Rejected Mate

CHAPTER 2

ISOLDE’S POV

The heavy wooden carriage rattled over the rough stone road as we traveled deeper into the northern mountains. 

The air inside had grown colder with every passing hour, cutting through the thin velvet cloak wrapped around my shoulders.

I looked out the small glass window. The lush, green forests of the Veyrden pack had completely vanished. In their place stood sharp gray cliffs, towering pine trees with dark leaves, and jagged peaks covered in snow. 

This was Blackthorn. It was a harsh, unforgiving land that looked every bit as cold and terrifying as the king who ruled it.

The carriage finally came to a halt in the main courtyard of the royal fortress. High walls made of black stone surrounded the square, making the palace look more like an impenetrable war fortress than a home.

Two guards dressed in dark armor opened the carriage door. They did not offer a hand to help me down. They simply stood there, their faces cold and unreadable, waiting for me to step out.

"The ceremony hall is straight ahead," one of the guards said, his voice flat. "The elders are waiting."

I pulled my white cloak tightly around myself and walked forward, my boots clicking softly against the frozen stone. The Veyrden family elders who had traveled with me walked a few steps behind. 

They looked nervous, their eyes darting around the cold courtyard as if expecting an attack at any moment. None of them spoke to me. To them, I was just a piece of cargo delivered to its destination.

We entered the giant stone hall. High arched ceilings stretched overhead, and large iron chandeliers hung from thick chains, casting long shadows across the room. 

A long red carpet stretched down the center of the hall, leading to a stone altar where several Blackthorn elders stood waiting.

There was no joy here. There were no flowers, no music, and no smiling guests. It felt less like a wedding and more like an execution.

We waited in silence for nearly an hour. The temperature in the hall dropped further, and the Veyrden elders began to shift uncomfortably on their feet, whispering among themselves about the disrespect of being kept waiting.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the far end of the hall burst open.

A thick wave of heavy tension flooded the room, so strong that it made my heart drop into my stomach. Along with the cold air from outside came the overwhelming scent of fresh iron and blood.

Everyone in the hall fell completely silent. A tall figure walked through the doorway. Rhaelen Draevor.

He was even taller and broader than the terrifying rumors suggested. Dark hair hung slightly damp around his face, and his sharp, cutting jaw was set in a hard line. 

He was dressed in black leather and steel armor, but he clearly had not come from a dressing room. He had come straight from a battlefield. 

Deep dark red blood was smeared across his chest plate, and fresh cuts lined his leather sleeves. He hadn't even bothered to clean himself or tend to his wounds before stepping into the sacred hall.

He didn't look at anyone. He walked down the center aisle with slow, heavy steps, his presence so heavy and dominating that several elders instinctively backed away.

He stopped a few paces from the altar, his back turned slightly toward me. Up close, I could see the raw power radiating from him, but beneath it, there was a strange, ragged edge to his breath, as if he were fighting an invisible battle inside his own mind.

One of the Blackthorn elders stepped forward, holding a silver ceremonial dagger and a parchment scroll. The elder cleared his throat nervously, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke.

"Your Majesty," the elder began, bowing his head deeply. "The delegation from the Veyrden pack has arrived. However... there has been a change in the arrangement."

Rhaelen did not speak. He simply stood there, his dark eyes fixed on the elder.

"The original bride, Lady Selene, was unable to fulfill the marriage contract due to... sudden illness," the elder continued, stumbling over his words as the air in the room grew noticeably colder. "Her family has sent their adoptive daughter, Lady Isolde, to complete the union instead."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Rhaelen turned his head slowly. For the very first time, his dark, piercing eyes fell on me. His gaze was icy, sharp, and entirely devoid of warmth. He looked at my white dress, my pale face, and then past me toward the cowering Veyrden elders.

To him, this was not just a substitution. It was a deliberate, public insult from two families who thought they could play games with the Alpha King.

"A replacement," Rhaelen said. His voice was deep, low, and raspy, carrying a dangerous roughness that made the hair on my arms stand up.

Before anyone could answer, a sudden, blinding wave of violent pressure erupted from him.

With a single, brutal movement, Rhaelen struck out with his arm. A heavy wooden ceremonial table near the altar shattered into pieces under the sheer force of his power, sending splinters and iron candleholders flying across the stone floor. 

Women screamed, and several elders stumbled backward, falling over themselves in panic.

"I do not take leftovers," Rhaelen growled, his chest heaving as his dark eyes burned with intense rage. "And I will not be insulted."

He turned his back on the altar, completely refusing to take the ceremonial knife, perform the marking, or speak a single mate vow. He didn't even ask for my name.

At that exact moment, as the hall descended into pure chaos, a faint, rasping voice echoed directly inside my head.

…Too loud. Kill them…

I froze in place. My hands went cold, and my eyes widened as I looked around the room. The voice had sounded male, deep, and filled with a strange, weak irritation. 

But no one near me was speaking. The guards were holding their breath, and the elders were shouting in panic.

Rhaelen did not look back. He strode out of the hall, his dark cloak billowing behind him, leaving a trail of shattered wood and tension in his wake.

"The wedding is over," a Blackthorn guard announced coldly to the room. "Clear the hall and take her somewhere out of my sight."

Panic erupted among the Veyrden delegation. Terrified that the cursed king might return to slaughter them for the insult, the Veyrden elders turned around and fled toward the courtyard without looking back once. 

They scrambled into their carriages and drove away as fast as the horses could run.

They didn't call for me. They didn't check to see where I was. They simply abandoned me in the middle of a ruined hall in a hostile territory.

I stood alone among the broken pieces of the ceremonial table. I had no home to go back to, no pack to protect me, and a husband who viewed my presence as an insult.

An older servant woman with graying hair and a tired face approached me cautiously. She looked at my white dress, then at the empty hall.

"Come," she said quietly, her voice lacking any warmth. "I will show you to a room."

She led me out of the main hall and down a series of long, dark stone corridors. We went deep into the quiet eastern wing of the fortress, far away from the main living quarters. The air here was damp and chilly, smelling of dust and old stone.

She opened a door at the end of a dark hallway. Inside was a small, plain room. It contained a simple narrow bed, a small wooden table with a single unlit candle, and a small glass window looking out into the foggy night. 

"Stay inside," the servant said, standing at the doorway. "Do not wander the castle. The King does not like intruders, and the guards will not hesitate to strike."

Without waiting for my reply, she shut the door. The sound of a heavy key turning in the lock echoed through the silence.

I was trapped.

I stood in the dark room for a long moment, listening to the quiet whistle of the cold wind outside the glass. The exhaustion of the three-day journey and the heavy weight of the day's events finally caught up to me. 

I walked over to the narrow bed and sat down on the edge, pulling my white cloak tighter around my body to fight off the chill.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I had severed my ties with the Veyrdens, but now I was trapped in the lair of a cursed king who hated my very existence.

Just as I leaned back against the thin pillow, trying to find a moment of rest, a faint whisper cut through the silence of the room.

…It hurts…

My eyes snapped open. I sat up instantly, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The voice was the exact same one I had heard in the ceremony hall. It was low, weak, and filled with a quiet pain.

"Who is there?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly in the quiet darkness.

No one answered.

I stood up quickly, my eyes searching every dark corner of the small room. The candle on the table was unlit. The shadows were still. 

The door was firmly locked from the outside, and the window was shut tight against the freezing mountain air. There was no one in the room. I was completely alone.

I pressed my back against the cold stone wall, clutching my cloak against my chest as my breath came in short, nervous gasps. 

What the hell was happening to me?