5. The Rebellion’s Bite

The scent of fire and blood still lingered in the air even after the rain had extinguished visible flames. The palace was damaged but not destroyed. And Ragnar? He was anything but calm.

He hadn’t slept. He didn’t rest.

His study reeked of smoke, wet ash, and rage.

Ragnar stood with his back towards Nate, facing the tall arched window, having his gaze scanning the horizon. His arm hung bandaged with black cloth, which was soaking with blood because the dagger she used was made of silver; the wound caused by the silver dagger doesn't heal with healing powers, and it also leaves a scar. He stood there calmly, he didn’t flinch, didn’t care.

Vengeance was the only thing consuming him now.

“How dare she?” he mumbled, almost in a primal growl. “A woman. A lowly she-wolf. A f*cking beta. Not only did she scar me—she dared to set my f*cking palace on fire." He snarled as his arm twitched in pain.

His fingers gripped the edge of the window so powerfully that the stone shattered under his strength. Nate stood behind him and watched while still recovering from the disaster that occurred last night. “We’re doing a sweep. The castle is under control. Three Alphas dead, seven guards injured.”

"We searched the guests and interrogated them. A woman told us she had seen a young man putting the curtain on fire before escaping the palace. We are looking for him in the kingdom, but there was no reports on him yet."

“And the girl?” Ragnar asked without turning.

Nate hesitated. “No body found. We searched the shore, the water. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.”

Ragnar turned sharply, his eyes glowing with fury.

“Not a chance. No one disappears on me. Not after trying to kill me.” He stalked towards Nate, his daunting presence made the air feel heavy. “Where did a beta get that kind of training from? That level of skill?”

Nate swallowed. “There are whispers, my King. Of an underground movement… A secret organisation of omegas. Hidden. Rebellious. Outcasts. They take runaways and train them. They're warriors.”

Ragnar's jaw clenched.

“She was one of them,” he said coldly. “That explains everything.” Ragnar continued.

"But why would a beta join in with omegas, knowing it is dangerous?"

His mind raced back to twelve years ago. To the only other person who dared to attack him this way. The only one to manage drawing blood and surviving. Some girl from his past. A mere omega. The one who had given him a scar that ran across his eye, now mocking him.

And now some beta had scarred him once again, mentally and physically, in front of his court. Challenged him. Nearly killed him. 

This beta girl had used the same fighting technique that the omega girl had used all those years ago. Was it possible for them to be the same person? But he could recognize those silver ash hair anywhere, but this beta girl had a different hair color. And most importantly, this girl was a beta. Why would he even think about such a lame thing?

He would not let this go.

"Nate," he said, his voice like ice. “Gather our finest hundred warriors. Immediately send them toward the Eastern woods. There’s only one place these omegas could be hiding.”

“Is it the omega camp, my Lord?” Nate questioned, as his gaze sharpened.

“Hmm. Burn it to the ground,” Ragnar grumbled. “They are to be enslaved, all of them. Drag them here in chains. I want the leader alive and on his knees. Make an example out of them. I want this kingdom to remember what happens when someone attempts to put a blade to my throat.”

Nate did not seek clarification. Instead, he nodded once and exited the study.

Ragnar remained still, his chest heaving, recalling the memory of those eyes, that defiant gaze in green hues came flooding back. The tranquil look in her eyes, that little handwave…right before she jumped.

She was still alive. He could sense it deep within his bones.

And if she were alive?

He intended to seek her out.

To break her.

And teach her a proper lesson that she'd remember for the rest of her life by rotting in the dungeons and paying for her sins. 

Two days later... 

The palace was surreal in its silence as if everyone were waiting with bated breath.

Ragnar sat on his lofty throne, a glass goblet of bloodwine nestled comfortably within his grip. He leaned back in a relaxed manner, resting one leg over the other. Arms resting on the armrest. His men had yet to return, and his patience was already running thin. By this time, he had expected his men to return with omegas being dragged through the dirt, chained by their necks.

But something was off.

In a swift motion, the throne room's heavy doors burst open.

Nate appeared on the scene, anger in his eyes, scarred armor that bore witness to violence, and his face adorned with deep cuts. His face was bruised and scabbed. A trail of soldiers limped in behind him; they were wounded, battered, and some were barely able to stand. A few were being carried, and some were even missing limbs. 

Ragnar’s gaze drew sharply, the bloodwine goblet shattering in his fist.

It looked as if they'd returned from the war against the barbaric beasts. 

Kneeling to the King, Nate spoke, "My Lord…" A sigh escaped his lips as he struggled to catch his breath, “We were ambushed… They were ready for us.”

Ragnar pulled to his feet slowly. The wine dripping down his hands. The cuts made on his hand from the glass begin to heal at a fast pace due to his immensely strong powers. 

He prowled down the stairs in slow, dangerous steps, like a beast awakened from slumber, rage igniting in his golden hues. 

Nate inhaled sharply when he noticed his Lord approaching him as wrath radiated off of him in such menacing waves that the whole throne room turned icy cold, and the surrounding air felt heavy. 

Nate braced himself as he continued in a calm tone. Nate was a strong man. He was also an Alpha and never got scared of anyone. But Ragnar was the dominant Alpha. The king. The strongest, his presence alone demand fear from every soul. 

"They knew we were coming, my Lord. Someone betrayed us," Nate said.