All Chapters of Rejected Omega Princess: Meet My Overprotective Brothers: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Torches burned along Mooncrest’s walls for three nights.On the fourth, the letters began.Not just from Bloodthorn this time.From everywhere.***In the war room, the table looked more like a paper graveyard than a map.Scrolls and sealed missives piled in drifts. Some still tied shut with ribbons in other packs’ colors, others already opened and weighted down with cups or knives.Alden stood at the head, reading with that particular focus that made everyone else in the room unconsciously quiet.Theron sorted messages into stacks: immediate, tomorrow, maybe never.Jax paced, arms folded, glancing over shoulders, muttering curses under his breath.Rowan sat cross‑legged on the table itself, plucking random scrolls from the pile and reading snippets aloud to make everyone’s eyebrows twitch.Nightveil’s twins occupied a corner near the window, exchanging low comments over their own set of correspondence.I stood a little back from it all, close enough to hear, far enough not to be in a

The horn didn’t stop.It wailed, long and low, then again, echoing off stone. A second horn from the outer wall took up the call, then a third from the eastern tower.“Eastern tower,” someone shouted in the yard. “Signal from the border!”Jax swore and sprinted toward the armory.Kael and Rian moved almost as one, heading for their men.My staff felt suddenly very small in my hands.“Go,” Theron said from the steps, already turning toward the infirmary. “I’ll need you more there than on the walls right now.”He was right.I’d barely held a shield against sandbags.I wasn’t ready for arrows.But my hands were steady. My magic, for the first time, wasn’t only good for blowing things apart.“I’ll help,” I said.He nodded once.“This way.”***News spread faster than messengers.By the time we reached the infirmary hall, it was already filling.The air was thick with the smell of blood, smoke, and fear.Refugees—farmers, merchants, children clutching threadbare toys—crowded the outer benc

Bloodthorn’s envoy left with the same arrogance she’d walked in with.The words she’d carried, the threats she’d wrapped in “truce” and “honor,” stayed behind like smoke.So did the fires.***Refugees kept coming.Not in the flood from the first burned village, but in a steady trickle. Families with what little they could carry on their backs. Old men with haunted eyes. Children who flinched at loud noises.They all carried the same story.Fields torched.Houses blackened.Men with Bloodthorn colors lurking just far enough inside their own border to pretend innocence while hired blades did the work across the line.“We heard them,” one woman whispered as I helped her settle on a bench in the infirmary. “They said they were looking for her. For the cursed princess in the stone castle.”The word scraped.Cursed.Princess.Both are accurate. It's neither my fault.“If I had stayed in Bloodthorn and accepted my fate,” I thought bitterly, bandaging a burn on a farmer’s wrist, “would these

The forest breathed.I held my own breath, listening.Twigs cracked. Leaves whispered. The faint scrape of metal on bark carried further than the raiders realized.They thought they were quiet.They thought I was alone.Moonlight limned the clearing in pale silver. My cloak fluttered in the breeze; my mark burned a steady, quiet glow under my sleeve.“Remember,” I told myself, “you’re not here to be taken. You’re here to see who comes when they think you can be.”Shadows detached from the tree line.Half a dozen at first—men in mismatched armor, dark cloth wrapped around their lower faces, the sigils on their gear deliberately obscured. Hired blades, not Bloodthorn’s official guard.More shapes slid behind them. A dozen. Maybe more.Enough to take a lone girl.Not enough to take a prepared pack.“Just her?” one muttered. “No guards?”“Told you,” another whispered back. “She’s restless. Gets bored in the castle. Hunts alone. Easy coin.”“And Bloodthorn pays well for ‘rescues,’” a third

The hall emptied slowly.Advisors shuffled out in huddles, talking in low, frightened tones. Guards escorted Damon to a side chamber under watchful eyes, half for security, half because Theron had barked that his heart might “fall out of his chest” if someone didn’t sit him down.My brothers didn’t let anyone hustle me anywhere.They moved around me like a four‑pointed shield, talking logistics and curse mechanics over my head, but they didn’t touch me again until the worst of the shaking stopped.“Breathe,” Theron kept saying. “In. Out. Your lungs still work. Use them.”I obeyed.Eventually, the pounding in my ears eased enough that I could tell my own thoughts apart from everyone else’s panic.And from the curse.It hadn’t left.It had simply gone quiet.Like a predator that had tested the fence and now sat waiting for another weak spot.***They moved me to Theron’s inner workroom.Not the infirmary; not my bedroom. A small, circular space tucked under one of the towers, crowded wi