The Princess the Alpha Rejected

CHAPTER 18

Ariana’s POV

The first punch did not come with a warning.

There was no shouted challenge, no formal call to spar, no chance to step back and prepare myself the way I usually did during training. One moment I was wiping sweat from my neck at the edge of the clearing, focused on keeping my breathing even and my presence small, and the next, instinct screamed through my veins.

I twisted just as the blow came.

Pain exploded across my shoulder, sharp and blinding, forcing a gasp from my lungs as my feet skidded across the packed earth. Dust kicked up around me, and the sudden movement drew startled reactions from the few students who had lingered after training.

My heart hammered violently in my chest, not just from the impact, but from the realization that this was no accident.

I straightened slowly, rolling my shoulder to test it. It burned, but it still moved. Good.

Very good.

“So this is her.”

The voice carried clearly through the clearing, dripping with contempt thinly disguised as curiosity. I turned toward it, my senses sharpening despite my effort to remain calm.

Three students stood near the ring.

All of them were older. All of them had a higher rank. All of them had watched me for months with narrowed eyes and quiet judgment, waiting for a moment like this.

The one who had struck me stepped forward again. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and smug in the way people became when they believed they were untouchable. His gaze slid over me dismissively, lingering just long enough to make his opinion clear.

“People have been talking,” he continued. “Saying you’re not what we thought you were.”

I said nothing.

Silence had always been my shield. It frustrated people who wanted reactions, who thrived on emotional chaos. I had learned early that giving them nothing often unsettled them more than arguing ever could.

He scoffed at my quiet. “Funny how confidence appears out of nowhere.”

He stepped closer, invading my space deliberately. I could feel the tension ripple outward, other students edging closer, sensing that something was unfolding they didn’t want to miss.

“Prove it,” he said.

Before I could answer—or refuse—he lunged again.

This time, I was ready.

My body reacted before my mind caught up, shifting my weight, redirecting his strike so it grazed past my side instead of crashing into my ribs. The impact still jarred me, sending pain shooting through my arm, but I stayed upright. I planted my feet, grounding myself the way Clara had taught me, the way my wolf insisted I always should.

Gasps sounded behind us.

He didn’t stop.

Frustration tightened his features as he attacked again, harder, faster, as though each failed strike wounded his pride more deeply. I blocked the next blow with my forearm, teeth clenched as the force rattled my bones. The pain flared hot and immediate, but I welcomed it. Pain reminded me I was still in control.

I did not counter.

I did not strike back.

I moved, deflected, endured.

Not here, I told my wolf as she surged forward, claws scraping against my restraint. Not like this. Not now.

My refusal to retaliate only enraged him further. He swung again, recklessly this time, overextending in his desperation to put me in my place.

That was when I acted.

I caught his wrist.

The contact shocked both of us.

My fingers closed firmly around his arm, muscles tightening instinctively as I held him in place. The strength in my grip was undeniable, and I felt the exact moment he realized it. His eyes widened slightly, breath hitching as he tried—and failed—to pull free immediately.

The clearing went deathly silent.

I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and steady, echoing in my ears. My wolf pressed closer, alert and powerful, urging me to end the confrontation before it escalated further.

I loosened my grip and stepped back deliberately, releasing him without a shred of drama.

“I don’t want to fight,” I said, my voice calm despite the storm raging beneath my skin. “But I won’t allow you to hurt me.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

The weight of the silence pressed heavily on everyone present. I could feel eyes on me from every direction—curious, uncertain, calculating. The students who had once laughed openly now watched with something closer to unease.

Instructors arrived moments later, drawn by the disruption. Their expressions hardened immediately as they assessed the situation. Questions were asked sharply. Explanations demanded.

I stood quietly while the older students were pulled aside, their bravado fading under scrutiny. No one accused me directly. No one defended me either. But the looks being cast my way had changed.

Leah reached me as soon as the tension eased, gripping my arm with trembling fingers. “Ari, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I said, though my shoulder throbbed fiercely now that the adrenaline was fading. “Really.”

Ethan hovered close behind her, jaw clenched, eyes dark with anger. “They shouldn’t have touched you.”

“They shouldn’t have,” I agreed softly.

By the time I left the clearing, the air felt heavier than when I’d arrived. Whispers followed me even more openly now, speculation spreading faster than truth ever did. Some said I’d been provoked. Others claimed I’d revealed a side of myself no one had expected.

A few, I noticed, said nothing at all.

That frightened me more than the mockery ever had.

At home, Clara took one look at my face and ushered me inside without a word. She examined my shoulder carefully, her touch gentle but precise, and sighed softly when she saw the bruising already forming.

“They’re pushing you,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to them.”

“I’m not trying to,” I replied. “I just… won’t be a target anymore.”

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Just don’t forget why you came here.”

Later that night, alone in my room, I lay back against the pillows, exhaustion weighing heavily on my limbs. My shoulder pulsed dully with pain, but my mind refused to rest.

You showed restraint, my wolf said softly, her presence curling around me like a protective warmth.

Barely.

You could have ended it.

I know.

The truth of that settled uncomfortably in my chest. I had felt it at that moment—the ease with which I could have taken control, the terrifying clarity of how much I was holding back. If I lost myself here, even once, everything would unravel.

My disguise. My freedom. My chance to understand the world beyond gold and crowns.

I stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly until the tension eased.

This pack was changing how it saw me.

Not with acceptance.

With caution.

And that shift carried its own dangers.

Somewhere beyond these borders, words written with patience and care were making their way toward me, a promise of consistency rather than possession. The thought steadied me, reminding me that strength did not always announce itself loudly.

Tomorrow will bring more whispers. More watching eyes. More tests.

But tonight, I allowed myself a small truth.

I was no longer invisible.

And whatever came next, I would face it the same way I had faced that first strike—

Standing, controlled, and unbroken.