Rejected by the Alpha Prince, Claimed by the Wolf Duke

Seraphina POV

The next morning, my family's sprawling stone mansion, with its grim-faced gargoyles, was alive with wild celebration.

Servants carried polished steel trays of roasted meats and expensive wines.

Isabella was going to be the next Luna. My parents were drunk on the sudden power.

I sat quietly in my mother's dark study. The heavy velvet curtains blocked out the morning sun.

"Mother," I said, my voice cutting through her cheerful counting of gold coins. "I wish to be mated. I ask that you arrange a marriage for me."

She looked at me as if I were a speck of dirt on her expensive rug.

"You?" she scoffed. "You are an Omega. You offer no strength of arms to this family's standing."

She opened a drawer and tossed a stack of dusty parchments onto the table.

"Here. Pick a suitor from this refuse. See that you do not embarrass your sister in the process."

I leafed through the papers. They were profiles of low-level Betas and fallen nobles.

These were not the Pack's proud warriors, but men old, maimed, or disgraced.

I even saw the profile of the cowardly man Isabella had married in my past life.

I reached the bottom of the pile. My fingers brushed against a thick piece of parchment stamped with a blood-red moon crest.

I pulled it out. A sketched portrait of a man stared back at me.

He had sharp jawlines, messy dark hair, and eyes that looked bored with the world.

"Kaelen," I read the name aloud.

My mother snatched the paper from my hand with a look of disgust.

"Under no circumstances! He is the Alpha Duke of the Bloodmoon Pack. He holds the Northern Border."

"He is an Alpha," I pointed out. "Why is his profile in this pile of cast-offs?"

"Because the Elders forced that filth upon us! He is a degenerate!" my mother spat. "A brute who spends his years carousing with mud-sodden commoners in Northern taverns, his bloodline thinned by cheap ale. He consorts with Rogues!"

Her voice dropped, laced with a venomous practicality. "And more to the point—the Royal Council has decreed that any noble house which allies with the Northern Duke will have its inheritance rights downgraded. The Old King fears Kaelen's military power. Marrying him would strip your sister of half her future titles. I will not have this family's standing gutted for an Omega's whim!"

She threw the paper back at me. "While you two pieces of refuse might suit one another, I will not have this family's name dragged through the mire of his reputation!"

I stared at Kaelen's portrait. My heart beat a little faster.

I knew the truth. In my past life, Kaelen was no degenerate.

He was the most terrifying war machine in the kingdom. He controlled the military.

He only pretended to be a fool so the Old King would not feel threatened and kill him.

But why did he submit a marriage profile? In my past life, he never married. He died alone on the battlefield.

Before I could think further, the study doors crashed open.

Isabella stormed in, wearing a tight, ruby-red corset dress.

"I am overcome with boredom!" she whined. "Silas is sequestered until the Full Moon passes."

The Full Moon. It was the time of the month when a werewolf's inner beast was strongest.

Alphas became aggressive, restless, and deeply territorial. They needed to isolate themselves to avoid hurting others.

"You will accompany me, Seraphina," Isabella demanded. "We are going to the night market."

My mother immediately nodded. "Go. Attend to your sister. If a single hair on the future Luna's head is harmed, I shall have you whipped."

The day wore on under my mother's ceaseless, critical gaze. It was not until dusk painted the sky in shades of bruised purple that Isabella, her patience worn thin, finally dragged me to the waiting carriage. I said nothing. I just followed Isabella out.

The night market was a chaotic maze of pointed, black canvas pavilions that stood in the gloom like a row of dark, collapsing funeral tents, magic herb stalls, and weapon smiths displaying silver-edged blades behind glass cases, their deadly edges meant for human hands to wield against our kind.

Isabella walked ahead, kicking over a poor merchant's basket of apples because it was in her way.

Suddenly, my nose caught a familiar scent. Rain and pine.

I stopped walking.

Isabella smelled it too. She squealed in delight and ran forward.

"Silas!"

She threw herself into the arms of the Crown Prince, who was standing near a potion stall.

Silas wrapped his arms around her. He rested his chin on the top of her head, trying to calm his restless inner wolf.

But as he held Isabella, he lifted his head.

His amber eyes locked directly onto me.

The look in his eyes was not one of love. It was a dark, possessive claim—a warning that coiled in the pit of my stomach. He had just publicly pledged himself to my sister, yet his gaze tracked me through the crowd as if I were prey that had wandered too far from his territory.