All Chapters of MARKED BY MY ALPHA'S FATHER: Chapter 141 - Chapter 145

The battle at the Northern Pass was over, but the war had not truly ended. The fighting had simply moved from blood-soaked earth to the cold stone floor of the Great Hall. The smell of chemical blue fuel and scorched iron had been scrubbed away, replaced by the sharp scent of damp lime and bitter vinegar as servants scrubbed away every stain the war had left behind. The high windows were thrown wide open, letting the crisp, unseasonably warm air of the thawing mountain breeze carry away the final remnants of the three-hundred-year quarantine. There were no victory feasts, and no celebratory drums echoed through the courtyards. Instead, a heavy, expectant silence hung over the gathered clansmen who packed the stone galleries. At the center of the raised dais stood Lady Camille. Her tattered midnight-blue advocate robes had been replaced by a severe, structured doublet of dark gray wool, its high collar pinned with the iron signet of the High Judiciary. She didn't carry a blade, b

The Great Hall was unrecognizable. The black drapes that had masked the high stone arches for three centuries were gone, replaced by vibrant woven banners of forest green and deep gold. Thousands of small beeswax candles floated in the upper rafters, casting a warm light over the packed room. Tonight, there were no separate tables for high-ranking elites and lower-tier omegas. The long wooden benches ran end-to-end, crowded with hundreds of wolves who had finally reclaimed their own minds. At the far end of the hall stood the ancient Alpha Dais. Devon stood to the side, holding a newly bound leather tome—the true registry of Silver Ridge. Marcus stood at the center of the platform. He wore his dark velvet ceremonial coat, but the collar was open, showing the smooth, scar-free skin of his neck. His eyes swept over the crowded room, his true Alpha presence acting as a steady anchor for every soul in attendance. "For three hundred years, our names were stolen," Marcus’s deep vo

Five years had passed, and the sanctuary that had once witnessed the beginning of fear had grown thick with wild, blooming mountain jasmine and fresh ivy. The ancient stone altar where the first fated-mate bond had snapped into place stood under a canopy of deep green pine branches, its jagged edges softened by years of rain and natural moss. The unnatural poison that had once stained the earth had long since disappeared, leaving the earth down here smelling of nothing but rich loam, wet cedar wood, and sweet spring grass. Alpha Marcus walked through the arched stone entrance of the old grove, his heavy leather boots making a soft, rhythmic crunch against the carpet of pine needles. He wore no armor today, and he carried no broadsword. His massive frame was relaxed, his broad chest rising and falling in a deep, undisturbed rhythm. The scars that had once threatened to consume his inner wolf were completely gone, leaving only the honest, faded white lines of old warrior wounds t