THE PRICE OF RESTORATION

LYDIA POV

The iron gates of Stormfang’s outer courtyard groaned under the weight of a heavy battering ram, followed by the deafening crack of splintering timber.

"Hold the line!" Commander roared, his voice still raspy from the shadow-toxin I had just drawn from his lungs. "Shields up! Do not draw steel unless Alpha Adrian gives the order!"

I stumbled out of the healing hall, leaning heavily on Maya’s shoulder. My head throbbed, my legs felt like lead, and my palms still tingled with the residual warmth of the White Light. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle, but the discovery I had just made—the purple chemical binder floating in the plague toxin—kept my heart hammering against my ribs.

My mother’s signature formula. My own bloodline had manufactured the poison that was rotting innocent wolves from the inside out.

"Lydia, you should be in bed!" Adrian called out, stepping back toward me. His dark green cloak whipped around his tall frame in the cold mountain wind, his gray eyes dark with worry as he saw me swaying on my feet.

"I’m not staying inside," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "My mother made that plague, Adrian. I know what’s in it. And I know who sold it."

Before Adrian could answer, the heavy wooden doors of the courtyard buckled outward. A dozen Silverfang elite warriors poured through the gap, their silver armor gleaming under the overcast gray sky. At their front marched Patrick Silversson.

He looked imposing, dangerous, and terrifyingly handsome—the Alpha Prince everyone in the kingdom worshipped. But as he stepped into the courtyard, his eyes swept past the armed guards, past Adrian, and locked squarely onto me.

A sharp, violent pulse spiked through the hollow scar in my chest—the phantom ghost of the severed mate bond reacting to his proximity. I clenched my jaw, fighting down the nausea.

"Lydia," Patrick breathed, his voice carrying over the wind.

He took three fast strides toward me, but a wall of Stormfang spears immediately snapped down between us. Adrian stepped forward, his body shielding mine, his expression carved from stone.

"You have breached my outer perimeter, Prince Patrick," Adrian said, his voice quiet, calm, and terrifyingly cold. "In times of war, that is an act of aggression. Give me one reason why I shouldn't have my archers tear you into pieces."

Patrick didn't look at Adrian. His sharp green eyes were fixed on my face—taking in the pale exhaustion of my skin, the deep green Head Healer robes, and the short, unevenly trimmed hair framing my jawline. Something raw and tormented flickered across his features.

"I brought medicine," Patrick called out, gesturing to two supply crates carried by his men. "Silverfang’s elders recognized the signs of the black-vein fever spreading across the border. I brought rare moon-lilies and purification salves. I am offering a diplomatic truce—and a full military alliance against Shadowclaw."

"In exchange for what?" Adrian asked, not moving an inch.

Patrick’s jaw tightened. "In exchange for my mate."

The silence that fell over the courtyard was suffocating. Dozens of Stormfang warriors shifted, their eyes darting between Adrian, Patrick, and me.

"She is not your mate," Adrian stated flatly, his voice echoing against the granite walls. "You rejected her publicly in front of your entire pack. You called her a fatass. You stood by while her family locked her in a basement, cut off her hair, and auctioned her off like property. You forfeited every right you ever had under Moon Goddess law."

Patrick’s face flushed dark red, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. "I was an idiot! I was blind! I let pride and pack politics cloud my judgment! But the bond is still there—I feel it tearing me apart every single day! I came to fix this!" He took another step toward the spears, his voice rising in desperation. "Lydia, please! Look at me! I will punish your parents! I will strip Seraphina of her titles! I will give you half the kingdom in writing! Just come home!"

Come home.

The words were so absurd, so bitterly ironic, that a small, dry laugh escaped my throat. I pushed past Maya's supporting arm and stepped out from behind Adrian.

"Home?" I asked, my voice rising over the howling mountain wind, clear and razor-sharp. "You call Silverfang my home?"

Patrick blinked, taking in my stance. "Lydia—"

"In that 'home,' I was the Beta's plus-size daughter everyone mocked while they praised my sister," I said, taking a slow, steady step forward, staring him straight in the eyes. "In that home, you looked at my body for three seconds, decided I was worthless, and rejected me while the entire room laughed in my face. In that home, my mother slapped me twice, my father beat me until I dropped to my knees, and my sister took shears to my hair while telling me I looked like livestock!"

Patrick winced as if every word were a physical blow, his green eyes flashing with intense pain. "I didn't know they beat you... I swear to the Goddess, I didn't know about the basement—"

"You didn't care!" I snapped, my tone cutting him off like a blade. "You didn't care because you thought I was nothing! You offered to take me back as a breeder at the auction! That is what you thought of me! And now you stand here, bringing crates of medicine, acting like a savior?"

I walked up to one of the supply crates his men had set down. With a flick of my wrist, I channeled a tiny spark of White Light, shattering the wooden latch. The lid flew open. Inside were rows of glass vials filled with dark green liquid.

I reached down, picked up one vial, and held it high for both armies to see.

"Do you know what this is, Patrick?" I asked coldly.

"It’s... it’s the purification salve our Beta lab produced," Patrick stuttered, frowning. "It’s meant to slow the plague—"

"It is the plague!" I shouted, slamming the vial down onto the stone floor. The glass shattered, spilling the dark liquid. The purple chemical binder—my mother’s signature formula—glistened instantly under the pale sunlight.

Gasps erupted from the Silverfang warriors. Patrick froze, looking down at the purple residue in utter horror.

"My family didn't make a cure, Patrick," I said, tears of rage burning my eyes as I pointed a finger at him. "My parents manufactured this poison inside Silverfang’s private Beta lab! They sold it to the Shadowclaw coalition to weaken both our packs from within! Your own kingdom is infected because your Beta sold you out—and you were too busy chasing down the 'fatass' who escaped your clutches to even notice!"

Patrick looked like he had been struck by lightning. He turned toward his second-in-command, his face deathly pale. "Is... is this true?"

The lieutenant dropped his eyes, unable to answer.

Patrick turned back to me, his chest heaving, his pride, his arrogance, his untouchable Alpha prince persona completely stripped away in front of two armies. He looked at the deep green Head Healer robes I wore. He looked at the respect in the eyes of the Stormfang guards standing behind me. He looked at Adrian, who stood beside me not as a owner, but as a protector.

He realized, all at once, the monumental scale of what he had thrown into the dirt.

"Lydia..." Patrick whispered, his voice cracking entirely.

Before anyone could react, the proud Alpha Prince of Silverfang dropped to his knees on the cold, hard stone of the courtyard.

He bowed his head, his hands resting in the dirt, tears dripping from his eyes onto the stone. "I am sorry," he choked out, his body trembling with raw, unfiltered agony. "I am sorry for what I called you. I am sorry for what I let them do to you. I don't care about the kingdom. I don't care about the titles. If you want my blood to pay for what my pack did, take it. Just... please..."

I stood above him, looking down at the man who had shattered my soul two weeks ago. The broken mate bond throbbed in my chest, but for the first time, it didn't feel like weakness. It felt like a scar—a mark of what I had survived.

"Stand up, Patrick," I said softly, my voice devoid of pity. "Begging doesn't fix what you broke. Action does."

Before Patrick could lift his head, a dark, unnatural fog rolled over the courtyard walls.

A sharp, whistling sound sliced through the air, followed by a scream from the watchtower. A shadow-blade, dripping with black plague toxin, plummeted from the sky—aimed straight at my back.