All Chapters of Rejected By The Alpha King, Claimed By The Lycan King: Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

Scarlet’s POVThe steam from the herbal kettle smelled of crushed sage and bitter willow-bark, filling the high tower room with a sharp, medicinal haze.Joel sat propped against a stack of clean linen pillows, bare-chested under a heavy wool quilt. The palace healer had spent two hours picking dried peat out of his torn shoulder before stitching the flesh shut with boiled silk thread. Dark bruising painted his ribs a mottled plum and yellow, but the hollow gray look had faded from his face, replaced by the pale, stubborn grit that had kept him breathing through nine months of siege.I poured a cup of steeped broth and set it on the small oak side table beside his cot."Drink it," I said, leaning back against the stone hearth. "The healer boiled bones and salt into it. You need the iron."Joel didn't reach for the cup immediately. His dark eyes moved over the room—the arched stone windows, the carved cedar beams overhead, the clean iron sconces holding tallow candles. It was a lord’s c

Scarlet’s POVThe armory below the keep rang until midnight with the sound of whetstones scraping iron.Up in the nursery, the thick cedar walls muffled the noise down to a low, rhythmic vibration. The braziers burned low, their red embers casting soft shadows across the three wooden cots lined up on the bear pelt.Kaeler, Kaelor, and Kaelia were fast asleep, their small bellies rising and falling in sweet, milk-drunk rhythm. Kaeler’s tiny hand was thrown over his brother’s shoulder, his brow furrowed slightly in a baby’s fierce dream. Kaelia slept on her side, her thumb pressed against her rosebud lips, quiet as a snowdrop.I sat on the floor with my back against the wall, my fingers absentmindedly re-lacing the dark leather guards along my forearms.Tomorrow, the river would turn red.If Joel’s gamble failed, or if Damien’s riders were caught on the ridge by Malakor’s sound-wards, the thralls would march straight through the mountain gate. They would tear through these stone halls.

Damien’s POVMy stallion hit the limestone shelf like a thunderbolt.The first two sorcerers barely had time to spin their bone wands before iron hooves crushed their ribs into dust. The dark purple storm-clouds they were spinning over the river evaporated into thin, greasy smoke.I swung my broadsword with one hand, letting the horse’s momentum do the butchering. The heavy steel sheared through black wool, bone, and flesh in a clean diagonal arc. Two heads tumbled into the brambles."Dismount and slaughter!" I roared, leaping from the saddle while the beast was still skidding on the loose gravel.My boots slammed down hard. Bones snapped and reformed inside my limbs in a second—claws erupting from my knuckles, my shoulders broadening until the leather armor groaned under the sheer mass of my shifted form.Beside me, thirty Blood Moon warriors crashed into the casters.It wasn't a battle; it was an execution. Wolves tore through the hooded robes, jaws snapping windpipes and crushing s

Scarlet’s POVThe high horns of the Blood Moon sounded three long, golden blasts that echoed through the mountain valley.It was the victory call.From the crest of the pine hill, I saw the packhouse gates swing wide. Hundreds of our people lined the stone switchbacks, spilling out into the lower bailey. Women with flour on their aprons, old trackers leaning on timber staves, and young pups darting between the legs of returning sentries—all of them watched our column approach.Nobody cheered with wild abandon. Too much blood had soaked the snow over the past year for foolish noise. But as Damien’s black stallion cleared the archway, men slammed iron-clad fists against their breastplates, heads bowing low in profound, reverent silence.Damien reined in at the base of the wide courtyard stairs. His black armor was scorched from sulfur, his jaw smeared with dried gore, but he sat tall and broad as the mountain itself.He slid down first, his boots striking the cobblestones, and turned to

Scarlet’s POVThe mountain snow began to melt under the steady warmth of the early spring sun.Water trickled in cheerful, sparkling streams down the gray granite bluffs of the Blood Moon territory, washing the last traces of winter frost into the swollen river below. The high valleys, once choked with ash and ice, now burst into vibrant life. Pale green shoots poked through the dark soil, and the scent of wild mountain pine mingled with blooming dogwood and sweet heather.The great packhouse had completely shed its war skin.The heavy iron barricades in the bailey had been taken down, replaced by long wooden trestle tables where weavers dried fresh linen and women bundled dried herbs for the coming season. Sentries still patrolled the high ridge, but their spears rested loosely against their shoulders, their eyes scanning peaceful valleys rather than watching for witch-fires in the dark.Up in the private gardens behind the keep, the afternoon sun cast warm, golden squares across the