Never Yours Alpha

LILY POV I slammed the door so hard the crystal lamps rattled, then threw myself onto my bed and screamed straight into a pillow. A very princess-like entrance, I know. But at this point, I didn’t give a damn. My mother, Her Radiant Majesty Queen Petunia the Third, Mother of the Fae Realm, Mistress of Seven Blossoming Courts, Owner of Zero Practical Brain Cells, must have developed a mental injury or something. There was no other explanation. She had summoned me into her study. Not gently. Not warmly. Not even with the fake sweetness she used in public. Pure fae style: cold, direct, and razor-sharp. “Lily,” she’d said, “you’re getting married.” I blinked. “To who?” “To Councilman Grint’s son,” she replied, as if she weren’t casually demolishing my life. Grint. Yes, that’s his real name. But unfortunately, the man looked *so much* like the human Grinch that every fae under a thousand secretly called him that. Including me. “So,” I’d muttered, “The Grinch’s son.” Her glare could’ve curdled wine. I’d never even met the guy. Never spoken to him. Never seen him except from a distance where he lurked beside his father, looking like he’d been carved out of spoiled cabbage. And apparently now I was supposed to marry him. For the “good of the realm.” For the “future of the court.” For the “stability of my claim.” Bullshit. But my mother delivered it with the conviction of someone who believes she’s right. She always does. “It is necessary,” she’d insisted. “Unless you show a sign on your eighteenth birthday, the nobles will never accept you as my true heir. The marriage will secure your place.” A sign. The last chance I had. The last moment the universe might decide whether I was Fae… or Wolf. She’d looked at me with her storm-grey eyes—not cruel, not cold, just terrified—and I did the same thing I always did: I caved. So that’s why I was currently face-down on my bed screaming like a banshee. If banshees wore silk gowns and were forced into arranged marriages. This palace, my so-called home, felt like a trap made of marble and gold. I’d been sheltered way too much these last eight years. Pitied. Whispered about. Watched. Judged. *The broken princess.* I heard it everywhere. As if everything I’d been through hadn’t built walls so thick even light struggled to slip in. I’d been abducted by deranged wolves when I was ten—not fifteen like the palace gossips like to exaggerate. Ten. Still small. Still trusting. They killed me. Actually killed me. My soul was ripped from my body like a thread pulled from a tapestry, then crammed into the form of an omega werewolf child left to rot in a cell. And then, HE came. Four alphas saved me and many more, from a prison that looked way too much like a lab carved into a mountain. And with them, their prince. Simon. Gods, I hadn’t thought his name in a while without flinching. He had been older, in his twenties, and impossibly tall to my tiny, starved self. Not handsome back then, not in the way court teaches you to recognize beauty, but solid. Warm. Fierce. He’d knelt beside me, his voice rough and gentle all at once. “You’re safe,” he’d said. “I’ve got you.” “I’ll take care of you.” And for a while, I believed him. I really did. He let me cling to him on the journey back, let me bury my face in his shoulder when nightmares broke through sleep. He carried me when my legs shook, fed me, comforted me, protected me with a ferocity no one had ever shown me before. Then we crossed the border into Faerie. The moment my mother recognized me, recognized Violet, her daughter who’d been murdered years before, Simon handed me over. And disappeared. Just… gone. No goodbye. No explanation. No visit. No letter. Nothing. The man who had sworn to protect me vanished like he’d never existed. I’d been deceived, tortured, killed, reborn, and lied to more than any child should ever experience. What was an arranged marriage on top of all that? I screamed into the pillow again, then rolled onto my back and stared at the carved ceiling, a massive fresco of my mother’s coronation. She looked glorious, powerful, untouchable. Nothing like me. I wasn’t the heir she wanted. Not really. Not unless I manifested “true fae power” on my birthday. My last chance. My last moment to prove I belonged. I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. A sign. That’s all I needed. Just one. A flicker of faelight. A ripple of glamour. Anything. Then I wouldn’t need politicians or alliances. Councilman Grint, sorry, The Grinch, would bow so hard his head might smack the floor. And maybe… maybe my mother would look at me with something other than fear. Or worry. Or that suffocating love she wraps around me like chains. Maybe she’d be proud. A soft knock echoed on my door. “Lily?” My cousin Rosalie’s voice, muffled. “Are you… alive?” “Barely,” I muttered. She cracked the door open, slipping inside with the cautious elegance of someone used to walking on shattered glass. Rosalie was three years older, flawless, always composed. Everything a fae princess should be. Everything I wasn’t. Her eyes scanned my room, taking in my sprawled position, my flushed cheeks, my misery. “Oh gods,” she sighed, sinking onto the bed beside me. “What did she do now?” “She sold me,” I said dramatically. Rosalie blinked. “To slavery?” “Worse. To marriage.” Rosalie’s eyes widened. “To who?” “Guess.” She groaned. “Not the Grinch’s son.” “The Grinch’s son.” She flopped onto her back beside me, covering her face with both hands. “Your mother is insane.” “Thank you. Finally someone says it out loud.” “But you said yes?” I sighed, long and miserable. “She asked. She begged. And she’s terrified the nobles won’t accept me.” Rosalie dropped her hands and turned her head to stare at me. “Do you want to know what I think?” “No,” I muttered. “But you’ll tell me anyway.” Rosalie propped herself up on her elbow. “You think marrying Grint Jr. will make people accept you, but Lily… if your sign doesn’t appear—” “I know.” The room fell silent. I sat up, hugging my knees to my chest. “If I’m not fae,” I whispered, “if I shift instead—” Rosalie didn’t look away. “Then what?” “I’ll never be queen,” I said. “I’ll just be… the wolf in the throne room.” “The wolf princess,” she corrected gently. “Who survived death.” I stared at her. For once, there was no pity in her eyes. Just truth. “It isn’t wrong to be both,” she said. “It is here,” I whispered. Rosalie lowered her gaze. “Maybe it won’t matter.” “It matters to everyone.” Rosalie stood, smoothing her gown. “I think you’ll have your answers soon.” I frowned. “What does that mean?” But she only smiled in that irritatingly cryptic fae way and slipped out of the room. I sighed, falling back onto my pillows. Two nights. Two nights until the entire fae realm gathered to watch me glow… or shift. Two nights until my future was decided. Two nights until I married a cabbage. I closed my eyes, wishing for sleep, or a miracle, or a sign from the universe. Anything. Instead, a strange whisper of cold air brushed my skin, carrying a scent I hadn’t breathed in years. Pine. Snow. Storm-wolf. My eyes shot open. But the room was empty.