The Alpha's Unwanted Queen
To secure a fragile peace between two warring packs, a sacrifice must be made.
Alpha Torin of the Midnight Pack expects the worst when he agrees to marry the daughter of his bitterest enemy. He’s heard the rumors: she is a spoiled, arrogant princess sent to spy on his people. Determined to break her spirit, Torin strips her of her titles, throws her into a freezing attic room, and forces her to work alongside the pack's lowliest servants. He waits for her to snap. He waits for her to fight back.
But the girl who arrived at his packhouse isn't a princess at all.
It's Evangeline—the forgotten, abused, and supposedly "wolfless" daughter her father hid from the world. Used to a lifetime of cruelty and starvation, Eva doesn't throw a fit; she quietly scrubs the floors until her hands bleed, terrified that any mistake will mean her execution.
As Torin's fierce hatred turns to confusion, his inner wolf begins to roar in protest. The electric spark between them is undeniable, but Torin refuses to trust a suspected spy—even as his beast insists she is their fated mate.
But a dark web of lies is unraveling. As the horrific truth of Eva's past comes to light, a dangerous secret begins to bloom in her veins. She was never wolfless; she was poisoned. And as the poison fades, the true royal Alpha heir is about to awaken.
Torin wanted to break an enemy princess. Instead, he will have to spend his life kneeling before the queen he tried to ruin.
Basahin
Chapter: Chapter 15: The Fire Inside the IceThe heavy iron cauldrons of the Midnight Packhouse were built to feed armies, and they felt every bit of their brutal weight. Evangeline stood before the massive stone wash-basin in the back scullery, her small frame leaning heavily against the damp wood to keep from collapsing. The midday sun was streaming through the high kitchen windows, but to Eva, the world was a chaotic, shifting canvas of blinding white glare and suffocating, dark shadows. Her body was on fire. It had started just before noon—a strange, deep-seated heat that began in the center of her chest and spread outward through her limbs like liquid embers. It was a terrifyingly sharp contrast to the freezing draft sweeping across the floorboards. Sweat poured from her hairline, soaking the rough collar of her oversized dress and causing her dark blonde hair to plaster itself against her pale, hollow cheeks. Her vision swam, the heavy copper pots in front of her shifting and distorting as if seen through a wall of wate
Huling Na-update: 2026-07-07
Chapter: Chapter 14: The Witch's ShadowThe heavy oak doors of the Alpha’s private study slammed shut with a force that rattled the iron sconces lining the stone walls. Torin paced the length of the room like a caged beast, his heavy fur cloak discarded on the floor, his chest heaving as he fought for control over his own body. His hand was still burning. He stared down at his right palm, his fingers trembling slightly. The skin looked entirely normal, yet beneath the surface, the residual current of that terrifying electric spark was still buzzing through his veins. Deep within his consciousness, Fenrir was throwing himself against his mental barriers, tearing at the chains of Torin's restraint with a feral, agonized howling that threatened to split Torin's skull open. Mate! Go back! She is ours! the beast roared, demand after demand crashing against Torin's logic. "Shut up," Torin snarled out loud to the empty room, pressing his fists against his temples. "It’s a lie. It’s an illusion." He stormed over to his heavy m
Huling Na-update: 2026-07-07
Chapter: Chapter 13: The Electric CurrentThe narrow service corridor felt as though it were running out of air. Evangeline was entirely lost to the panic, her small frame curled tightly against the base of the black stone wall as her lungs seized. The shallow, desperate wheezes cutting through her throat were growing weaker, her body trembling so violently that her head knocked repeatedly against the rough masonry. Torin knelt on the cold flagstones before her, his large hands hovering in the empty space between them. For a warrior who had faced down rogue hordes and severed the heads of monstrous beasts without a flicker of hesitation, he felt utterly paralyzed. His commanding Alpha aura, usually a weapon of absolute compliance, was only suffocating her further. He pulled the oppressive energy back into himself, desperately trying to quiet the crackling power that filled the hallway, but the damage was already done. She was slipping into unconsciousness right in front of him. "Look at me," Torin rumbled, his voice droppin
Huling Na-update: 2026-06-20
Chapter: Chapter 12: The Breaking PointThe service corridor behind the Great Hall was narrow, drafty, and smelled of cold stone and damp wood. It was a passage meant for servants, a quiet artery away from the roaring warmth and heavy judgment of the main room. Evangeline stumbled through the heavy scullery doors, her breath catching in her throat in jagged, uneven gasps. She set the heavy iron platter down on a wooden prep table with a clatter that vibrated through her teeth, her hands shaking so violently that she could barely open her fingers to let the metal go. Beneath the thick linen bandages Martha had wrapped around her palms, her skin throbbed with a rhythmic, fiery heat. But she barely felt it. The terror suffocating her chest was a far more lethal pain. He thinks it's an act. The realization spun through her foggy, poisoned mind like a sickening carousel. She had tried so hard. She had woken before the sun, scoured the flagstones until her fingers bled, and quietly served the very men who despised her, all to
Huling Na-update: 2026-06-20
Chapter: Chapter 11: The PerformanceThe Great Hall of the Midnight Packhouse was a cavern of sensory overload. Long oak tables groaned under the weight of massive platters of thick-cut bacon, roasted venison sausages, baskets of dense sourdough bread, and pitchers of dark, steaming ale. The air was thick with the scent of roasted grease, woodsmoke, and the vibrant, overwhelming auras of nearly a hundred awakened wolves laughing, shouting, and trading rowdy post-dawn jabs. Alpha Torin descended the wide stone staircase slowly, his heavy boots sounding a steady thud against the wood. He was dressed in black leather and a dark tunic, his damp hair swept back from his face. He had spent the last two hours reviewing border security reports, but if he were honest with himself, his focus had been entirely compromised. His mind kept drifting back to the southern tower—back to the pale, terrified face of the Ironwood princess clutching her blanket as if it were a shield. His inner wolf, Fenrir, was still pacing a restless path
Huling Na-update: 2026-06-11
Chapter: Chapter 10: The Weight of SubmissionThe heavy oak door swung open with a slow, deliberate creak that sounded like a death knell in the quiet kitchen. Evangeline squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles turning stark white around the wooden handle of her scrub brush. Her breathing hitched, a tiny, terrified gasp catching in her throat. She stayed frozen on her hands and knees, her head tucked so low that her chin pressed against her collarbone. She braced herself, waiting for the harsh shout, the heavy strike, or the cold disgust she was so accustomed to receiving back at the Ironwood packhouse. But the heavy, booming footsteps of a warrior didn't follow. Instead, there was a soft rustle of linen, followed by the light, brisk patter of sensible leather shoes. The footsteps stopped abruptly. A sharp, collective intake of air pierced the silence. "Merciful Mother," a woman’s voice whispered. It wasn't the voice of a young, arrogant warrior, nor was it the sharp, venomous tone of Victoria. It belonged to an older woman, ric
Huling Na-update: 2026-06-11
Chapter: Chapter 37: The Ghost Silk of the CoastThe storm that hit the Black Ridge on the fourth day after the inversion was not a localized blizzard; it was a weather system without a spine.Without the Shadow-Weaver’s cold geometric grid to give the wind a single, predictable direction, the atmosphere had dissolved into absolute chaos. The wind didn't blow across the peaks; it spiraled. It dropped vertically from the sky like a solid fist, then reversed, sucking the loose snow upward into blinding, white cyclones.Because the main iron gates remained un-knitted and broken, the gale roared directly into the lower courtyard. It whistled through the archways, rattled the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall, and coated the inner walls with a fine, glass-like rime."It’s drafty," Fenris observed, standing in the center of the courtyard with his arms crossed over his chest. The wind tore at his black fur, but his boots were planted deep in the slush. He was watching Kaelen and two other Thread-Burners try to secure a heavy canvas tarp ac
Huling Na-update: 2026-06-01
Chapter: Chapter 36: The Raw Edge of the LoomThe reconstruction of the Black Ridge did not begin with stone, but with a clearing of the slate.For three days, the courtyard remained a graveyard of scorched iron and ash. The shattered gates lay where they had fallen, their disintegrated hinges mimicking a fine silver dust that refused to melt into the snow. Elara insisted that the rubble remain untouched. She wanted the pack to look at the wreckage every time they crossed from the armory to the Great Hall. She wanted them to remember the cost of a perfect design."If we rebuild the gate too quickly," Elara said, her voice carrying across the drafty battlements where Silas stood with a plumb line, "we will build it out of fear. We will make it thicker, heavier, and more defensive. We will turn the Ridge back into a cage."Silas didn't argue. His own leg, bound tightly in clean, un-enchanted linen, throbbed in time with the mountain wind. "The neighboring packs are reaching their territories by now," he remarked, squinting into the
Huling Na-update: 2026-05-21
Chapter: Chapter 35: The Raw Hem of PeaceThe morning after the inversion, the Black Ridge felt like a skeleton picked clean by the wind. The "Pattern of Peace" was gone, leaving behind a silence so heavy it made the ears ring. The gray fog had been replaced by a sky of crystalline, brutal blue—the kind of sky that didn't just promise cold, it enforced it. The courtyard was a staging ground for a different kind of survival. The hundreds of wolves who had marched upon the Ridge as puppets were now huddled in small, shivering clusters. They weren't soldiers anymore; they were refugees of their own comfort. Elara stood on the upper balcony, her hands gripping the stone railing. The silver lines on her palms had settled into permanent, faint scars, a map of the power she had channeled to break the Weaver’s grip. Beside her, Fenris looked out at the broken gate, his jaw set. "They're waiting for us to feed them," Fenris said, his voice a low rumble. "Or to kill them. They don't know which one we’re more likely to do." "If we f
Huling Na-update: 2026-05-09
Chapter: Chapter 34: The Courtyard of the Final Stitch The siege of the Black Ridge was not an assault of drums and ladders. It was a slow, agonizing constriction. The air around the fortress had turned into a thick, gelatinous fog—not of water, but of suspended, unraveled gray threads that dampened sound and leached the heat from one's skin.Every time a catapult struck the gate, it didn't just rattle the iron; it sent a vibration through the psychic web that Elara had anchored to her own marrow. She sat in the center of the courtyard, legs crossed, eyes milky with the effort of holding the Ridge's foundation together. Around her, the thirty-two remained, their breath visible in the cooling air, their fingers moving in a synchronized, wordless rhythm.They were no longer knitting wool. They were knitting the space between the stones."The gate is bowing," Silas shouted from the battlements, his voice sounding thin and distant through the Weaver’s static. "They aren’t using a ram, Elara! They’re using a resonance! They’re matching the fr
Huling Na-update: 2026-05-02
Chapter: Chapter 33: The Geometry of Ambush The Black Ridge was no longer a fortress of sanctuary; it had become a besieged bunker at the center of a hostile wilderness.The crusade to purge the Weaver’s patterns had been a disaster of morality and tactics. They had set out to "unweave" the infection, but they hadn't counted on the Weaver’s tactical genius. He hadn't just given the neighboring packs warmth; he had given them a military doctrine. He had turned the regional packs into a decentralized network of insurgents, each territory a cell designed to bleed the Ridge dry through attrition.They weren't fighting an army that stood in lines and fought with honor. They were fighting ghosts who knew every mountain path, every hidden cave, and every weak point in the Ridge’s supply lines.Elara and Fenris returned from the "Glass Fields"—a territory formerly held by the Southern clans—with their regiment in tatters. They hadn't lost many to the sword, but they had lost their edge. They were exhausted, battered by a relentless se
Huling Na-update: 2026-04-29
Chapter: Chapter 32: The Thread-Burners’ CrusadeThe "Artisans’ Guild" did not ride out of the Black Ridge with banners of silk or the gentle songs of weavers. They rode with the heavy, rhythmic thud of war-wolves. The knitting needles they carried were no longer bamboo; they were sharpened, cold-forged steel, etched with the binding runes Elara had painstakingly carved during the sleepless nights that followed the revelation.They were no longer "knitters." They were the Thread-Burners.Fenris led the vanguard, his armor draped in a cloak that was deliberately, starkly plain—the only piece of untainted wool in the entire regiment. Elara rode beside him, her silver-white tail tucked low, her eyes scanning the horizon for the telltale, dissonant vibration of the Shadow-Weaver’s patterns.Their first stop was the Eastern Crags, the territory of Lady Isolde. Months ago, Isolde had been the one to ask for the "Midnight Blue" cloaks to stop her pack from frostbiting. Now, those same cloaks were the enemy.When they arrived at the Crags,
Huling Na-update: 2026-04-27
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