Oops, My Bastard Just Ate Your Legacy!

Chapter One: The Celebration

The Silvermoon pack house glowed like a jewel against the evening sky. Golden lanterns swayed from the vaulted ceiling, casting warm shadows that danced across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of honeyed pastries, fresh jasmine, and the ever-present musk of wolves—a celebration in full bloom.

Nyma sat in her ceremonial chair, carved with luna symbols and draped in silver silk, one hand resting protectively on her rounded belly. Around her, pack members laughed and shared stories, their voices weaving together in a symphony of joy. Gifts wrapped in delicate paper piled at her feet like offerings to a goddess.

She should have felt radiant. Cherished. This was her night—her child's night.

Instead, a hollow ache settled in her chest.

Across the room, Alpha Prince Adrain held court with his entourage. Seven strangers who had returned with him from his "special training"—wolves she didn't recognize, their laughter ringing louder than the music. They circled him like moths to flame, hanging on his every gesture, every word. When he smiled, they beamed. When he moved, they followed.

He hadn't looked at her properly since walking through their door yesterday.

Nyma smoothed her dress—midnight blue silk that had taken her three days to choose, hoping it would remind him of the night sky where they'd first kissed. The night he'd promised her forever.

Six months, she thought, watching him gesture animatedly to a petite brunette whose laughter tinkled like silver bells. Six months since we married, and sometimes I wonder if I know him at all.

The thought stung more than she cared to admit. Would she have said yes to his proposal so quickly if she hadn't discovered her pregnancy during the luna ceremony? Would she have given them time to truly know each other beyond the mate bond's pull?

But regret was a luxury she couldn't afford. She'd made her choice—love over crown, heart over politics. Adrain had defended her when his brother Prince Lucian accused her of seduction and manipulation. He'd chosen their bond over his royal legacy.

At least, she'd thought he had.

The pack house doors swung open with a resonant boom, and the celebration stuttered to a halt. Conversations died mid-sentence. Laughter faded into nervous whispers.

The Royal Lycans had arrived.

Power walked through those doors like a living thing, pressing against every wolf in the room until they bowed their heads in submission. Nyma rose gracefully, her chin lifted in defiant dignity as her mother-in-law approached.

Queen Mother Ivora moved like winter personified—beautiful, untouchable, and mercilessly cold. Her silver gown trailed behind her like frost, and her pale eyes swept the room with calculated disinterest before settling on Nyma with something between disappointment and disdain.

"My dear daughter," Ivora said, her voice carrying the false warmth of a blade wrapped in silk. She offered Nyma the traditional blessing, pressing her palm briefly to Nyma's forehead. "How... maternal you look."

Behind the Queen Mother, Princess Evelynn glided forward in a gown of midnight black, her ruby lips curved in a smile that promised trouble. Where her mother was ice, Evelynn was venom—beautiful, deadly, and far too pleased with herself.

And then came Second Prince Lucian.

The air itself seemed to thicken as golden eyes found hers across the room. Six feet of lean muscle wrapped in royal arrogance, he moved with predatory grace, his dark hair catching the lantern light. Those eyes had haunted her dreams since their last encounter—not with desire, but with the bone-deep certainty that he saw her as prey.

Nyma held his gaze, refusing to look away first. She would not give him the satisfaction of her fear.

The gift ceremony began as tradition demanded, but with the Lycans present, even generosity felt like warfare.

Queen Mother Ivora stepped forward first, gesturing to a servant who carried an ornate silver cradle. Lycan runes spiraled along its edges, speaking of ancient power and royal bloodlines.

"For the child," Ivora announced, her voice carrying clearly through the silent hall. "A cradle befitting royal blood, though it shall never rock the future King it was carved for."

The message struck like a physical blow. This is what your child could have had. This is what you denied them.

Nyma placed both hands on her belly, feeling her child stir beneath her touch. "Thank you, Queen Mother. Your gift is indeed precious." She smiled, and meant it. "Though a cradle is only as blessed as the love surrounding it, not the crown above it."

Ivora's eyes narrowed to silver slits, but she stepped back without comment.

Princess Evelynn took her place with feline grace, presenting a golden dagger encrusted with blood-red rubies. She ran one elegant finger along the blade's edge as she spoke.

"For the Luna Mother," Evelynn purred, her voice honey over steel. "May you always be strong enough to defend yourself and your child... since your choices have left you with no one else to rely on."

Scattered laughter rippled through the watching crowd—pack members who knew better than to offend royalty, even at the expense of their Luna.

Nyma accepted the blade, testing its weight in her palm. Beautiful, deadly, and surprisingly well-balanced. "How thoughtful, dear sister. Though I've never needed anyone to fight my battles for me." She sheathed the dagger at her hip with practiced ease. "But I appreciate the reminder."

Evelynn's smirk flickered.

Finally, Lucian stepped forward.

A servant handed him an elongated black box, which he opened with deliberate slowness. Nested in velvet lay a delicate silver chain with two interlocked rings—one large, one smaller, both etched with binding runes.

Nyma's blood turned to ice water.

"Second mate bonds," Lucian murmured, his voice pitched low and intimate, meant for her ears alone. "Lycans wear them when we accept a mate beyond our first." His golden eyes glittered with dark amusement. "You could have learned our ways, Nyma. You could have had Adrain... and me." His smile was all teeth. "It would have been... educational."

The hall held its collective breath. Every eye in the room fixed on her, waiting to see how their Luna would respond to such a brazen insult.

Nyma's heart hammered against her ribs, but her hands remained steady as she lifted the chain from its velvet bed. The metal felt cold against her fingertips, weighted with implications she refused to accept.

She held Lucian's gaze as she grasped both ends of the delicate chain.

And snapped it in half.

The metallic crack echoed through the silence like a thunderclap.

"Oops." She let the broken pieces fall at Lucian's feet, silver links scattering across the stone floor like fallen stars. "Seems the bond wasn't strong enough to handle pressure."

Her silver eyes blazed as she straightened to her full height. "I don't need a second mate, Lucian. I will never be a second mate. And I certainly don't need lessons from you."

The tension stretched taut as a bowstring until Soren, her pack's ever-diplomatic beta, clapped his hands together with forced cheer.

"Well! That was intense. Who's ready for cake?"

Nervous laughter bubbled up from the crowd, breaking the spell like a stone through glass. Conversations resumed in careful bursts, pack members eager to pretend they hadn't witnessed a Luna publicly humiliate a Lycan Prince.

The royal family departed soon after, their gifts delivered and their message clear. But as Nyma watched them go, she caught the look that passed between Lucian and his mother—a silent communication that made her skin crawl.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

As the evening wound down and guests began to drift away, Nyma found herself searching the crowd for her husband. She spotted him near the terrace, still surrounded by his entourage, his head bent close to that same brunette woman whose laughter had echoed all night.

Something twisted in Nyma's chest as she watched them together—the easy familiarity, the way Adrain's hand lingered on the woman's shoulder. The way the woman looked at him like he hung the moon and stars.

The way Nyma used to look at him.

Nyma pressed both hands to her belly, feeling her child's restless movements—as if they, too, sensed the danger gathering like storm clouds on the horizon.

She'd won this battle through strength and spectacle. But battles weren't wars, and the Lycans had just learned exactly how far she was willing to go to protect her freedom.

The question was: how far were they willing to go to destroy it?

As she stood there in her beautiful blue gown, surrounded by the remnants of her celebration and the growing distance between herself and the man fate has chosen for her above all others, Nyma made herself a promise.

She would never wear chains—magical, political, or emotional.

Even if it killed her.

Especially if it killed her.

Because some things were worth dying for, and freedom was definitely one of them.