His Rejection My Throne

The wanderer

She walked. That was all, just walked, with no direction, no destination, no purpose beyond the next step and the step after that.

The chain still dragged behind her, rattling against the snow with every movement, and the shackle remained locked around her wrist. She had tried everything to remove it. She had wedged rocks into the lock, hammered it against stone, even tried freezing the metal and cracking it apart. Nothing worked. The iron was old, rusted, and stubborn.

So she walked with it.

The weight annoyed her now more than it hindered her. She had grown used to carrying it, just as she had grown used to the hunger, the cold, and the hollow ache inside her chest where the mate bond had once felt alive.

Used to be.

Her fingers drifted to her chest. The bond was still there faint, weak, like an old scar that had healed badly. Kael remained on the other end of it somewhere. Sometimes she could feel him: a distant pull, a cold presence, nothing more. She wondered if he could feel her too. She wondered if he cared.

After a moment, she shook the thought away. It didn't matter anymore. The man who had rejected her no longer deserved space inside her head.

The Frozen Crescent stretched endlessly before her — grey trees, grey snow, grey sky. The entire world looked as though someone had drained the color from it and forgotten to put it back.

Elara kept moving.

Her feet ached. She had lost her boots days ago, and the torn strips from her dress wrapped around her feet offered little protection against the frozen ground. Every step hurt. Every breath burned. Still, she walked.

Why?

The question came and went, but she never found an answer. Maybe she didn't need one. She only knew one thing: if she stopped moving, she would die. And despite everything, she wasn't ready to die. Not yet.

She found the river shortly after midday — a wide ribbon of ice cutting through the forest, the current still moving beneath the frozen surface, dark and restless.

Elara stopped at the edge.

For a moment, she simply stared at her reflection. The woman looking back felt like a stranger. Her cheeks were hollow, her skin was pale, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her tangled hair hung around her face in knots. She looked older, harder like someone who had survived something terrible. Yet her eyes remained the same: grey, tired, alive.

Slowly, she knelt beside the river. A sharp strike from a rock cracked the ice, and cold water rushed up through the opening. She cupped her hands and drank. The water stung her throat, bitter and clean. She drank until her stomach hurt, then sat back and looked around.

Which way?

East looked identical to west. North looked no different from south. She chose east not because she had a reason, but because standing still felt worse.

An hour later, she found the footprints.

They weren't hers, and they weren't the trackers'. These tracks were larger, deeper, each step pressed heavily into the snow as though whoever had made them carried enormous weight.

Elara crouched beside them.

Someone else is here.

Her pulse quickened. The tracks headed east — the same direction she was walking. A coincidence, probably. Yet something about them unsettled her. They felt deliberate, purposeful, almost as if they wanted to be found.

She rose slowly. "Hello?" she called. Her voice sounded rough after days of silence.

The wind carried the word away. No answer came. Nothing moved. Nothing spoke. Only silence.

After a moment, she continued forward, following the tracks.

Silver Ridge Pack

The training yard was unusually quiet, and that alone put Kael in a foul mood. Normally, warriors filled the grounds from sunrise until dusk, but today everyone seemed distracted watching, whispering, waiting.

Kael stood in the center of the yard with a wooden practice sword in his hand. Across from him stood Garrick, one of his strongest warriors.

"Again," Kael ordered.

Garrick hesitated. "My Alpha’’

"Again."

The warrior attacked. Wood struck wood, the sound echoing through the yard. For several moments, neither gained an advantage. Then Kael moved a sharp twist, a brutal strike. Garrick's weapon flew from his hand, and the warrior hit the ground hard.

Silence followed. Nobody spoke, because everyone had heard the c***k. Kael had broken his wrist. Again. The second injured warrior in two days.

Kael lowered his weapon. His chest felt tight. Everything irritated him lately the noise, the meetings, the endless responsibilities. Even breathing felt like work.

Days ago, he had rejected a wolf-less servant and secured the future of Silver Ridge. That should have ended the matter. Instead, his temper worsened with every sunrise. His wolf was restless, unhappy. The feeling made no sense. The bond was broken. The decision was made.

So why did it feel like something was wrong?

"Alpha."

Kael looked up. Corin approached through the snow. "The council is waiting."

Kael rubbed his jaw. "What now?"

"The eastern villages reported another problem."

"What kind?"

Corin hesitated. "People are leaving."

Kael frowned. "Leaving where?"

"The pack."

For the first time all day, he paid full attention. Corin continued carefully. "Mostly omegas. A few low-ranking wolves. Two families disappeared during the night."

"Why?"

Another pause. Then "They believe the Moon Goddess is angry."

The training yard fell silent. Warriors nearby suddenly became very interested in sharpening their weapons. Nobody wanted to be caught listening, yet everyone was.

Kael's expression hardened. "Angry about what?"

Neither man spoke the answer. They didn't need to. The rejection. The public humiliation. The Null Wolf chained beyond the borders. Rumors spread quickly. Some believed she deserved it. Others believed the Goddess did not. And whispers had begun spreading through the pack whispers of bad luck, of punishment, of consequences.

Kael stared toward the northern horizon, toward the Frozen Crescent, toward the place where she should already be dead.

His jaw tightened. "Increase patrols."

Corin frowned. "For the missing families?"

"For everything."

Something was changing. He could feel it. And for the first time since becoming Alpha, uncertainty felt dangerously close to fear.

The Frozen Crescent

Elara found the tracks again near sunset. Then they ended — not faded, not covered by snow, just ended, as though whoever had made them had simply vanished.

She stared at the final footprint. Confusion twisted inside her.

What

A sound behind her. She spun.

Nothing. Just trees, snow, and shadows. Yet she knew she had heard something , a footstep, a breath. Someone was there. Watching.

"Who's there?" she called.

Silence answered. The forest seemed to hold its breath.

Elara's hand slipped into her pocket and closed around the familiar rock she carried the same rock, the one stained with rabbit blood, the one that had helped keep her alive.

She waited. Nothing emerged.

Eventually, she turned and continued east. But she could not shake the feeling that she was no longer alone.

The Ashen Court

Lucien stood on the highest balcony of his fortress, the northern wind whipping through his dark hair. Far beyond the horizon lay the Frozen Crescent — invisible, distant, yet he could feel it. More specifically, he could feel her.

The mark on his palm had grown warmer throughout the day. She was moving east.

Good.

"You've been distracted."

The voice came from behind him. Valla, one of his most trusted generals.

Lucien didn't turn. "Have I?"

"For days." She folded her arms. "Whatever happened in the north has your attention."

A faint smile touched his lips. "It does."

Valla stepped beside him. "What is out there?"

Lucien remained silent. For a long moment, only the wind answered. Finally, he spoke. "Something I have waited a very long time to find."

"Something?"

His smile deepened. "Someone."

Valla studied him carefully. Then, wisely, asked no further questions.

Lucien looked east once more. Walk, little survivor. Keep walking.

The mark on his palm glowed briefly, then faded. And somewhere in the Frozen Crescent, warmth flickered inside a woman's chest.

The First Night

By nightfall, Elara found shelter beneath a rocky overhang. It wasn't a cave — just enough stone to block the snow. But enough was all she needed.

She curled against the rock and closed her eyes. The chain rattled softly beside her.

Tomorrow.

The thought surprised her. Tomorrow, she would find food. Tomorrow, she would find a way to remove the shackle. Tomorrow, she would keep moving.

She hadn't thought about tomorrow in weeks. Hadn't dared to, because tomorrow required hope, and hope had always been dangerous. Yet now, despite everything, she found herself making plans — tiny plans, fragile plans, but plans nonetheless.

The wind sighed through the trees. Exhaustion dragged at her. Slowly, her eyes closed.

And somewhere in the darkness beyond the rocks, hidden among the shadows and snow — a pair of silver eyes watched her sleep.