After My Alpha Chose His Mistress and Heir

The tribunal petition sat on the table in front of me like a loaded weapon.

I had written it myself. Three pages. Formal Pack Law language that Maren helped me format, citing statutes I had memorized in the two days since the Lycan King confirmed my bloodline. The Luna Accord was buried in the oldest section of the code—a provision so ancient most Alphas didn't know it existed. But it was there. Clear. Binding.

Any Alpha who brands his own Luna with silver forfeits his title and territory.

I pressed two fingers to the scar on my wrist. The skin was still raised. Still warm. Bentley had put this mark on me hours after the rejection, in the basement of the pack house, with his own hands. He had made sure it would scar. Made sure I would carry it.

Now I was going to make sure it cost him everything.

The Lycan King sat across from me, his hands folded on the table. Idris Vael stood behind him, silent. Rhys was near the window, his posture carefully neutral. He had not said a word since I laid the petition in front of his father.

The King read it twice. When he looked up, his expression was unreadable.

"You understand what this will do," he said quietly.

I nodded. "It will strip his title. Forfeit Shadowridge territory to the Lycan Crown. Make him packless."

"It will also make you a target," the King said. "Bentley will not accept this quietly."

"I don't need him to accept it," I said. "I need the Council to enforce it."

The King studied me for a long moment. Then he picked up the petition and signed the bottom. His signature was sharp. Definitive.

"The tribunal convenes in ten days," he said. "Prepare yourself, Florence. This will not be easy."

I stood. "Nothing about the last five years has been easy."

I walked out before anyone could respond.

---

Word spread fast.

By the next morning, every pack in the region knew. The Lycan Princess—long-lost daughter of the Lycan King—had filed a formal tribunal petition against Alpha Bentley Harrison of Shadowridge. The Luna Accord had been invoked. The Council had accepted the claim.

I could feel the shift in the air. The Silverpine wolves who passed me in the corridors lowered their heads. Not out of pity. Out of respect.

Sable was restless inside me. She wanted to run. To fight. To finish what Bentley had started.

I made myself sit still.

Maren found me in the training yard that afternoon, running drills. I had shifted twice already. My muscles burned. My breath came hard.

"You need to rest," she said.

I didn't stop. "I need to be ready."

"For what? The tribunal is a legal proceeding. You won't be fighting him in a ring."

I turned to face her. Sweat dripped down my back. "He's not going to let this go to trial. He's going to come for me."

Maren's expression shifted. "You think he'll try something before the Council convenes?"

"I know he will," I said.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded. "I'll make sure the perimeter is reinforced."

She left. I went back to the drills.

---

The letter arrived three days later.

Garret Cole delivered it himself. Bentley's Beta. The man who had forged my consent on the waiver absolving Cyrus of the wolfsbane poisoning. He stood at the Silverpine border under a white flag, formal diplomatic protocol, and requested an audience.

Idris Vael met him at the gate. I watched from the safe house window.

Garret handed over a sealed envelope. Idris took it without a word. Garret said something I couldn't hear. Idris's expression didn't change. He turned and walked back toward the safe house.

Garret stood at the border for another minute. Then he left.

Idris brought the envelope to me in the main hall. The Lycan King was there. Rhys. The Silverpine Alpha.

I broke the seal.

The letter was short. Bentley's handwriting. Precise. Controlled.

*Florence,*

*Withdraw the petition. Accept the exile. Disappear quietly. If you proceed with this tribunal, I will ensure that every pack in the region receives documentation proving you fabricated the Luna Accord claim and forged the waiver yourself. You will be exposed as a liar and a fraud. Your Lycan bloodline will not protect you from that.*

*This is your only warning.*

*—Bentley*

I read it twice. My hands didn't shake. Sable was very still inside me.

I folded the letter. Handed it to Idris.

"Add it to the evidence file," I said.

The King's eyes narrowed. "He's threatening you."

"He's panicking," I said. "He knows the Council will rule against him. This is desperation."

Rhys stepped forward. "He's also lying. There is no documentation. The waiver is already in the tribunal file. He has nothing."

I looked at him. "I know."

The King stood. "Then we proceed. The tribunal convenes in seven days. Florence, you will testify before the full Council. You will present the brand. The waiver. The rejection vow witnessed by three hundred pack members. Bentley Harrison will answer for every crime he committed against you."

I nodded.

The King left. Idris followed.

Rhys stayed.

I walked toward the door. He caught my arm—gently, his grip loose enough that I could pull away if I wanted.

I stopped.

"You don't have to do this alone," he said quietly.

I looked at his hand on my arm. Then at his face. "I've been doing everything alone for five years."

"You're not alone anymore," he said.

Sable stirred. That hum behind my sternum—the one I had been trying to ignore—flared so hot I felt it in my throat.

I pulled my arm free. Not hard. Just enough.

"I need to train," I said.

I walked out into the cold.

---

I ran Sable through two hours of combat drills in the frozen training yard. Shift. Strike. Shift back. My claws tore through the practice dummies. My breath steamed. My muscles screamed.

When I finally stopped, the sun was setting. The sky was bruised purple and gold.

I stood in the center of the yard, human again, wrapped in a blanket someone had left on the fence. My hands were shaking. Not from cold. From the rage I had been holding inside my chest for five years finally finding somewhere to go.

Bentley thought he could threaten me into silence.

He was wrong.

I pressed two fingers to the scar on my wrist. The silver brand. The mark he put on me to keep me powerless.

In seven days, the Lycan Council would see it.

And Bentley Harrison would lose everything.