All Chapters of Rejected Omega Princess: Meet My Overprotective Brothers: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

We didn’t leave the stronghold so much as *spill* out of it.The air outside felt thin and sharp after the heavy, curse‑thick dark below. Nightveil and Mooncrest tents had already sprung up in the sheltered hollow near the entrance—a rough, hastily thrown‑together camp of canvas, bedrolls, and cookfiresHealers moved between pallets, hands glowing soft as they cleaned wounds and muttered about stubborn patients who refused to stay lying down. Freed captives huddled in borrowed cloaks around the nearest fires, hands wrapped around steaming cups. Some stared at the flames like they weren’t quite real. Others slept where they sat, exhaustion finally dragging them under. Every now and then, one of them would look up, catch sight of the Mooncrest crest on a passing cloak, and flinch—then relax, confusion melting slowly into wary relief.Theron pointed me toward a rock by the largest fire and made the sort of face that said he’d sedate me himself if I even *thought* about collapsing anywhe

Mooncrest did not hold executions in secret.That was the first thing Alden said when the council began arguing about what to do with Master Binder.“If we pass judgment,” he’d told them, voice like drawn steel, “we do it where the people who bled for this pack can see it. And where the ones we failed can speak.”Three days after our return, the great hall was remade into a tribunal chamber.The high table had been moved to the far end, raised on a low dais, and stripped of its usual feast‑day trappings. No banners, no flowers. Just three carved chairs: one for Alden as alpha, one for Theron as chief advisor, and one bearing Nightveil’s raven crest for their representative. Other elders filled benches to either side.Below the dais, a containment circle had been etched into the stone.Master Binder stood in the center of it.Her chains were heavier now, layered with glowing runes that tugged at my teeth when I looked too long. The sigils Lysa and Theron had inscribed along the metal p

The news about Bloodthorn hit Mooncrest like a delayed shockwave.The first day was all questions.By the second, the ravens started arriving.Theron turned the council room into a nest of parchment. Maps were spread so thick over the table that the original wood barely showed, every new report pinned under stones or knives so it wouldn’t slide off onto the floor. Couriers came and went in a steady stream, some bearing the Mooncrest crest, others Nightveil’s raven, a few carrying no sign at all.“Again,” Alden said, rubbing his temples. “Walk us through it slowly before Rowan starts making up his own version.”Rowan, perched on the windowsill with an apple, looked offended.“My version is very accurate,” he said. “It just has better dialogue.”“Which is exactly the problem,” Theron muttered.He tapped the central map where Bloodthorn’s territory sprawled—a jagged blotch to the south‑east, bordered by contested forest and a stretch of rocky hills.“First report from our northern watch,

By the time we rode back through Mooncrest’s gates, the light had gone thin and gray.The ruins clung to me like dust. Damon’s bowed head. The way his voice had broken on *too late*. The packet of names and nodes I’d handed straight to Theron the moment we crossed the wards, as if keeping it in my hands any longer would let the past crawl up my arms.I barely remembered getting from the stables to my rooms. At some point, Rowan had appeared at my elbow, chattering about how he was going to bathe until he stopped smelling like “regret and old rocks."” At some other point, Alden had pressed his forehead very briefly to mine and said, “You did well,” in that quiet way of his that said ten more things he didn’t push on me yet.Then the door to my chamber had shut behind me with a soft click, and silence rushed in like water.I shrugged off my cloak and caught sight of myself in the mirror.For a second, I didn’t recognize the woman there.Wind‑tangled hair. Dark smudges under my eyes. Dir

The next few days blurred into a strange mix of ordinary and not.Court sessions. Patrol reports. Letters from Nightveil and their seers. Training drills in the courtyard that I watched more often than I joined, still technically on “restricted activity” per every healer within shouting distance.On the surface, Mooncrest moved like a kingdom, settling into a new rhythm—laws being adjusted, alliances formalized, supply lines re‑checked.Underneath, the curse still hummed.Fainter now. Less like a clamped jaw around my throat and more like a low, steady pressure at the edge of my awareness.Waiting.Damon’s information sat in Theron’s war room, unfolded, cross‑checked, annotated.“First, we verify,” Theron had said. “Then we move.”So we sent others.On the third morning after court, a small strike team rode out at dawn toward the nearest of the ritual sites Damon had named—a stretch of scrubland near the old southern road, where no official maps marked anything worth visiting.Jax led