A REIGN RECLAIMED

LYDIA POV

Silence hung over the courtyard of Stormfang, so dense that the rustle of pine needles in the mountain wind sounded like falling stone.

Patrick remained on his knees, his hands trembling against the blood-stained cobblestones, his eyes searching my face for a single sign of soft hesitation. A flicker of pity. A whisper of the girl who used to stand in the shadows of Silverfang’s grand hall, praying that the Alpha Prince might look at her with something other than disgust.

He found none.

"Lydia..." Patrick’s voice was a broken whisper, stripped of the commanding arrogance that had once defined him. "The mate bond... I know I shattered it. I know I destroyed the trust between us. But I will spend every remaining day of my life earning the right to stand beside you. I will surrender my claim to Silverfang’s throne if that is what you ask. Just... do not close the door forever."

I looked down at him—at his dark hair matted with sweat and dirt, at the tears tracking through the soot on his cheeks, and at the raw, bleeding hollow inside his chest that echoed my own severed bond.

A month ago, seeing the proud heir of Silverfang beg at my feet would have brought a sharp, bitter satisfaction. Now, it felt strangely light—like a heavy winter cloak slipping off my shoulders.

"Stand up, Prince Patrick," I said calmly, my voice steady and resonant. "You offer to surrender thrones and make grand promises because you still think in terms of ownership and grand gestures. You believe that if your regret is loud enough, the Moon Goddess will rewrite the night you called me 'fatass' and walked away while my family beat me."

Patrick winced as if I had struck him with silver. "Lydia—"

"The mate bond did not die because you said the words of rejection, Patrick," I continued, taking a step toward him. "It died because when you looked at me, you saw a flaw to be discarded. You did not see a person. And I will never again lower myself to fit into the hands of a man who only learned my value when another pack honored my worth."

Behind me, Adrian stood in quiet composure, his hand resting casually near the hilt of his sword. He didn't gloat. He didn't step forward to claim me or thrust his Alpha authority into the space between us. He simply gave me the floor, treating my word as the ultimate law of the courtyard.

Patrick slowly rose to his feet, his posture slumping, his head bowed. The Alpha Prince looked like a man who had finally realized that the greatest punishment for his pride was not execution, but living with the permanent silence of what could have been.

"Then tell me what to do," Patrick rasped, his eyes glistening with fresh tears. "Silverfang is infected and broken. My father is weak from the plague. The lower ranks are terrified, and the Beta's seat is vacant after your parents' treason. If you will not return as my Luna, tell me how Silverfang can survive."

I turned to Adrian, who gave me a firm, single nod of agreement.

"Silverfang will survive on my terms," I declared, my voice carrying across the entire gathering of warriors. "First, Silverfang will sign a treaty of total medical sovereignty. The White Healing Halls of Stormfang will oversee all medical training, potion distribution, and plague response across both territories. No elder, no Beta, and no Alpha will ever overrule a Healer’s authority again."

Gasps ran through the Silverfang war party, but no one dared speak out.

"Second," I said, eyeing the remaining Silverfang elite warriors, "you will institute immediate pack reforms. Low-ranked wolves, omegas, and those without conventional beauty or combat gifts will receive equal rations, protection, and respect under pack law. If I hear of a single wolf mocked, beaten, or discarded for their size or rank in Silverfang, I will pull my healers from your territory permanently."

"It will be done," Patrick said immediately, without a second's hesitation. "I will write it into pack law today."

"And third," I added, looking Patrick dead in the eye, "you will return to your territory and lead your people. You will fix what your father's negligence and my parents' greed destroyed. But you will do it as an ally to Stormfang—and nothing more."

Patrick swallowed hard, the last thread of his desperate hope snapping silently in his chest. "As... an ally."

"As an ally," I repeated firmly.

He bowed his head low, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I accept your terms, Head Healer Blackthorn."

---

By nightfall, the Stormfang fortress had shifted from a battleground to a sanctuary.

The fires in the courtyard were burning low, casting warm orange light against the high granite walls. In the main medical ward, Maya and the junior healers were attending to the last recovering plague patients. The black-vein disease had been completely eradicated from the inner keep, thanks to the wave of White Light that had purged the air.

I stood on the high balcony of the healing wing, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak over my green Head Healer robes. The cool mountain air felt clean against my skin. My hands were still warm with the quiet, humming pulse of my evolved power.

A heavy footstep sounded on the stone balcony behind me.

"You should be resting," Adrian said, stepping beside me and leaning his forearms against the stone balustrade. His gray eyes looked out over the quiet valley below. "You purged an entire courtyard and brought yourself back from the brink of death twelve hours ago."

I smiled softly, looking out at the pine trees swaying in the dark. "I've never felt more awake, Adrian."

"Patrick left an hour ago with his vanguard," Adrian said quietly. "He left half his personal gold reserves behind for the medical ward, along with the signed treaty drafts. He looked like a man who had lost his soul, but he swore he would enforce every reform you demanded."

"Good," I murmured. "Silverfang's omegas deserve better than the pack I grew up in."

Adrian turned to look at me, his calm, unreadable expression softening in the firelight. "And what about you, Lydia? What does the White Healer deserve?"

I met his gaze, feeling the steady, respectful strength that emanated from him. He had paid forty thousand gold pieces for me when everyone else saw a broken liability. He had given me a sanctuary, a rank, and a platform to show my true power—without ever demanding my heart or my body in return.

"I deserve to choose my own path," I said softly. "Without fear. Without shame. And without belonging to anyone but myself."

Adrian gave a low, genuine smile—the warmest I had ever seen on his sharp features. "Then Stormfang will stand beside you on that path as long as you choose to stay. Not as a master. Not as an Alpha demanding a mate. But as a partner."

Before I could answer, a loud horn sounded from the outer gates below—a high, melodic chime that was distinctly different from Stormfang's alarm bells.

Two guards rushed onto the lower courtyard, escorting a rider dressed in pristine white and gold armor, bearing the royal crest of the Continental Assembly—the high ruling body of all Alpha Kings.

The rider dismounted, holding a heavy gold-sealed scroll above his head.

"A message from the High Council!" the herald's voice boomed across the courtyard. "Word of the White Light's miracle has reached the High Sovereign! Head Healer Lydia Blackthorn is summoned to the Continental Assembly at the Imperial City!"

Adrian and I exchanged a sharp glance.

The discarded girl from Silverfang was no longer just a regional rumor. The entire continent was calling for the White Healer.