To Mark His Tribute

KRADAMIAN’S POV

Thousands of Bloodmoon wolves lined the streets, packed shoulder to shoulder against the stone walls. Necks bared, foreheads pressed toward the dirt.

I walked past them into the main courtyard, the severed head of the Rogue King I had just defeated dangling in my hand. For three good months, this coward hid in the northern ridges, calling himself a liberator. Now, he was a trophy.

“Hail the Conqueror,” a low chant rose from the front ranks of the pack warriors, spreading among the civilians until the stone walls vibrated. “Hail the Alpha of all alphas, Kradamian Nightingale.”

I didn't acknowledge the praises.

Victory wasn't an occasion for celebration; it was the standard. The rogues had questioned my authority, and I corrected their mistake. Power was simple. Those strong enough to take territory kept it. Those too weak to defend it deserved to lose it.

At the base of the palace steps, I tightened my grip on the Rogue King’s hair before flinging it onto the flags. It rolled twice, leaving a dark smudge on the stone.

“Clean the courtyard and feed his head to the birds,” I ordered, not waiting for a reply as I walked toward the stairs. “Not even a stain of that coward's blood must remain in my territory.”

Unlike the thousands who still knelt in the dirt, one figure remained standing at the top of the terrace. Queen-Mother Veticia, my aunt. The woman who raised me as her own since my mother died giving birth to me.

Veticia stood perfectly composed, her deep purple robes complimenting her gray hair, her face holding the look of a proud mother.

As I reached the top step, she didn't shrink from the smell of slaughter on my cloak. Instead, she stepped forward, tore out material from her sleeve, and gently wiped a streak of dried blood from my temple.

“Another victory. Yet again you have succeeded in silencing your enemies.”

“Those weak beings are not competent enough to be called my enemies,” I replied, letting my posture relax slightly—the only concession I allowed myself in public. “Moreover, your blessings keep me victorious.”

“And will always be with you, my son,” she offered a rare, thin smile, folding the stained linen into her palm. “Nightveil’s tribute crossed the eastern river three hours ago.”

I pulled off my heavy gauntlets, handing them to the page behind me. “The Crown Princess?”

“Yes,” Veticia answered, turning to walk with me toward the doors of the throne hall. “She is currently being escorted through the lower rings of the village. What are your intentions for her?”

“She’ll live within my walls as a slave,” my voice echoed off the vaulted ceilings. “Nothing more.”

Veticia stopped walking, her fingers wrapping around my forearm and gripping it tight. “Wha—what? She’s a threat. She cannot remain alive, Kradamian. If you value your throne, execute her before nightfall.”

Her eyes were dark with an intensity I hadn't seen in a long while.

“Why?”

“Have you forgotten the prophecy?” Her voice dropped so low that the guards at the door couldn't hear. “The Crown Princess of Nightveil will one day plunge a blade into your heart and take the Bloodmoon throne. Killing her now stops this prophecy.”

A cold amusement settled in my chest as I gently held her hand. “You know I care less about prophecies, Aunt.”

“But they exist for a reason,” her voice cracked with genuine panic. “Don’t ignore them.”

I leaned in closer, my voice turning hard as iron. “I am Kradamian Nightingale. Alpha of Alphas. If I kill a woman because of a prophecy, I’ve already admitted I fear her. Why should a man who has buried kings who thought they could kill me be afraid of one woman?” I straightened my shoulders, adjusting the furs across my chest. “In fact, I want to see this woman who dares to dethrone me. Let her try.”

Veticia’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, her expression shifting into a frustrated mask. “You never listen.”

“No man or woman born under the Moon Goddess can take my life. You have no reason to fear, aunt.”

.

.

.

Ten minutes later, the iron-studded doors of the throne room swung wide.

I sat on the throne and watched as a woman covered in a torn dress was led into the hall by two of my border scouts.

An amused scoff escaped me when I saw her size.

She was smaller than I expected. A woman destined to kill me… this little? What a joke.

Her dark hair was tangled, falling over her shoulders in wild strands.

Most captives arrived with their spines bent, their knees shaking as they looked for a patch of floor to beg from, but this girl? She kept her chin parallel to the ground and her shoulders squared. Her eyes were the color of shallow tropical waters, impossibly clear, the kind of color that should have belonged to something gentle. Instead, they blazed with enough hatred to set kingdoms on fire.

The scouts forced her to stop ten paces from the dais. “The tribute from Nightveil, Alpha,” one of the scouts announced, bowing deeply.

Still, this woman refused to move a muscle or bow.

I leaned forward, resting my elbow on my knee as I studied her.

“Have they taught you no manners in Nightveil?” My voice cut through the silence of the hall. “In Bloodmoon, we break the backs of those who look at the Alpha with such insolence.”

She didn't answer. Her lips remained pressed into a thin, straight line, the contempt in her eyes so raw it was almost insulting.

“Bow… or you will be punished severely.”

For the first time, I heard a sound from her. It was a scoff, followed by defiant words. “Kill me if you must, but I’ll never bow to you.”

Before I could respond, Veticia stepped out from behind the throne, her expression shifting into one of pity.

“The poor thing must be thinking this place is like her Pack,” my Aunt said softly, approaching the girl with her hands open in a gesture of peace. “Little girl, do as the Alpha demands.”

She reached for my tribute’s shoulder, but the next instant, Veticia’s hand was struck away with enough force to echo through the quiet hall.

A sharp cry escaped Veticia’s lips as her foot caught on the edge of the carpet. She stumbled backward and hit the stone floor, her hand flying to her chest.

The room erupted into a din of drawing steel.

As for me? My back straightened, fury flooding my veins and the shock tying my tongue. Had this slave just laid hands on my beloved aunt?

In a fraction of a second, I was off the throne.

The stone beneath my boots cracked as I crossed the distance before the guards could even take a step.

“How. Dare. You. Lay. Your. Filthy. Hand. On. Her?” I growled, every word dragging out with fury.

“Why don’t you ask her!” She fired back with no iota of fear or regret.

At once, my fingers locked around her small neck, and I lifted her off her feet with one hand, slamming her back against the nearest stone pillar. The impact rattled her teeth.

“Go on… kill… me,” she shrieked, her fingers clutching at my wrist, her short nails digging into my skin.

Even with her lungs starving for oxygen, this woman didn't beg or squeeze her eyes shut. She glared into my eyes, her hatred burning brighter, hotter, completely refusing to yield.

Just as my fingers tightened, a sudden, violent jolt shot up my arm, spearing straight through my chest like a bolt of lightning. The air in the room disappeared, replaced by a scent so intoxicating it made my head spin—crushed pine, bright citrus, and cedar, carrying something anciently familiar.

My wolf, Vallion, reared up inside my mind, claws raking across my consciousness as he roared a single, deafening word.

MATE.

My grip gave way of its own accord.

She crashed to the floor, coughing violently as she clutched her bruised throat. Her wide eyes stared back at me.

No…

This couldn't be. For years, I had waited for my mate. Without her, there could be no heir.

But this woman couldn’t possibly be mine. She was the woman prophesied to kill me. The same woman glared at me as though she wished I were already dead.

Inside me, my wolf slammed against every wall of my mind, desperate to break free.

«Mark her,» Vallion growled.

Every instinct in my body urged me to obey. To bite her. To claim her before another male ever could.