All Chapters of The Wolf Kings choice : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The whispers hit me the second I stepped into the grand hall. *“I can’t believe she actually showed up.”**“Shameless. Sleeping with a filthy laborer and then parading around like a bride.”**“Did you hear? The blacksmith drained his entire life savings just to rent this place. Pathetic.”*I kept my chin high, ignoring the venomous stares of the pack royals and elite guests. When my mate had handed me a simple wooden box this morning, he told me he had used every coin he earned at the forge to give us a proper wedding. Inside was a dress. It had no diamonds, no heavy lace, and no extravagant trains. It was just a floor-length gown of pure, flawless white silk that clung to my curves like liquid moonlight. I thought it was beautiful because it was from him. The guests, however, clearly thought I looked like a beggar. Suddenly, the heavy double doors swung open, and the mocking whispers abruptly stopped. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as Regina stepped into the hall. Sh

The journey to the absolute edge of the pack territory was agonizingly slow, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't in a rush. The heavy, rhythmic thud of the ox’s hooves against the dirt path was the only sound for miles. We had left the paved, manicured roads of the royal estate far behind, crossing into the dense, untamed perimeter where the outcasts and laborers lived. I sat sideways on the broad back of the ox, the priceless Aurora Silk pooling like liquid moonlight against the rough, dark fur of the beast. My mate walked silently beside us. One massive hand held the lead rope, while his other hand rested warmly on my thigh to keep me steady. Eventually, the thick tree line broke, and the ox came to a halt. When Lycan lifted me down from the beast, I braced myself. Regina’s mocking words echoed in my head, telling me I would be living in a rotting, soot-covered shack. But as I looked up, I didn't see a shack. It was a humble, sturdy stone cottage tucked beneath the ancie

The crushing, demonic aura that flooded the cottage was so heavy it felt like the oxygen had been entirely sucked from the room. The man standing in the shattered doorway was cloaked in midnight-black, impenetrable royal armor. The dark iron crown resting on his head seemed to absorb the morning light. His eyes, usually a warm and loving amber, were now a glowing, bloodthirsty crimson. But the moment those terrifying red eyes landed on me—bleeding out on the wooden floorboards, my hands desperately clutching my stomach—the demonic wrath in his gaze shattered into pure, raw panic. He didn't even look at Regina, Victor, or my stepmother. He moved with a speed that defied logic, crossing the room in a blur of black metal and dropping to his knees directly into the pool of my blood."Amy," he choked out, his deep voice cracking with a terror I had never heard before. His massive, armored hands hovered over me, trembling violently as if he was afraid he would break me. Carefully, with

Even chained to the cold, blood-stained floorboards, Victor’s arrogance refused to die. Despite his shattered hands and the heavy, rune-carved iron pressing his neck into the dirt, the bruised ego of an Alpha heir pushed him to keep talking. He was terrified, trembling like a leaf in a winter storm, but he was desperately clinging to the only leverage he had left: his family name. "You are a dead man, blacksmith!" Victor spat, coughing up a mouthful of blood as he glared up at Lycan. "My own father runs the Silver Wolf King’s royal armory! He supplies the weapons for the entire royal guard! You just picked a fight with the absolute wrong guy. When he finds out what you’ve done, he will have your head on a spike!" Lycan didn't flinch. He didn't shout. He just stood there, a towering god of war draped in midnight-black armor, looking down at Victor with an expression of cold, terrifying amusement. "Oh, yeah?" Lycan murmured, his deep voice dripping with lethal sarcasm as he ti

Hundreds of miles away from the blood-stained mud of the forest cottage, at the absolute pinnacle of the continent, stood the glittering, unassailable fortress of the Imperial Palace. Here, the air didn't smell of burning sap and wet dirt. It smelled of imported jasmine, polished marble, and absolute, unchallenged power. In the heart of the great throne room, surrounded by towering pillars of pure white gold, sat the Overall Emperor of the realm—Lycan’s grandfather. The ancient, battle-scarred ruler sat upon a throne forged from the legendary weapons of his fallen enemies. For five long years, a heavy, suffocating shadow of worry had loomed over the Emperor's heart. His grandson, the fiercest and most powerful heir the Silver Wolf bloodline had ever produced, had locked himself away in self-imposed exile. But today, the ancestral magic that connected the royal bloodline was practically singing. The Emperor could feel it thrumming in his very veins. The Crown Prince's soul had final