The Cursed Alpha King's Mate

(Nyelle’s POV) The chandelier above the great hall glittered with golden light, each crystal dripping wealth. Laughter rang from the dining tables, wine glasses clinked, the scent of roasted lamb and honeyed bread heavy in the air. For anyone else, this night might have been enchanting. For me, it was torment. I knelt on the marble floor, scrubbing away a red wine stain I hadn’t spilled, the harsh bristles biting into my raw fingers. Each scrape left the skin angrier, redder, but I kept working. My father’s voice carried over the din, booming with false cheer as he entertained our guests. Nineteen today. My birthday. The number meant nothing here. There would be no cake, no smile, no gift. Only chores and bruises. “Faster, girl,” hissed a passing omega, her lips curled in contempt. “No one wants to trip over your filth.” Laughter followed her words, joined by snickers from a cluster of warriors leaning against the far wall. They never missed a chance to sneer at me, to remind me I was the Alpha’s mistake. The bastard. The unwanted. I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. The sting of the bristles blurred as my eyes burned, but I forced my shoulders straight. Crying only gave them more power. “Pathetic,” a warrior muttered loud enough for me to hear. “Nineteen and still weaker than a pup.” The words landed like knives. They weren’t wrong. My wolf—my birthright—remained silent inside me, absent for years. I had felt her only in fleeting moments, never long enough to shift. Without her, I was prey among predators. Bootsteps echoed. Heavy. Certain. I froze, my rag trembling in my hand. Alpha Thorian. My father’s presence filled the corridor like smoke choking fire. His tailored black suit gleamed beneath the lights, his gold watch flashing as he adjusted his cuff. His gaze cut through me like steel. “Still not finished?” His voice cracked across my back. “Even a servant boy could scrub faster than you.” “I—” My throat dried. “Almost, Alpha.” “Father,” he corrected sharply. His palm struck my cheek with a crack that drew startled gasps from the omegas nearby. The sting burned across my skin, the sound louder than the hall’s laughter. Heat swelled in my eyes, but I bowed low. “Yes…Father.” “Useless,” he spat, striding past without another glance. His scent—cologne laced with whiskey—lingered after him, sharp and suffocating. The sting of his slap wasn’t what hollowed me. It was the cold in his eyes. He had never looked at me with warmth, not once. Not even on my birthdays. Especially not on my birthdays. I scrubbed harder, ignoring the blood that trickled where the rag had rubbed my palm raw. The floor gleamed, but it would never be enough. Hours later, the great hall roared with celebration. Music thumped from hidden speakers, the kind of deep bass that rattled the chandeliers. Modernity wrapped in tradition—the warriors in fine suits, the women in jeweled gowns, though their laughter was as cruel as the wolves of old. I moved among them, invisible, a tray balanced in my hands. Wineglasses rattled with each step as I forced myself steady. “Drink, Beta?” I asked softly. The man waved me off without meeting my eyes. I slipped past, circling the long table. A hand shot out, seizing my wrist. “Careful, sweetheart,” a warrior slurred, his breath sour with whiskey. His grip dug bruises into my skin as he dragged me closer. “You’ll spill all over my lap. Maybe that’s what you want.” Heat flooded my cheeks. “Let me go.” He chuckled, leaning closer, his words thick. “You’re prettier when you beg.” Gasps erupted around us as I jerked my arm free. The tray wobbled dangerously, glasses clinking. Silence fell like a shroud. Alpha Thorian’s gaze cut through the room. His expression hardened. “Disrespect.” His voice carried, low and deadly. He stood, the scrape of his chair sharp as a blade. “On your birthday, no less.” He struck me before I could blink. The back of his hand split my lip, the tray clattering to the floor, glass shattering around my knees. Shame burned hotter than the pain. I dropped, gathering the shards with trembling hands. Blood welled where the glass sliced my skin, but I kept going, desperate to fix it before he ordered worse. A flicker of thought rose in me—sharp, reckless, dangerous. One day, I’ll be free. The doors burst open with a crash that rattled the chandeliers. Silence drowned the hall. A man strode in, flanked by warriors in black. His presence was like a storm given flesh—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair plastered damp against his forehead as though the rain itself bowed to him. His amber eyes burned, cold fire that pinned the room in submission. The Alpha King. Killian. Every head bowed. Even Thorian stiffened before forcing a smile. “Your Majesty. What an…unexpected honor.” Killian didn’t return the courtesy. His voice cut like thunder. “You know why I’m here.” Murmurs swept the room. Thorian’s jaw ticked, but he gestured toward the feast. “We are always honored to host you. Please, dine with us. We have—” “I don’t want your food.” Killian’s gaze swept the table, the walls, the floor—until it landed on me. My breath caught. Sparks crackled beneath my skin, racing like fire through my veins. My knees weakened. His stare seared straight through me, binding, inescapable. My wolf—silent for so long—stirred faintly inside me. A whisper. A shiver. His expression betrayed nothing. But his jaw clenched, and for a heartbeat, his eyes glowed brighter, as though his wolf pressed against the surface. Thorian noticed. His lips curled in a cruel smile. “Her?” He laughed, sharp and mocking. “You can have her. She’s nothing but a stain on my name.” The laughter of the pack joined his, cruel, merciless. My heart split open. Killian’s gaze hardened, though his tone was flat. “Then she will be my payment.” Gasps rippled. Thorian’s smile widened. He raised his glass as though toasting my removal. “Take her. She’s yours.” No. No, no, no— Killian moved. He seized my arm in a grip that brooked no refusal. I stumbled to my feet, panic clawing my throat. “Wait! Please!” My voice broke as I looked to Thorian. My father. My Alpha. “Don’t let him—please!” He didn’t even glance at me. The pack watched in silence. No one moved. No one cared. Tears blurred my vision as Killian’s warriors flanked me, iron grips locking on my arms. I kicked, twisted, but their strength dwarfed mine. The rain hit like knives when we stepped outside, drenching me in seconds. Black SUVs idled at the curb, headlights cutting through the storm. I screamed until my throat tore. “Father!” The last thing I saw before they shoved me into the back seat was his face—smiling, satisfied, relieved to be rid of me. Something inside me shattered so completely I wasn’t sure it would ever heal. The palace loomed hours later, rising from the storm like a fortress of stone and glass, lightning etching its towers against the night. I stumbled as Killian’s warriors dragged me into the candlelit hall. The air smelled of smoke and iron, the walls adorned with banners black as shadow. Killian stood before me, broad and unyielding, his damp shirt clinging to muscle. His gaze burned into me, merciless. His voice was low, final. “From this night forward, you are mine. My bride. Not because I want you…but because it will destroy the man who despises you.” The words crushed the breath from my lungs. My knees gave, but I caught myself before collapsing. My heart ached so fiercely it hurt to breathe. I had lost everything. My mother. My freedom. Even the faint hope of my father’s protection. And yet… beneath the despair, the sparks still burned. The pull I couldn’t deny. The terrifying truth that bound me to the man who had just claimed me like a possession. The Alpha King. Killian. Mine. Or maybe—I was his.