The Alpha's Reject, The King's Obsession

Chapter 6: Shadows in the Court

The double doors clicked shut, latching tight against the mountain gale and the mess Jace had just made in the courtyard.

The quiet that settled over the hall felt different now. Not heavy or ready to snap, just deep and steady—the kind of stillness that only sits in a fortress when the outer stone has held its ground.

I stayed by the edge of the hearth, still buried in Drack’s huge fur coat. The hem brushed the floor tiles, smelling faintly of woodsmoke and crisp air. I rubbed my thumb over the frayed edge of the sleeve. Down the mountain, Jace and his hunters were already scrambling back through the snow with their tails tucked.

For the first time since I was old enough to understand the brutal pecking order back home, my chest didn't tighten up with that sick, hot knot of panic.

"You can ditch the coat if you're too warm, little wolf," a deep voice said from across the room.

My head jerked up. Drack had walked over from the entrance. He had taken off his leather harness and weapons belt, wearing just a dark, fitted wool tunic that emphasized the wide set of his shoulders. His silver eyes looked entirely normal—all that deadly, cold fury from the courtyard completely gone.

"I'm fine," I murmured, pulling the heavy pelts tighter around my neck anyway. "It's nice. It keeps the draft out."

A tiny, faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. He didn't crowd me or try to take it back. Instead, he walked over to the high wooden chairs by the fire, pulled one out, and sat down with a quiet exhale that sounded like a man finally putting down a heavy load.

"Quiet rooms don't last long in these mountains," Drack said, staring into the bright orange embers. "Especially when you bring a past like yours inside them."

I hesitated, my heart doing a nervous little flutter. In the Crimson Moon packhouse, talking about your old life or making yourself noticed meant instant trouble. Omegas weren't supposed to have thoughts, let alone voice them. But sitting here in the warm, dim hall, the silence felt different—open, like it was waiting for an answer.

I took a slow breath, walked over, and pulled up the chair opposite him, sinking down into the furs.

"Jace isn't going to let this go," I whispered, staring down at my hands in my lap. "Even if he ran off today. His ego is too fragile. He hated being shown up in front of his own guards. He'll go back and tell the Alpha that I stole something or broke a rule, just to save face."

Drack didn't blink, but a hard, cold spark flashed in his silver eyes.

"Let him try," Drack answered flatly. "The Crimson Moon pack is a tiny settlement on the edge of the lowlands. They have zero pull up here, and their Alpha is a coward who hides behind old paper treaties. If Jace wants to lie to cover his own skin, he'll find out pretty fast how little patience I have for idiots."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, watching me with a steady, unblinking focus that made my breath hitch.

"Why didn't you leave sooner?" Drack asked softly, his tone shifting from hard ruler to something surprisingly gentle. "An omega with your kind of backbone—someone who yells at a beta and bolts into a blizzard rather than take a beating—doesn't belong scrubbing floors in a rundown border town."

The question hung right between us, raw and sharp.

I swallowed hard, feeling a sudden lump in my throat. Nobody had ever cared what I wanted, let alone why I stayed, because my life had never been mine to choose.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," I said, my voice barely louder than the pop of a burning log. "When you're born an omega down there, they drill it into you from day one that you're damaged goods. They tell you that you're worthless, that you're just meant to serve the upper ranks, and that if your fated mate rejects you, your life is over. I bought into it for years."

I looked up, meeting his gaze directly.

"And then last night happened," I kept going, my voice getting a bit steadier. "Jace threw me away in front of everybody just to look good for some high-ranking girl. Something inside me just snapped. I realized I could stay there and take their abuse until I dropped dead, or I could run out into the snow and take my chances with the frost. At least out there, I was making my own choice."

Drack sat entirely still, listening to every single word like it mattered more than anything else in the room.

"You didn't pick an end, Cassandra," Drack said, his voice dropping into a low rumble that hit straight in my chest. "You picked a start. The moon goddess dragged you up this mountain for a reason."

Before I could find something to say back, a sharp, hard knock rang out against the wood of the double doors.

Drack straightened up instantly, the relaxed look vanishing as the King took over. "Come in," he called out.

The door scraped open, and an older guard walked in, keeping his head dipped low.

"My King," the guard said, his voice clipped and serious. "A runner just came up from the lower valley post. They brought a sealed dispatch straight from Alpha Vance of the Crimson Moon pack."

A cold, dry smile touched Drack’s lips. "That was fast."

"Yes, My King," the guard replied, holding out a dark roll of parchment on a small metal tray. "They're formally demanding your return, claiming you're bound by their pack laws, and they're threatening to take it to the high council if you aren't handed over by morning."

A chill went straight down my spine. The High Council. Even with Drack sitting as a King, getting tangled up in political courts and pack bureaucracy sounded terrifying.

I looked at Drack, waiting for him to look annoyed or stressed.

Instead, he let out a short, cold scoff.

He stood up, towering over the hearth, reached out, and snapped the wax seal off the scroll with one thumb. He scanned the lines in a couple of seconds before tossing the paper carelessly onto the desk behind him.

"Send the runner back down with a message for Alpha Vance," Drack said, his voice turning to ice. "Tell him that if he or any of his council members try to set foot on my mountain to question who stays in my house, I'll strip their land rights, burn their titles, and turn their whole pack into outcasts."

The guard gave a sharp nod, entirely unbothered by the harsh threat. "At once, My King."

With a quick pivot, the guard turned and pulled the doors shut behind him.

The room went quiet again.

I leaned back in my chair, pulling the heavy furs tight, my chest racing with a mix of leftover nerves and a strange, wild thrill. The Crimson Moon pack was actually trying to play politics, and Drack was ready to wipe them off the map over me.

Drack turned around and walked back to the fire, stopping right beside my seat. He looked down with those sharp silver eyes.

"Are you worried about the council, Cassandra?" he asked quietly, leaning in just a fraction.

I shook my head slowly, feeling the last bit of my old fear burn away in the firelight.

"No," I told him honestly. "For the first time in my life... I'm not scared at all."

Drack reached down, his warm fingers brushing the fur edge of his coat, lingering for a second against my cheek before he pulled back.

"Good," the King murmured, a fierce, steady warmth in his eyes. "Because the council is about to find out that nobody tells me who stays under my roof, and nobody touches what belongs to me."