive warriors.

The lead guard’s glowing amber eyes widened slightly as he looked down at the tiny, battered female hanging from his grip. He smelled the sharp, nauseating metallic tang of the silver burning her skin, yes—but underneath that smell of blood and scorched flesh, another scent hit his sharp senses.

It was the agonizing, raw, and deeply toxic scent of a fresh, violent mate-rejection.

In the supernatural world, a mate rejection was a sacred, painful spiritual tear. But the scent wafting off Talia wasn't just a rejection—it was a jagged, bleeding wound in her very soul, reeking of profound betrayal and total soul-shattering agony.

The second guard stepped closer, his heavy brow furrowing in disgust as he smelled the air around Talia. "By the Ancestors..." he muttered, his deep voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "The scent on her... her bond wasn't just broken. It was ripped out while her wolf was still dormant."

"They didn't just send us a tribute," the third warrior growled, his hand tightening subtly on the hilt of his broadsword as he glared back toward the Blood Moon border. "They tortured her. They bound a broken, rejected female in dark silver and handed her over like a corpse."

Talia stared back up at him through her fevered, dark eyes, her breath coming in shallow, painful hitches. "Please..." she rasped out, her voice barely louder than the rustle of dry leaves. "Just... make it fast..."

The lead guard’s jaw clenched tightly under his iron mask. A low, uncomfortable rumble vibrated in his chest—not of anger toward her, but of deep, instinctual disgust for the coward Alpha who had inflicted such a filthy wound on a defenseless female.

"Quiet, female," the lead guard snapped, though the harshness in his tone had lost its lethal edge, replaced by a dark, grim gravity. He adjusted his grip on her, lifting her slightly higher so the burning silver chains wouldn't drag against her legs. "Save your breath. You aren't dead yet."

He turned toward the deep, frozen tracks leading north into the dark mountains—toward the dark, monolithic fortress of Ironspire.

"Move fast," the lead guard commanded his men, his voice heavy with grim foreboding. "The King is waiting in the master suite. And if he smells what those southern dogs did to this female... blood will spill before the week is out."