Semua Bab Rejected Omega Princess: Meet My Overprotective Brothers: Bab 51 - Bab 60

The days after the curse surge bled together.Not in the frantic way they had at the start—auctions, wagon escapes, raids—but in a quieter, heavier fashion. Like the world was catching its breath before the next blow.I tried to do the same.My body had other ideas.***For three days, Theron banned me from heavy training.“No,” he said flatly when I picked up a staff. “Your mark is still sore. Your core is still rattled. You try to push right now. You’ll fall over.”“I’ve fallen over before,” I pointed out.He gave me a look.“Yes,” he said. “You’ve also died before. Let’s not add to that tally.”So my world shrank.From war rooms and training yards and ambush clearings……to my room and the garden.I shuffled between them like a much older woman, every simple movement costing more than it should.The mark under my skin burned less fiercely now, but it ached—a deep, bruised soreness that flared even when I lit the smallest candle with a trickle of magic.Sometimes, just focusing on dr

The packet reached us three days later.It didn’t arrive with banners or seals. It came wrapped in oilcloth, shoved into the hands of a Mooncrest scout by a trader who swore he’d found it wedged under a tavern bench “with my name on it, swear to the Goddess” and the uneasy look of someone who wanted no part of whatever storm it carried.Theron and Alden went through it first.I heard the tone of their voices change in the war room—sharpening, then going oddly flat.“Aria,” Alden called. “You should see this.”I stepped inside.The long table was covered in maps and letters, as usual. Tonight, one corner had been cleared for the oilcloth bundle, now spread open.Inside:Copies of the same contracts Theron had used to gut Lila’s story in our hall.Additional notes in different hand—rougher, more hurried—marking dates and nodes Bloodthorn had used to move people when official routes grew inconvenient.Hand‑drawn notations on small witch shrines and “blessed pools” dotting a specific regi

We left before dawn.No horns. No fanfare. Just the quiet clink of buckles and the soft snort of horses in the dark.The castle courtyard felt different in the blue‑grey gloom. Smaller. Heavier. Like it knew we were walking out toward something, it couldn’t keep off us with stone and torches alone.Alden checked each of us with that meticulous, infuriating calm of his.“Cloak, weapon, charm,” he said, eyeing me.I touched each other in turn.Cloak: fur‑lined, hood up, Mooncrest clasp at my throat.Weapon: staff strapped to my back, knife at my hip.Charm: a small, rough‑cut crystal on a leather cord around my wrist—one of the seer’s hastily prepared wards, humming faintly against my mark.Theron fussed with a satchel full of herbs and vials and other things he refused to name.Jax tested the edge of his sword one last time, lips moving in a silent curse that might have been a prayer.Rowan swung into his saddle with a flourish, then sobered when he caught my eye.“Last chance to stay

Up close, she didn’t look like a monster.That almost made it worse.The woman who stepped fully into the torchlight could have been any mid‑age courtier—if you didn’t look at her eyes. Those were too dark, too deep, like wells that had seen too much and liked all of it.Her silver‑pale hair was pulled back in a loose coil, streaked with faint green where some herb stain hadn’t quite washed out. Her fingers, bare of rings, were stained up to the knuckles in that same unnerving mix of ink and old blood.She surveyed the room like it was a workshop we’d merely knocked tools over in.“Our favorite what?” Rowan asked, voice edged. “Because if the second word isn’t ‘princess,’ you’re about to have a very bad day.”The woman’s gaze slid to him.“You must be the mouthy one,” she said. “Every pack has one. They’re the first to scream when the knife goes in.”Jax stepped up beside me, blade half‑raised.“Name,” Alden demanded, eyes cold. “Or title. Or whatever else we’re going to carve on your

The chamber shook.Dust rained from the ceiling. Cracks spiderwebbed through the curse‑runes carved into the stone as the last of our joint blast faded. Master Binder staggered, clutching at the air like she could grab hold of threads that were already burning away.“Hold the line!” Alden shouted. “Push them back to the pillars!”Mooncrest and Nightveil moved as one.Alden’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, sending warriors to pinch off flanking routes, tighten shields around the freed captives, and drive the remaining constructs toward the center where Jax was waiting. Jax hit like a falling wall.Every cursed thing that lunged for our mages met his shield or his sword, sometimes both. One creature reared above Theron, claws dripping black ichor; Jax slammed into it shoulder‑first, driving it into the ground and crushing its chest before it could strike. Theron didn’t waste the opening.His fingers traced quick, precise sigils in the air, flicking them like knives at the g