The moon bled silver through the iron bars, casting skeletal shadows across the straw strewn floor where forgotten things were kept. The kennels smelled of wet stone and wolf fur, of abandonment and survival, a place where the castle disposed of what no longer served its gleaming halls.

 Here, beneath the weight of ancient walls that had witnessed centuries of cruelty, dressed as tradition, she existed. Her name had been taken the night they dragged her from the Omega quarters. Names were privileges, and she had forfeited hers when her mate bond shattered.

 When the alpha who had claimed her before the pack decided she was defective, broken, unworthy of the title she’d been promised. The rejection had been public, theatrical. He’d stood before the assembled court and spoken the words that severed the incomplete bond. His voice carrying no regret, only disgust at having been matched with an omega whose scent was wrong, whose presence brought him no comfort, whose wolf was too quiet to be worthy.

 Now she was simply the kennled one, the omega who slept among the hunting dogs, because even the servants quarters were too dignified for rejected goods. She’d learned to make peace with the cold. The massive hunting hounds that filled the neighboring pens had become her only companions, creatures who didn’t care about bloodlines or bond failures.

 They pressed their warm bodies against the bars that separated them, offering what comfort they could. Their breathing became her lullabi, their howls her morning call. She cleaned their pens in exchange for scraps from the kitchens, invisible to the castle’s inhabitants, except when they needed someone to handle tasks. too degrading for actual pack members.

 The straw beneath her was damp from the perpetual moisture that seeped through the dungeon stones. She’d fashioned a nest of sorts in the corner farthest from the door, layers of stolen blankets, a pillow she’d found discarded in the laundry, and a wolf pelt that one of the older hounds had died upon, which she’d been allowed to keep because no one else wanted a reminder of mortality.

 It smelled like loyalty and loss, and she wrapped herself in it each night, pretending the warmth was enough. Her wolf had retreated deep within her consciousness after the rejection. Omegas weren’t supposed to survive a severed bond. The trauma usually killed them or drove them mad. That she had endured was considered either remarkable resilience or cosmic mockery.

 The pack healers had examined her once, proddding and testing, searching for the flaw that had made her unworthy. They’d found nothing physically wrong, which only deepened the mystery and their contempt. If her body was intact, then her spirit must be corrupted. Why else would a bond fail? She didn’t have answers.

 She only had the cold stone, the loyal dogs, and the crushing weight of existing in a world that had decided she didn’t belong in it. The castle above her was a living thing. She could feel it breathe through the stones. Footsteps echoed in distant corridors. Voices carried through ventilation shafts.

 Music from the great hall sometimes drifted down during celebrations, reminding her of the life she’d almost touched before it was ripped away. The Alpha King ruled from chambers so far above that she’d never seen him, only heard whispers of his power, his ruthlessness, his unwavering control over the territories that stretched beyond the castle walls.

 And somewhere in those upper reaches lived his heir, a child she knew nothing about except that the entire castle existed to serve that small, sacred life. She pressed her cheek against the cool stone wall and closed her eyes, listening to the hounds steady breathing. Tomorrow would be like today and the day after.

 An endless succession of invisible hours of survival without purpose, of breathing simply because her body refused to stop. The rejected Omega who lived among the dogs, forgotten by everyone except the moon that watched through the bars and the wolves who didn’t judge what they couldn’t understand. She didn’t know that tonight everything would change.

 She didn’t know that a small child with silver eyes and an ancient soul was about to find her. She didn’t know that some bonds weren’t written in tradition. They were written in starlight and necessity. And they cared nothing for the rules that said she was worthless. The heir who couldn’t sleep. The child was 4 years old and had never truly slept.

 The castle healers called it impossible. All creatures required sleep to survive, but they’d examined him dozens of times and found no physical cause, no curse, no poison. His body was perfect, his bloodline pure, his destiny ordained. Yet every night since birth, he’d lain awake in his gilded crib, then his silk sheetated bed, staring at shadows that danced across vaulted ceilings while the rest of the world dreamed. They tried everything.

 Warm milk infused with honey and chamomile. Lullababis sung by the most talented voices in the kingdom. Enchanted stones placed beneath his pillow. Healers who worked with energy, herbs, crystals, prayer. Nothing touched whatever force kept him trapped in perpetual wakefulness. He would close his eyes and lie perfectly still, mimicking sleep so his caretakers wouldn’t fuss.

 But his mind remained razor sharp, cataloging every sound, every shift in temperature, every breath of wind through the windows. The Alpha King had long ago stopped trying to understand it. His heir would rule one day despite this oddity, and if sleeplessness was the price of power, so be it. But his mother, before she died in childbirth complications 2 years after his birth, had whispered about destiny and curses, about bonds that transcended normal understanding.

 She’d told the healers to watch for signs, though she’d never explained what signs to look for. Now, in the depths of night, while servants dozed at their posts, and even the vigilant guards grew heavy-led, the child sat in his window seat, watching the moon. His name was Kalin, though most addressed him only as young master or heir.

 He’d learned language early, walked early, understood things that troubled the adults who raised him. They called him precocious. In truth, he was simply never unconscious. His mind absorbed every conversation, every lesson, every whispered secret that people assumed he was too young or too asleep to hear. Tonight, something pulled at him, a feeling he’d never experienced before, like an invisible thread tugging at his sternum, urging him away from the safety of his chambers. He’d felt it building for weeks, a restlessness that had nothing to do with his usual

sleeplessness, and everything to do with something missing, something he needed to find. The air slipped from his bed, bare feet silent on cold marble. His guard stood outside, but they’d grown complacent. He never caused trouble, never tried to leave.

 They didn’t notice when he turned toward the servants passages instead of calling for them. The castle was a maze, but he’d memorized every corridor during his wakeful nights, listening to servants describe roots, watching shadows, and learning the language of space and direction. He moved like moonlight, small and determined, drawn deeper into the castle’s belly, where the ornate decorations faded and stone became rough, where torches replace chandeliers, and the air grew thick with dampness.

 He didn’t know where he was going. He only knew he had to keep moving, following the invisible thread that pulled tighter with every step, that made his chest ache with something that felt like longing and recognition combined. The kennels weren’t part of any normal route. They existed in the castle’s forgotten places, accessed through corridors that servants used to transport hunting dogs and dispose of waste.

 But Kalin found them as easily as if he’d walked this path a thousand times. The heavy door stood a jar left unlocked by a careless handler. He slipped through and the smell hit him. wolf and straw and something else, something that made his racing heart slow for the first time in his short, exhausting life. The hounds stirred in their pens, lifting massive heads to watch him pass. They didn’t bark or growl.

 Instead, they whined softly, pressing against their bars as if trying to point him in the right direction. He followed their gazes to the corner pen, the one that technically wasn’t supposed to house anything, the one kept for storage or punishment or things the castle wanted to hide.

 There, curled in a nest of tattered blankets and straw, was the Omega. She was so still he thought at first she might be dead. Her face was turned toward the wall, dark hair spilling across the wolf pelt that covered her like a burial shroud. But then he saw the rise and fall of her breathing, slow and steady, and something in his chest cracked open. He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate.

 He walked to the bars of her pen and pressed his small hands against the cold iron, and the moment his skin made contact, the thread in his chest went toaut, then settled into something that felt like arriving home after a journey he couldn’t remember taking. Please,” he whispered, though he didn’t know what he was asking for. The omega stirred.

 Her eyes opened slowly, unfocused in the darkness, and then she saw him, a child in silk sleeping clothes standing outside her cage, silver eyes reflecting moonlight like mirrors, face pale and beautiful and desperate in ways that children shouldn’t understand. She sat up slowly, careful not to startle him.

You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice rough from disuse. “This isn’t a place for I can’t sleep,” he interrupted, and the simple confession held such weight that she stopped breathing. “I’ve never slept. Not once, not ever. But you,” he pressed harder against the bars, trying to get closer. “You smell like quiet, like the thing that’s missing.

” The Omega stared at this impossible child who spoke impossible words and felt the dormant wolf inside her raise its head for the first time since the rejection. Something ancient stirred in the air between them. Something that had nothing to do with pack politics or designated bonds and everything to do with souls recognizing each other across the void of loneliness. “What’s your name?” she asked softly. “Knal.

” He tilted his head, studying her with eyes far too old for his young face. What’s yours? I don’t have one anymore. The admission should have hurt, but saying it to him felt different. Like confession rather than shame. Then I’ll call you revery, he said with the certainty of a child who hadn’t yet learned that the world didn’t bend to wishes. Because you’re what I’ve been looking for.

 She didn’t correct him. didn’t explain that she was worthless, caged, forgotten. Instead, she reached through the bars and touched his small hand with one finger, and the moment their skin connected, Kalin’s eyes widened. Then, for the first time in four years of existence, his eyelids grew heavy. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, gripping her finger with surprising strength. “Please, it’s working.

 I can feel it. The quiet, the stillness. Don’t. I’m not going anywhere, she promised and meant it. The bars prevented him from entering her pen, but he was small enough to reach both arms through, and she guided him carefully, helping him press against the iron until his head rested against her knee through the gap.

 She placed one hand on his silver hair, barely touching, and watched in wonder as his breathing deepened. “Tell me a story,” he mumbled, already drifting. about wolves who aren’t lonely. So she did. She told him about a pack that ran beneath winter stars, about wolves who hunted together and slept in warm piles, about a place where being different wasn’t a curse, but a gift. Her voice was rough and unpracticed, but it didn’t matter.

 He was asleep before she finished the first paragraph. His small body finally, finally at rest. The hounds in the neighboring pens watched in silence, and the omega, who had no name, cradled the sleeping air against the bars that separated them, feeling her own wolf wake from its long hibernation, feeling something fundamental shift in the fabric of fate.

 When the castle guards found them 3 hours later, their panicked shouts echoing through the corridors, they discovered the Alpha King’s precious air sleeping peacefully in the forbidden kennels, held by the Omega everyone had forgotten existed, and they had no idea how to explain to their king that his son had finally found peace in the arms of the one person the pack had deemed worthless.

 The Alpha King’s decree. The throne room had never felt so cold. Revery, she’d claimed the name Kalin gave her, holding it like armor, knelt on marble that seemed to leech warmth from her bones. Her wrists bore fresh bruises from the guards who dragged her from the kennels, their grip brutal despite her lack of resistance.

She hadn’t fought. Fighting would have risked waking Kalin. And after watching him sleep for the first time in his life, she’d have endured any punishment to preserve that peace. The Alpha King stood before his throne rather than sitting upon it, as if formality was beneath the rage rolling off him in waves.

 He was massive, broader than any wolf she’d ever seen, with silver streaked black hair, and eyes that held the weight of absolute power. Scars carved stories across his exposed forearms. Each one a testament to battles won, to challenges defeated. He ruled six territories with an iron fist, and his word was law. Questioning him meant death.

 Behind her, Kalin wailed, the sound shredding through the assembled court. They’d separated him from her the moment the guards arrived, and his resulting hysteria had woken half the castle. He’d fought with surprising strength for such a small child, scratching and biting anyone who tried to comfort him, screaming her name, the name he’d given her, until his voice broke.

 Now he struggled in a nursemaid’s arms, reaching toward Revery with desperate hands while tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. “Please,” he sobbed. “Please, please, please. She didn’t hurt me. I found her. She helped me. Father, please. The Alpha King’s jaw tightened. He’d never heard his son speak so many words at once, had never seen him display such raw emotion. Kalin was typically distant, eerily calm, the eternal watcher, who never fully engaged with the world.

 This desperation was new, and it clearly unsettled the king as much as the situation itself. “Silence the child,” he commanded, and a healer rushed forward with a sleeping draft. No. Rever’s voice cracked through the room before she could stop herself. Every head turned toward her, shock rippling through the assembled nobles. Rejected Omegas didn’t speak. They certainly didn’t countermand the alpha king. But she was already condemned.

What did she have to lose? Don’t drug him. He doesn’t need it. He just needs You will address me as your majesty creature if you address me at all. The king snarled, taking a step toward her. Power radiated from him, making the air thick and hard to breathe.

 You who have lived as a parasite in my dungeons, who have no rank, no name, no worth, you dare tell me how to care for my own blood. Revery bowed her head, but her voice remained steady. Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect. But he’s not ill. He’s scared. He’s 4 years old and he finally found something that works. And you’re taking it away from him. What works? The king’s voice dropped to something dangerous.

 Explain to me how my heir ended up in the kennels with a rejected Omega. Explain how you lured him from his chambers. What spell did you cast? What poison did you use? None. She lifted her gaze to meet his, knowing it was forbidden, but unable to stop herself. He found me. I was asleep. He came on his own. And when he touched me, your majesty, he fell asleep. For the first time in his life, he slept.

 I don’t know why. I don’t know how, but it happened, and he was at peace. The silence that followed was absolute. The court had heard rumors of Kalin’s condition. Such things couldn’t be hidden entirely. But hearing it confirmed, hearing that this rejected Omega had somehow accomplished what legions of healers could not, shifted something in the room’s energy.

 The Alpha King stared at her for a long moment, then turned to his son. The healer hesitated with the draft, waiting for confirmation. Kalin had stopped fighting, but tears still tracked down his face, his eyes fixed on Revery with such longing it was painful to witness. “Is this true?” The king asked his son, voice softer now. Did she harm you in any way? Kalin shook his head violently.

She told me stories about wolves who aren’t lonely. And I slept, father. I finally slept. It didn’t hurt. It was quiet. Everything stopped being so loud and I could just rest. His small voice broke. Please don’t take her away. Please. I’ll be good. I’ll do anything. Just please.

 The king raised one hand and Kalin fell silent, though his chest still hitched with suppressed sobs. The ruler of six territories looked from his desperate child to the rejected Omega kneeling on his marble floor, and something flickered across his expression, calculation perhaps, or the beginning of understanding. “You claim no magic was used?” he asked Revery.

 “I have no magic, your majesty. I have nothing. Just whatever this is, the bond sense. An elderly healer spoke up from the crowd, her voice carrying the authority of age and knowledge. Your majesty, if I may, there are records of rare connections between wolves. Not mate bonds, but something deeper. Soul resonances.

 When two wolves are meant to serve a purpose together, their energies align in ways that transcend normal pack dynamics. Soul resonance, the king repeated, skepticism clear in his tone, between my heir and a rejected omega. Destiny cares nothing for our hierarchies, your majesty. The healer bowed respectfully. The child has never slept. This Omega has been rejected by her intended mate.

 Both carry wounds that traditional healing cannot touch. Perhaps they’re meant to heal each other. The king’s expression darkened. You’re suggesting I allow a worthless reject access to my son based on superstition. I’m suggesting, the healer said carefully, that you have a choice. Continue as you have, with a heir who grows weaker each day from lack of true rest, or acknowledge that sometimes the moon chooses paths we don’t understand.

The throne room erupted in whispers. Some nobles expressed outrage at the suggestion. Others watched Kalin’s tear stained face and seemed to waver. The Alpha King raised his hand again, and silence fell like a guillotine. “I will not,” he said slowly, “Place my son’s welfare in the hands of someone who has proven unworthy of the most basic bond our kind can form.” “Rey’s heart sank.

 She’d known this was the likely outcome, but hearing it confirmed felt like the final severing of hope. However, the king continued and her head snapped up. I’m not a fool. My son has suffered since birth. If there is even a possibility that this connection can help him, I would be remiss to ignore it. He turned to his guards. She will be moved from the kennels to chambers adjacent to my son’s rooms. She will be monitored at all times.

 If any harm comes to him, if this proves to be manipulation or dark magic, her death will be slow and public. Am I understood? Revery nodded, not trusting her voice. She will have supervised access to Kalin for sleep purposes only. She will not be considered pack. She will have no rights, no freedoms. She exists solely to serve my heirs needs.

when he no longer requires her services, if a proper solution is found, she will be returned to the kennels or disposed of as I see fit. It wasn’t mercy. It was a conditional stay of execution, a leash instead of a cage. But it meant she could help Kalin sleep, could ease the exhaustion she’d seen carved into his young face. That had to be enough. “Thank you, your majesty,” she whispered.

 The king ignored her, focusing on his son. Kalin, you will obey your caretakers. You will not leave your chambers without permission, and you will remember that this creature is a tool, not a companion. Do you understand? Kalin nodded, but his eyes stayed locked on Revery, and in their depths, she saw something that made her breath catch.

 recognition, determination, a promise that he’d already decided the king was wrong about what she was, and no decree would change his mind. As the guards lifted her to her feet as they led her toward the chambers she’d never imagined she’d see, Kalin reached for her one last time. She brushed her fingers against his, the briefest contact, and felt their souls hum in harmony.

 The Alpha King watched this exchange with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. He didn’t yet understand that some bonds couldn’t be controlled by decrees or threats. He didn’t understand that his son and this forgotten Omega had just rewritten the rules his kingdom was built upon. But he would eventually they would all understand. The chambers of conditional mercy.

 The room they gave her was a servant’s quarter three doors down from Kalin’s suite. small, sparse, but palatial compared to the kennels, a narrow bed with clean sheets, a window that actually let in light, a wash basin with running water. To someone who’d lived among the hounds, it was luxury beyond measure.

 To someone who’d once been promised a life as an alpha’s mate, it was a reminder of how far she’d fallen. Two guards were permanently stationed outside her door. She was allowed to leave only under escort and then only to attend to Kalin. Meals were brought on a tray. No one spoke to her except to issue commands. The servants who cleaned her room did so with expressions of disgust, as if proximity to her rejection might be contagious.

She’d become a necessary contamination, tolerated only because the air needed her. But none of that mattered when the sun set and Kalin’s nursemaid knocked softly on her door. The young master is ready for sleep, the woman said stiffly, her disapproval evident in every line of her body. You have 1 hour.

 Revery followed her down the corridor flanked by guards into chambers so opulent they made her eyes ache. Kalin’s rooms were a child’s paradise. walls painted with forest scenes, shelves lined with toys he’d never played with because he was always awake to see everything.

 A bed large enough for four children and piled with pillows softer than clouds. But he sat on the edge of that magnificent bed, looking small and lost, his silver eyes tracking her movement the moment she entered. Revery, he breathed, and the relief in his voice made her chest tighten. I’m here, Adil. She approached slowly, aware of the nursemaid watching from the doorway, the guards positioned within striking distance.

 Are you ready to sleep? He nodded eagerly, already lying back against his pillows. She sat carefully on the bed’s edge, maintaining the distance she’d been instructed to keep, and placed one hand on his small shoulder. The connection sparked immediately. that same sense of rightness, of pieces fitting together that she’d felt in the kennels.

 His eyes grew heavy almost instantly. “The wolves,” he murmured. “Tell me more about the wolves who aren’t lonely.” So she did. She spun stories from nothing. Tales of packs that ran through moonlit forests, of bonds that couldn’t break, of belonging so deep it transcended words.

 Her voice was soft, rhythmic, and Kalin’s breathing slowed, deepened, his face smoothing into peaceful sleep. The nursemaid watched from the doorway, her expression shifting from skepticism to wonder. When Kalin began to snore softly, something he’d apparently never done before. The woman’s eyes widened. “How long will he sleep?” she whispered. “I don’t know,” Revery admitted.

 in the kennels. He slept for 3 hours, maybe longer if I’d stayed. The healer said he needs 8 hours minimum to be healthy. Normal children, he’s not normal, Rey interrupted gently. Whatever this bond is, it’s not bound by normal rules. We’ll have to learn as we go. She stayed for the full hour, then longer.

 When the nursemaid didn’t immediately call the guards, they watched Kalin sleep with a depth that seemed to reach his bones, his small body finally, finally resting. When they eventually led Revery back to her room, she caught the nursemaid’s expression, still disapproving, but also grudgingly grateful. The pattern established itself over the following weeks.

 Every evening, Revery was brought to Calin’s chambers. She’d sit with him, touch his shoulder, or hold his hand, and tell him stories until sleep claimed him. At first, he could only maintain rest for 3 or 4 hours before jolting awake, panicked, searching for her. The nursemaid would send for her again, and she’d returned to soothe him back to sleep.

 Gradually, the duration lengthened, 5 hours, six. By the third week, Kalin was sleeping through the night, waking naturally with the sun rather than from exhaustion or anxiety. The change in him was dramatic. His eyes brightened. His appetite improved. He began actually playing with the toys that had gathered dust in his chambers.

 The perpetual weariness that had hung over him like a shroud lifted, revealing a child who was curious, intelligent, and surprisingly gentle. He talked during their evening sessions, asking questions about her stories, about wolves and forests and the world beyond the castle. She answered what she could, improvised the rest.

 Their conversations became a refuge for both of them, an hour where she wasn’t a rejected Omega, and he wasn’t the pressured heir, just two lonely souls finding comfort in each other’s presence. “Why did your mate reject you?” he asked one evening, his childish directness cutting through pretense. Revery hesitated. The nursemaid had stepped out briefly, leaving them alone for the first time.

 He said, “I was wrong, that my scent didn’t comfort him. That my wolf was too quiet.” “But your scent comforts me,” Kalin said, confused. “And I like that your wolf is quiet. The loud ones are scary. Different wolves need different things, she explained gently. What works for one doesn’t work for another. Your father’s decree is right about that.

 I’m meant to help you, not everyone. Father’s wrong about you being worthless, though. He said it with absolute certainty. You’re the most important person in the castle now. Because I need you. Her throat tightened. Don’t say that where others can hear. It’ll make things harder. Why? It’s true. Truth and safety aren’t always the same thing.

 She brushed hair from his forehead. Now sleep. You need your rest. He grumbled but obeyed. And within minutes his breathing evened out. Rey sat in the dimness watching this child who’d somehow become her entire reason for existing and felt her dormant wolf stretch inside her consciousness. The rejection had nearly killed the animal spirit within her.

 But Kalin’s need had called it back. Not fully. She still couldn’t shift. Still felt the bond’s absence like a missing limb, but enough to know she was healing in ways that had nothing to do with herself. The nursemaid returned and gestured for her to leave. As Revery stood, Calin’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist even in sleep.

 She gently extracted herself, but his brow furrowed, a whimper escaping his lips. He’s becoming dependent, the nursemaid observed. Not accusatory, just factual. I know. Revery didn’t know what else to say. The bond between them was growing stronger each night, and she had no control over it. Neither did Kalin. The Alpha King won’t like it. The Alpha King wants his son healthy.

 This is the only thing that’s worked. The nursemaid studied her for a long moment. You’re not what I expected, she finally said. When they told me I’d be supervising a rejected Omega with the air, I thought, “Well, I thought you’d be broken. Dangerous, maybe trying to manipulate him. I’m just trying to help him sleep.

” “No,” the woman said slowly. “You’re doing more than that. You’re giving him something none of us could, a sense of safety, peace. He’s thriving because of you, and that terrifies them. Because if you’re this important to him now, what happens when he’s older? When he rules? Revery had no answer? She’d been too focused on surviving day to day, on maintaining the fragile privilege of being useful, to think about the future.

 But the nursemaid’s words planted a seed of understanding. Kalin was four now, but he’d grow. And this bond between them, this inexplicable connection that let him sleep, that made him feel safe, wouldn’t weaken with time, it would only strengthen. The Alpha King had granted her conditional mercy because his son needed her.

 But what happened when that need became so fundamental that removing her would break the heir himself? What happened when the rejected Omega sleeping in servants quarters became as essential to the kingdom’s future as the child she was helping to raise? The courts whispers. Three months of peaceful sleep transformed Kalin from a ghost pale, exhausted child into a vibrant young wolf who ran through the castle gardens and laughed at his tutor’s lessons.

 The change was so dramatic that even the most skeptical nobles couldn’t deny the Omega’s effect, but acknowledgment didn’t mean acceptance. If anything, her success made them hate her more. The whispers followed Revery everywhere. Unnatural dark magic. She’s poisoning his mind. Rejected for a reason. The king should find another way. She heard them all, absorbed them like arrows that no longer had the power to wound.

 She’d learned in the kennels that others opinions couldn’t hurt worse than rejection already had. Besides, Kalin needed her, and that singular purpose outweighed a thousand whispers. But the court’s unease manifested in more tangible ways. Healers were constantly summoned to examine Kalin, searching for signs of magical influence or manipulation.

 They found nothing. His health was perfect, better than it had ever been. Still, they persisted, taking blood samples, testing his food, interviewing servants about any suspicious behavior. When the results continued to show a healthy, thriving child, they shifted tactics.

 “The bond is unnatural,” the head healer announced during a council meeting she wasn’t supposed to know about. One of the guards assigned to watch her had a habit of gossiping with the servants, and news traveled fast in the castle’s lower corridors. The heir should be bonding with wolves of status, other noble children, future pack members. Instead, his entire emotional stability rests on a defective Omega.

 What happens when she dies? When she’s no longer useful, he’ll be devastated. “Then we ensure she remains useful,” the Alpha King had replied. his tone unreadable. That decree became her new prison. She wasn’t just tolerated now. She was essential, which meant controlled. Her routine expanded beyond bedtime. Kalin grew distressed if he went too long without seeing her, so she was summoned for meals, for his afternoon rest periods, even for his lessons when his tutors reported he learned better with her presence. She became his shadow,

always there but never acknowledged, a ghost that existed solely to serve his needs. The other omegas in the castle watched her with mixed emotions. Some pied her, seeing the chains, even if they looked different than the kennels. Others envied her. At least she was needed. At least she had purpose.

 A few, the crulest ones, took pleasure in her situation, enjoying watching someone who’d been promised an alpha’s bond reduced to a child’s sleeping aid. But Revery found she didn’t care about their judgment anymore, because Kalin was thriving, and in helping him, she was healing something she hadn’t realized was broken.

 Her wolf, once dormant and shattered, was slowly piecing itself back together. Not enough to shift. That ability remained locked behind the rejection’s trauma, but enough to feel alive again. Enough to sense the bond between her and Kalin growing roots that went deeper than simple necessity. “Rey,” Kalin whispered one afternoon when his tutors stepped out.

 They were in the castle library, surrounded by ancient texts and the musty smell of old paper. He’d been studying history, boring lessons about territorial wars and trade agreements, but his attention kept drifting to where she sat in the corner. “Why can’t you eat with us, with me and the nobles?” “Because I’m not pack,” she explained gently. “The dining hall is for wolves with status.

 But you have status. You’re important to me. That’s different. Your father made rules about what I am and where I belong.” His young face scrunched in confusion that was becoming increasingly common. At four, he didn’t fully understand hierarchy and rejection, but he was starting to notice the way others treated her, how servants wouldn’t meet her eyes, how nobles stepped aside when she passed as if she were diseased, how even the kindest voices carried an edge of disdain when addressing her.

 When I’m king, he declared with a child’s absolute certainty. I’ll make new rules. You’ll eat wherever you want, and anyone who’s mean to you will have to apologize or leave. She smiled despite the ache in her chest. That’s very sweet, but you’re years away from being king. I don’t care. I’ll still do it.

 The tutor returned before she could respond, shooting her a venomous glare that said clearly she shouldn’t be having personal conversations with the heir. She bowed her head, retreating back into silence. But Kalin’s words echoed in her mind. When I’m king, he was four. In 14 years, he’d reach maturity and assume the throne. 14 years of this liinal existence. Essential but powerless, needed but despised.

 Could she survive that? Could their bond survive the court’s constant attempts to undermine it? To find another solution that didn’t involve a rejected omega that night, she asked him a question she’d been avoiding. Kalin, do you remember what it was like before? Before you could sleep? He was already drowsy. Her hand on his shoulder working its magic. M.

Everything was too bright, too loud. My head always hurt. Would you go back to that if it meant not needing me? If there was another way? His eyes snapped open, suddenly wide awake. No, never. Why would you ask that? Because the court wants to find another way.

 They’re searching for healers who can replicate what I do or magic that can replace our bond. And if they succeed, they won’t. He said it with such fierce certainty that she almost believed him. This isn’t magic. It’s not a spell someone can copy. It’s us. You and me. The quiet we make together. How do you know that? I just do. He grabbed her hand, holding tight. Promise you won’t leave me. Even if they try to make you promise.

 Revery looked at this child who’d given her back a reason to exist. Who’d called her important when the entire world had named her worthless and felt something shift in her chest, a decision crystallizing. I promise, she whispered. As long as you need me, I’ll be here. He smiled, satisfied, and let sleep claim him.

 But she stayed awake long after the nursemaid had escorted her back to her chambers, thinking about promises and bonds and the dangerous territory she was navigating. The Alpha King tolerated her because she was useful. The court despised her because she was necessary, and Kalin needed her in ways that transcended both politics and hierarchy.

She was caught in a web with no clear path forward, surviving day by day in a castle that would dispose of her the moment she stopped being essential. But she’d made a promise to a 4-year-old child who’d saved her from the kennels and given her a name. And she’d learned in her hardest moments that sometimes promises were the only things that kept you alive when everything else wanted you dead. The assassination.

 The attack came on the spring equinox during celebrations that had the castle drunk on wine and lowered guards. Revery had been in her chambers, listening to the distant music and laughter when she felt it, a spike of terror through the bond she shared with Kalin, so sharp and sudden it drove her to her knees. She was running before conscious thought caught up, barefoot and in her sleeping clothes.

 The guards outside her door, too stunned by her sudden violence to react quickly enough. She’d learned the castle’s layout during her months of supervised movements, memorized every corridor and shortcut in case of exactly this situation.

 Her wolf, still unable to shift, but awake in ways it hadn’t been since the rejection, lent her speed and strength she shouldn’t possess. Kalin’s chambers were in chaos when she burst through the doors. The nursemaid lay unconscious near the windows, blood trickling from a head wound. Two of Kalin’s guards were down, their throats cut with professional precision. And standing over Kalin’s bed, a blade raised to strike, was a figure in dark clothes with a mask covering everything but cold, calculating eyes.

 The assassin turned as she entered, surprise flickering across what she could see of his expression. He clearly hadn’t expected a barefoot omega to be the first response to his attack. That split-second hesitation was all she needed. Revery moved without thinking, driven by instinct and terror, and a bond that screamed, “Protect, protect, protect.

” She slammed into the assassin with force that drove them both away from the bed, away from where Kalin cowed in his blankets. Too shocked to even scream, they hit the floor hard, the blade clattering from the assassin’s grip. She wasn’t a fighter. She’d never trained in combat, had been raised as an omega meant for domestic life and childbearing, but she was a wolf, and wolves knew how to use teeth and claws, even in human form.

 She bit down on the assassin’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood. Her hands scrabbling for anything she could use as a weapon. He threw her off with a curse, reaching for a backup knife at his belt. Revery. Kalin’s scream finally broke through high and terrified. The assassin lunged, blade aimed for her heart. She rolled, felt the knife slice across her ribs instead of piercing vital organs.

 Pain exploded through her side, hot and vicious, but she ignored it, grabbing a heavy candlestick from where it had fallen during the struggle. When the assassin came at her again, she swung with everything she had. The impact was sickening, metal connecting with skull, the crack of bone beneath her improvised weapon.

 The assassin crumpled, blood pooling beneath his head, and Revery dropped the candlestick with shaking hands. Guards finally poured through the doors, weapons drawn, shouting commands that barely registered through the ringing in her ears. She stumbled toward Kalin’s bed, leaving a trail of blood from her wounded side, and gathered the sobbing child into her arms.

 “I’m here,” she gasped, holding him tight, despite the pain screaming through her ribs. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He buried his face in her shoulder, his small body shaking with sobs that tore at her heart. Around them, the guards secured the chamber, some checking the fallen assassin, while others examined the dead guards and injured nursemaid.

 The chaos was overwhelming. Shouted orders, running feet, the acrid smell of blood and violence. The Alpha King arrived moments later, his presence like a thunderclap that silenced the chaos. He took in the scene with a single sweeping glance, the dead assassin, his injured son, and the Omega holding Kalin while bleeding from a wound that should have been fatal if her positioning had been slightly different.

 “Report,” he commanded, his voice deadly calm. A guard stammered through an explanation of the breach, the dead centuries, the assassin who’d somehow bypassed every security measure. Throughout it all, the king’s eyes stayed fixed on revery, his expression unreadable. “The Omega,” he said when the guard finished. She was first on scene. “Yes, your majesty.

 She ran from her chambers without escort, broke past her guards, and engaged the assassin before we could respond.” The king approached slowly, and Rey forced herself not to flinch. She was covered in blood. Hers and the assassins. And probably looked half feral. But she didn’t release Kalin. Couldn’t release him. Not when his entire world had just been shattered by violence.

 You killed him. The king observed, looking at the crumpled assassin. I protected your son, she corrected quietly. The killing was incidental. Guards are trained for years to do what you did in moments. Guards don’t feel what I feel when Kalin’s in danger. The words slipped out before she could stop them. Too honest, too revealing.

 But she was bleeding and terrified. And her wolf was howling victory that the child was safe, and she couldn’t muster the energy to dissemble. The Alpha King studied her for a long moment, then reached out. “Rey tensed, expecting violence, but he simply touched Calin’s back.” “Son, you’re safe now. Revery saved me.

” Kalin hiccuped, not lifting his face from her shoulder. He was going to. The bad man was going to I know. The king’s voice gentled in a way Revery had never heard before. Healers are coming. They’ll tend to your nursemaid and check you for injuries. Don’t take Revery away. Kalin’s grip tightened. Please, I need her.

 I’m not going anywhere, the king said, and for a moment Revery thought he was talking to his son. Then she realized his eyes were on her. Neither is she. The healers arrived in a flurry of herbs and bandages. They tried to separate her from Kalin to treat her wound, but his resulting hysteria was so severe they eventually worked around him, cleaning and binding her slashed ribs while she held the trembling child.

 The head healer, the same one who’d spoken about soul resonance months ago, examined the wound with a critical eye. Deep, but not fatal. You’re lucky. I’m not the one who matters. Revery said. The healer paused, meeting her eyes with something that might have been respect. Tonight, you both mattered. You saved the heir’s life. That’s not nothing.

 When they’d finished patching her up and examining Kalin for injuries, he was physically unharmed, just deeply traumatized. The Alpha King dismissed everyone except Revery. Even the guards were ordered to wait outside the chambers, leaving them alone amid the aftermath of violence. How did you know? He asked.

 Your chambers are far enough that you shouldn’t have heard the attack. I felt it through the bond. He was terrified, and I just knew this bond. The king’s voice was heavy with meaning. Tell me true. Is it mateelike? Are you drawn to him as a future mate? Rever’s stomach turned at the implication. No, never.

 He’s a child and I’m She stopped, searching for the right words. It’s not romantic. It’s not possessive like a mate bond. It’s protective like a wolf protecting its pack, but deeper, more fundamental. He needs me to feel safe. And I need him to feel whole. That’s all it is. All it is, the king repeated. You realize you just described the foundation of the most powerful bonds our kind can form.

 Not mates, not alpha dominance, but trust so complete that you’d die for him without hesitation. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but hearing him say it, she knew it was true. She would die for Kalin. Would have tonight if the blade had struck true. I want to be angry with you, the king continued.

 You’re a rejected omega with no status, no training, no right to be this important to my son. But you saved his life tonight when my trained guards failed. You felt danger through a bond I don’t understand and acted without hesitation. He looked at his sleeping son. Kalin had finally passed out from exhaustion, still clutching Rever’s hand. You’ve proven yourself in ways I can’t dismiss.

 What does that mean? It means, the king said slowly, that you’re no longer confined to servant quarters under guard. You’re promoted to Kalin’s personal attendant with chambers next to his. It means you’ll have freedoms you didn’t before because keeping you locked away clearly doesn’t serve his safety.

 And it means, he paused, something complicated crossing his expression. It means I’m acknowledging that this bond, whatever it is, is real and protective, not manipulation, not magic, just two wolves who need each other in ways I don’t fully comprehend. Rey stared at him, not quite believing.

 This was the same man who’d called her worthless, who decreed she existed only to serve his son’s sleep needs. Now he was offering status, freedom, acknowledgement. Why? She asked. Because my son is alive because of you. Because you proved tonight that you’re more valuable than half my trained guards. And because he looked away, jaw tight.

 Because he’s my only child, and the idea of losing him terrifies me more than admitting I was wrong about you. It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t even kindness. It was pragmatism wrapped in parental fear. But it was more than she’d had, more than she’d ever expected to receive. “Thank you, your majesty,” she whispered. He nodded once, then left, calling for servants to clean the chambers and guards to increase security.

 Revery sat in the bloodstained bed, holding Kalin while her wound throbbed, and her hands shook with delayed shock, and realized everything had changed. She was no longer the kennled Omega they tolerated. She was the one who’d saved the air, and that made her both invaluable and dangerous in ways she was only beginning to understand.

 Growing roots, years passed, like chapters in a story only they were writing. Kalin grew from a small child into a lanky pretine, his silver eyes sharp with intelligence, and his once fragile health transformed into athletic vitality. The bond between them evolved, deepening in ways that defied the court’s understanding, and occasionally even their own.

 Revery watched him grow with a mixture of pride and melancholy. She remained his constant, the one person he trusted completely, the only one who could soothe his nightmares when they came. The companion who understood his moods without explanation. They developed their own language of glances and gestures, could communicate entire conversations with a raised eyebrow or tilted head. But with adolescence came complications.

 Kalin began questioning the hierarchies that had shaped his world. Why couldn’t revery eat in the main dining hall? Why did nobles bow to him but sneer at her? Why was she called his attendant when she was clearly more important than most of the titled wolves in the castle? His questions grew sharper, his young mind starting to comprehend injustice in ways that made the Alpha King uneasy.

 “You’re too attached,” the king told him one evening after Kalin had publicly defended Revery from a particularly cruel noble’s comments. “She serves a purpose, yes, but she’s not your equal. Don’t confuse dependency with importance. She saved my life,” Kalin shot back. Teenage defiance making his voice crack.

 “That makes her important, more important than wolves who’ve never done anything but sit in court and gossip.” The king’s expression darkened. “What your tone? I understand you have affection for her, but you’re the heir to six territories. You cannot appear weak by elevating a rejected omega above those who will one day be your advisers and allies.

 Then they’re terrible advisers if they can’t see value when it’s right in front of them. They fought more often as Kalin aged. Clashes between a father trying to mold a future king into someone who understood duty and a son who saw only the person who’d been his anchor since childhood.

 Rivery tried to stay neutral during these battles to not fuel Calin’s growing resentment of the restrictions placed on their relationship, but it was becoming harder because she was changing, too. The bond had done more than help Kalin sleep. It had healed her wolf in ways she’d thought impossible. 7 years after the rejection, she shifted for the first time, her bones cracking and reforming in Kalin’s chambers while he watched in amazement.

 Her wolf was smaller than most, silver gray with amber eyes, and the transformation was agonizing after so many years dormant. But when she stood on four legs, when she felt the completeness of her dual nature restored, she’d thrown back her head and howled with such joy that Kalin had shifted too, his young wolf tumbling into hers in celebration. They ran through the castle gardens that night under the full moon.

 Two wolves who shouldn’t have been bonded, but were, their souls singing in harmony that transcended pack law and hierarchy. The guards watched in stunned silence. And by morning, word had spread through the castle that the rejected Omega could shift again, that she was whole in ways rejected wolves never became. The court didn’t know whether to be aed or terrified. Neither did the alpha king.

“You’re healing her,” he told Kalin during one of their arguments. “The bond between you is doing what should be impossible. Do you understand what that means? It means the bond is real, Kalin said. It means the moon chose us for each other, and all your rules about status and worth don’t matter.

 It means you’re powerful enough to reshape reality, the king corrected. And power like that in the hands of an heir who doesn’t yet understand politics is dangerous. But the king didn’t separate them. Couldn’t really. The one time he tried when Kalin was 11, the boy had stopped eating, stopped sleeping, had nearly made himself sick with grief before the king relented and returned Revery to his side.

 The bond was too strong, too fundamental to their well-being to sever without destroying them both, so the castle adapted. Revery was given better chambers, finer clothes, grudging respect from servants who’d once scorned her. She still wasn’t pack, would never be pack while she carried the mark of rejection.

 But she was acknowledged as essential, the heir’s keeper, the wolf who defied impossibility and survived. And through it all, Kalin grew, his feelings for her evolving in ways that neither of them spoke aloud, but both understood were approaching dangerous territory. The confession. The night of Kalin’s 18th birthday, when he officially became an adult and could claim the throne, he found revery in the gardens where they’d first run together as wolves.

 The celebration was still raging in the castle, nobles dancing, wine flowing, alliances being negotiated. But he’d slipped away, knowing she wouldn’t attend the festivities, knowing she’d be here in the quiet dark where they could breathe. “You left your own party,” she observed without turning. She could sense him approaching, the bond between them, a constant awareness that had only strengthened with his maturity.

 “It’s not my party, it’s theirs.” He sat beside her on the stone bench, close enough that their shoulders touched. “Another excuse for nobles to curry favor, and my father to remind me of my duties. Those duties are important.” “So are you.” The words hung between them, waited with meaning they’d been dancing around for years. Rever’s breath caught, but she kept her eyes on the moon.

Kalin, I know what you’re going to say. His voice was deeper now, rough with emotion, and the changes that had transformed him from the child she’d met in the kennels to the young man beside her. That I’m confused. That what I feel is gratitude, not not what I think it is. That you’re too old for me. That the bond is protective, not romantic.

 That I’ll meet my true mate someday and understand the difference. All of those things are true, are they? He shifted to face her, silver eyes burning with intensity. Revery, I’m 18, old enough to know my own heart. And I’ve loved you since I was four years old.

 And you were the only person who made the world stop screaming. I’ve loved you through every nightmare you soothed. Every story you told, every moment you chose to stay when leaving would have been easier. Kalin, stop. Her voice cracked. You don’t understand what you’re asking for. I’m not asking for anything. I’m telling you the truth. You’re not just the person who helps me sleep.

 You’re the reason I want to wake up. You’re the first thought in my mind every morning and the last before I finally rest. And I know I know you feel something, too. The bond wouldn’t work if it was only one-sided. She finally looked at him, and the raw emotion in his young face nearly broke her. What I feel doesn’t matter.

 You’re the heir to six territories. You need a mate who can give you political alliances, strong children, legitimacy. I’m a rejected Omega who lives on your father’s mercy. We can’t. This can’t happen. My father doesn’t rule my heart, but he rules your kingdom, and that’s what matters. She stood, putting distance between them because proximity made her resolve weaken.

 In 4 years, you’ll take the throne. You’ll need allies, a proper mate, heirs. I can’t give you any of that. And this bond between us. It’s precious, Kalin. It saved both our lives. Don’t ruin it by confusing it with romantic love. I’m not confused. He stood too, his height now surpassing hers. His presence commanding in ways that reminded her he was no longer a child. And you’re lying to yourself.

 If you think what we have is only protective, I’ve watched you, Revery. The way you look at me when you think I’m not aware, the way you touch me, not just for comfort, but because you need the connection as much as I do. You love me, too. You’re just too afraid to admit it.

 Of course, I love you, she said, and watched his expression transform with hope, but not in the way you want. I love you like. She struggled for words that wouldn’t hurt. Like, you’re the most important thing in my world. Like, losing you would destroy me. But that’s not the same as being in love. That’s not mate bond or romance. That’s something else entirely. Then what is it? I don’t know.

 The admission tore from her. I don’t know what we are, Kalin. The healers call it soul resonance. Your father calls it dependency. The court calls it unnatural. All I know is that you need me to feel whole and I need you to feel alive and that’s both beautiful and terrible because it doesn’t fit anywhere in the world we live in.

 He crossed the distance between them in two strides, cupping her face with hands that had grown strong and sure. Then we make it fit. I don’t care what they call it or how they categorize it. I want you in my life, Revery. Not just as my attendant or my sleep aid or whatever title they’ve given you. As my equal, my partner, my Don’t say mate, she whispered.

 Please, because if you claim me and the bond doesn’t take, if I’m truly too broken for that, it’ll kill me. I barely survived one rejection, I won’t survive another.” His thumb brushed her cheek, catching a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “What if it does take? What if we’re meant to be mates and we’ve just been too afraid to try? And if we’re not, if you claim me and nothing happens except more shame, your father would exile me, the court would riot and you’d be tied to political consequences that could weaken your rule before it even begins.

 I don’t care about politics. You have to care. She pulled away from his touch, wrapping her arms around herself. You’re going to be king. Six territories depend on you making smart choices, forming strong alliances. I’m a liability, not an asset. And I won’t let you throw away your future for something that might not even be real. It’s real to me.

 You’re 18, she said, hearing the desperation in her own voice. You’ve never known anything but this bond. How can you be sure what you feel isn’t just the only love you’ve experienced? How can you know you wouldn’t be happier with a proper mate? Someone the moon actually chose for you. The moon did choose you for me.

 His voice was quiet but absolute, just not in the way they expected. You’re not my sleep aid or my attendant or my childhood comfort. You’re my destiny, Revery. And someday you’ll stop being afraid long enough to see it, too.

 He left then, walking back toward the castle and the celebration that awaited him, leaving her alone in the garden with tears streaming down her face and her heart fracturing in ways the rejection had never accomplished because he was right. And she was terrified. She did love him, not as a child, not as a ward, but as the man he was becoming, and the bond between them hummed with possibilities that both thrilled and horrified her.

 But acting on those feelings meant risking everything, his throne, her life, the fragile stability they’d built over 14 years. So she did what she’d learned to do in the kennels. She survived by making herself smaller by denying her own needs in service of his future, even if it destroyed them both in the process. The challenge, Kalin’s 20th year brought the inevitable. His father announced the search for a suitable mate.

 Noble families from all six territories sent their finest omegas and alphas. Each one carefully selected for bloodline, temperament, and political advantage. The castle filled with beautiful wolves vying for the heir’s attention, and revery retreated into the background where she belonged. She told herself it was necessary, that watching Kalin meet potential mates was part of ensuring his future, that her feelings didn’t matter when weighed against the kingdom’s needs.

 She attended the formal gatherings as his attendant, standing silent while he danced with graceful omegas who smiled at him with practiced charm. She listened to his father explain the advantages of each match. This one brought coastal territories. That one strengthened mountain alliances.

 Another offered healing bloodlines that could benefit future heirs. Kalin hated every moment of it. “They’re performing,” he told Revery late one night after a particularly exhausting ball. He dismissed the servants and guards, leaving them alone in his chambers as they’d been thousands of times before. Everything they say, every smile, every touch, it’s calculated. They don’t care about me.

They care about being queen. That’s how political matches work, Revery said, helping him out of his formal jacket. You’re not looking for love. You’re looking for alliance. What if I want both? She ignored the implication, folding his jacket carefully. Then you’re luckier than most rulers. But don’t mistake performance for dishonesty.

 Those Omegas are trying to show you their best qualities. It doesn’t mean they’re not genuine. You’re defending them. His voice held an edge of hurt. You want me to choose one of them? I want you to choose what’s best for the kingdom. And what about what’s best for me? She met his eyes then, and the pain in them nearly undid her. Sometimes those are the same thing.

 The next morning, an Omega named Saraphene requested a private audience with revery, a bold move that had the servants gossiping. Saraphene was from a powerful family in the Eastern territories, beautiful in that effortless way some wolves were, with dark hair and green eyes that missed nothing.

 She’d been one of the front runners for Kalin’s attention, and the court buzzed with speculation about an impending announcement. They met in a small parlor and Saraphene studied Revery with open curiosity. You’re not what I expected. I’m rarely what people expect, Revery replied carefully. They say you’re the one the air truly loves. That no omega stands a chance because his heart belongs to you. Direct, dangerous. Rey kept her expression neutral. They say many things.

 Most aren’t true. But this is, isn’t it? Saraphene leaned forward. I’ve watched you together. The way he looks at you. The way you avoid looking at him. That’s not attendant and master. That’s heartbreak in motion. Why are you telling me this? Because I need to know if I’m wasting my time. Saraphene’s bluntness was almost refreshing.

 I don’t love him. We barely know each other. But I could make him a good mate. My family’s alliance would strengthen his eastern borders, and I’m intelligent enough to help rule. If he chooses me, I’ll be loyal. I’ll give him heirs. I’ll stand beside him as queen. But I won’t compete with a ghost. I’m not a ghost. I’m his attendant.

 You’re the love he can’t have, which makes you more dangerous than any rival. Saraphene’s eyes were sympathetic. I’m not asking you to disappear. I’m asking you to be honest. If he chooses me, will you interfere? Will you undermine our bond? Will you make him miserable by staying close while he tries to build a life with someone else? The questions cut deep because they were fair.

 Rey looked at this omega who was offering pragmatism instead of passion, alliance instead of love, and saw a future that could work. Saraphene was smart, kind enough, politically savvy. She could be a good queen. She wouldn’t make Kalin happy, but she wouldn’t destroy him either. If he chooses you, Revery said slowly. I’ll step back.

 I’ll remain in the castle only if my presence doesn’t harm your bond. And I’ll never, her voice broke slightly. I’ll never come between you. Saraphene nodded seemingly satisfied. That’s all I needed to know. Thank you for your honesty. But that night, when Revery helped Calin prepare for sleep, he seemed distant. The bond between them felt strained, as if he could sense the conversation she’d had, the promises she’d made.

 “Saraphene spoke to you,” he said, not a question. “Yes, and and she’d make you a good queen. She’s intelligent, politically connected, honest about her intentions. You could do worse. His jaw tightened. I could also do better. Better doesn’t matter if it’s not possible. He sat up, abandoning any pretense of sleeping.

 Why are you pushing me toward her? Toward any of them. Because you need a mate. Because you’re 20 years old and you’ll be king soon, and you can’t keep waiting for something that can’t happen. It can happen if you’d stop being a coward. The word hit like a slap. Revery stepped back. her wolf rising with instinctive defense. I’m not a coward.

 I’m a realist. There’s a difference. You’re terrified, he counted, standing to face her. Terrified that if we try, if we make this real, it might fail. So instead, you’re condemning us both to half lives where we exist near each other, but never together. You’d rather watch me mate someone else than risk another rejection. Yes.

 The admission tore from her. Yes, I’m terrified. I’ve been rejected once, Kalin. It almost killed me. It did kill my wolf for 7 years. And the only reason I’m alive, the only reason I can shift and breathe and function is because of you. Because this bond saved me.

 And if I risk making it romantic and it fails, if you claim me and the bond doesn’t take because I’m truly too broken, I won’t survive it. I can’t. So yes, I’d rather step back and let you find someone whole enough to be your mate than destroy both of us trying to force something the moon never intended. The silence that followed was devastating.

 Kalin stared at her with such profound hurt that she wanted to take back every word to comfort him the way she had when he was 4 years old and frightened. But they weren’t those people anymore. They were adults trapped in an impossible situation. And comfort felt like cruelty. You think you’re broken, he finally said, voice rough.

But you’re not. You’re the strongest wolf I’ve ever known. You survived rejection, lived in kennels, fought an assassin, healed yourself through sheer will. You’re not broken, Revery. You’re just convinced you are, and that conviction is the only thing stopping us from having everything.

 Or it’s the only thing protecting us from losing everything. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they held resignation. Fine. If you want me to choose a political mate, I will. If you want me to try building a bond with someone else because you’re too afraid to build one with me, I’ll do it. But don’t expect me to be happy.

 And don’t expect whatever bond I form to erase what we have, because this, he gestured, between them, this is permanent, whether you acknowledge it or not. He dismissed her. then for the first time in 16 years, sending her away before sleep. She left his chambers with tears streaming down her face and her wolf howling grief and knew that no matter what happened next, they just crossed a line they could never uncross.

 3 days later, Kalin announced his intention to court Saraphene seriously, and the castle erupted in celebration. Revery smiled and congratulated them and felt her heart shatter into pieces. so small she’d never find them all. The breaking point. The courting period stretched over months, and Revery kept her promise.

 She stepped back, maintaining professional distance, while Kalin and Saraphene built their relationship. She attended formal dinners as his attendant, but left before intimate conversations. She helped him prepare for dates, but didn’t ask how they went. She performed her duties with perfect precision while slowly dying inside. Saraphene was kind about it. She never gloated, never rubbed her position in Rever’s face.

 She was exactly what she’d promised, intelligent, loyal, politically astute. She and Kalin developed a partnership that looked functional from the outside, and the court approved enthusiastically. The alpha king was pleased. The noble families were satisfied. Everything was proceeding as it should, except Kalin stopped sleeping.

 It started gradually, him waking earlier, seeming tired during council meetings. But as the courting period progressed, his insomnia returned with vengeance. He’d lie awake all night, just like when he was a child, staring at ceilings while his body demanded rest it couldn’t achieve. Saraphene tried everything, sleeping beside him, holding him, even requesting Rever’s advice on soothing techniques.

Nothing worked because the bond knew what everyone was trying to ignore. Kalin wasn’t meant for Saraphene. This is temporary, the healers assured the Alpha King. Stress from the impending mate bond ceremony. Once they’re officially mated, his sleep will stabilize. But Revery knew better.

 The bond between her and Kalin was screaming its rejection of this path, and Kalin’s body was refusing to accept a reality his soul knew was wrong. She found him one night, 3 weeks before the scheduled mating ceremony, standing on the balcony of his chambers, swaying with exhaustion. She’d been summoned by worried servants who’d seen him nearly collapse during dinner.

 “How long since you slept?” she asked quietly. “Four days, maybe five. Time’s getting fuzzy. Kalin, don’t. His voice was hoaro. Don’t tell me I need to rest. Don’t tell me it’ll be fine once Saraphene and I mate. Don’t give me platitudes when we both know the truth. She moved to stand beside him, careful not to touch.

 What truth? That I’m trying to force a bond that doesn’t exist while ignoring the one that does. He laughed bitterly. Saraphene is perfect, kind, smart, everything a queen should be. And I feel nothing when I’m with her except the absence of you. No chemistry, no pull, just emptiness, pretending to be partnership. It takes time to develop feelings. It’s been 6 months.

 He turned to face her, and she gasped at how gaunt he looked, how shadows had carved themselves beneath his eyes. 6 months of trying, of forcing myself to feel something, anything for her. And the only thing I feel is exhaustion and grief because I’m choosing wrong and my body knows it. You’re choosing what’s right for the kingdom. Am I? Because a king who can’t sleep, can’t focus, can’t function. That’s not right for anyone.

He reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away. The moment their skin touched, she felt it. The bond sighing with relief. His exhaustion easing fractionally just from contact. This is what’s right. What we have, and I’m done pretending otherwise. The ceremony is in 3 weeks. Everything’s arranged. You can’t. I can. His grip tightened.

 I can call it off. I can tell my father and Saraphene and the entire court that I’m choosing you instead, and they’ll exile me. Your father will revoke what little status I have. Saraphene’s family will demand recompense for the insult. The court will the court will deal with it, he interrupted.

 And my father will rage and threaten, but ultimately he’ll accept it because I’m his heir and soon to be his king and he can’t control me forever. As for Saraphene, he paused. I’ll be honest with her. She deserves that much. She’ll understand. She already knows. I think that this won’t work. Revery felt the ground shifting beneath her. The future she’d resigned herself to crumbling. You’re not thinking clearly.

 You’re exhausted and desperate and and in love with you. He said it simply. Absolutely. I’m 20 years old, Revery. Old enough to know my own heart. Old enough to rule six territories. Old enough to choose my own mate. And I choose you. I’ve always chosen you. The only question is whether you’re finally brave enough to choose me back.

 Her wolf was howling yes, begging her to accept, to take what was being offered. But her mind still screamed with fear with memories of rejection and pain and the terrible vulnerability of hoping for something she thought impossible. If we try and it fails, it won’t. You don’t know that. I do. He brought her hand to his chest, pressing it over his racing heart. Feel that? That’s my soul recognizing yours.

 That’s 16 years of bond telling us what everyone else was too blind to see. You’re my mate, Revery, not Saraphene, not some noble omega from a powerful family. You, the wolf who slept in kennels and saved my life and made me whole when I was fractured beyond healing. And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that the moon knew exactly what she was doing when she brought you to me.

 Tears streamed down her face. Fear and hope and love so profound it felt like drowning and flying simultaneously. If I say yes, if we do this, there’s no going back. I don’t want to go back. I want to move forward with you. She looked at this man who’d been a child in the kennels, who’d given her a name when she had none, who’d grown into someone strong and sure and willing to risk everything for a bond no one understood.

and she realized he was right. She wasn’t broken anymore. She’d healed through their connection, through years of trust and care and love that transcended every rule their world tried to impose. Maybe she was brave enough after all. Okay, she whispered. Okay, okay, louder now, more certain. Yes, I choose you back. I choose us. The smile that transformed his face was incandescent.

 He pulled her into his arms, holding her with desperate relief. And for the first time in months, she felt the bond settle into perfect alignment. This was right. This was what they’d been fighting toward for 16 years. I’ll talk to Saraphene tomorrow, he murmured into her hair. And my father the day after.

 And then, and then we face whatever comes together, she finished. He pulled back to look at her, silver eyes shining. together. I like the sound of that. They stayed on the balcony until dawn, talking and planning and simply existing in each other’s presence without fear or barriers. When the sun rose over the castle, Kalin finally slept, his head in her lap and his hand clutching hers at peace for the first time since he tried to force himself down the wrong path.

 Revery watched him sleep and felt her own soul sigh with relief. The hardest battles were still ahead, convincing the Alpha King, facing the court’s judgment, proving their bond was real and lasting. But for the first time since the kennels, she felt hope that wasn’t tinged with desperation. She’d been rejected once, and it had nearly destroyed her.

 But she’d been chosen by the one wolf who’d always seen her worth, and that choice was strong enough to rebuild everything the rejection had shattered. The claiming Kalin cancelled the mating ceremony with Saraphene the next morning. True to her word, she took it with grace, though Revery saw relief in her eyes beneath the disappointment.

 I knew, she told them both during the private meeting from the beginning. But I had to try for my family, for the alliance. I’m glad you were both honest enough to stop before we made a mistake we’d all regret. The Alpha King was less understanding. You’re throwing away a crucial alliance for what? He roared at Kalin during a meeting that could probably be heard throughout the castle.

 For a rejected Omega who brings nothing to this union. No political power, no territory, no legitimacy. She brings herself, Kalin replied calmly. And that’s everything I need. You need heirs. You need alliances. You need I need to sleep, father. Kalin’s voice cut through the rage. I need to function.

 I need the one wolf in this entire kingdom who makes me whole. Everything else is secondary. The argument raged for hours. The Alpha King threatened to disown Kalin, to name a different heir, to exile Revery. But Kalin stood firm, using every political skill his father had taught him, every bit of leverage his position afforded.

 He reminded the king that he was 20 years old and legally able to make his own choices. That his insomnia had returned during the courting period with Saraphene, proving that bond wouldn’t work. That revery had saved his life, had served him faithfully for 16 years, had earned recognition through actions rather than birthright.

 And finally, when all else failed, he made a choice that shocked everyone. If you exile her, Kalin said quietly, I’ll abdicate. I’ll walk away from the throne entirely. You can choose another heir from the bloodline, but you won’t have me without her. The silence that followed was absolute.

 The Alpha King stared at his son, at the steel in his expression, and seemed to truly see him for the first time, not as a child to control, but as a man who’d made his decision and would stand by it regardless of consequences. You’d give up everything? The king asked finally. “I’d give up the throne,” Kalin corrected. “I wouldn’t be giving up everything.

 I’d still have her, and that would be enough.” The Alpha King closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they held something like respect. “You are more like your mother than I realized. She was the same, stubborn, absolute in her convictions, willing to sacrifice anything for what she believed was right.

 Then you understand why I can’t back down. I understand you’re a fool.” But the king’s voice had lost its fury. A brave fool, perhaps, but a fool nonetheless. You realize the court will fight this, that noble families will see it as an insult, that you’ll spend the first years of your rule fighting for legitimacy.

 I’ll fight for as long as necessary. Revery has already proven herself more valuable than most of the court combined. They’ll learn to accept her or they’ll leave. The king studied them both. Calin defiant and sure, Revery trying to remain neutral despite the terror flooding through her. Finally, he sighed. I won’t stand in your way, but I won’t help you either.

If you claim her as your mate, you do so without my blessing. If the bond fails, it won’t. Kalin said, “If it fails,” the king continued. “I’ll exile her myself. She’ll have one chance, boy. One, if this bond you’re so certain about doesn’t take, if the claiming doesn’t work, she’s gone.

 Am I clear, Crystal?” The king nodded once, then left, his disapproval hanging in the air like smoke. Reverie finally allowed herself to breathe, to process what had just happened. “He agreed,” she whispered. “He actually agreed. He respects strength,” Kalin said. “And we just showed him we won’t break. The claiming ceremony was private. Just them, a priest, and the moon as witness. The court had been notified, but not invited.

 a deliberate choice that sent its own message. Revery wore simple white, no elaborate dress or formal presentation. Kalin was in traditional claiming robes, silver thread matching his eyes. They stood in the castle’s sacred grove, where generations of maintings had been blessed, and Revery felt her hands shake as Kalin took them in his.

 I, Kalin, heir to six territories and future king, claim you, Revery, as my mate. I offer you my protection, my loyalty, my heart, and my soul. I bind myself to you before the moon and our witnesses. Will you accept this claim? She looked into his silver eyes and saw everything they’d survived to reach this moment.

 the kennels, the assassination attempt, the years of growth and trust and love built on foundations stronger than any formal bond could create. I accept, she said, voice steady despite her fear. I, Revery, once rejected but now chosen, accept your claim. I offer you my protection, my loyalty, my heart, and my soul.

 I bind myself to you before the moon and our witnesses. The priest spoke ancient words in the old language, calling on the moon’s blessing. Kalin lifted Rey’s wrist to his mouth, his canines extending, and she knew this was the moment of truth.

 If the bond didn’t take, if her rejection had truly broken her ability to form new connections, the bite would simply hurt. There would be no magic, no recognition, no transformation. She met his eyes and nodded. He bit down and the world exploded with light. The bond snapped into place like a key turning in a lock that had always been meant for it. Power flooded through her. Not just the gentle connection they’d always shared, but something vast and consuming and absolutely right.

 She could feel Calin’s emotions as if they were her own. His love and relief and triumph. She could sense his wolf merging with hers. Two halves becoming whole. The pain of the bite transformed into euphoria, and she gasped as her own canines extended instinctively. “Your turn,” Kalin whispered, offering his wrist.

 She bit down with trembling jaws, tasting his blood and his power and his absolute certainty that they’d always been meant for this. The bond completed itself with a resonance that shook the grove, making leaves fall from trees and the very ground tremble. When they finally released each other, they stood in the aftermath of transformation.

 The mate bond shimmerred between them, golden and unbreakable, fed by 16 years of trust and love that had transcended every obstacle their world had thrown at them. “It worked,” Rey breathed, tears streaming down her face. “Of course it worked,” Calin said, pulling her into his arms.

 “I told you the moon knew what she was doing all along. The priest blessed their union with wonder in his eyes. And as they left the grove hand in hand and finally finally complete, they knew the hardest battles had just begun. But they also knew they’d face them together. Rejected Omega and future king. Kennel Dweller and heir. Two wolves who defied every rule and won.

The new dawn. 5 years later, Kalin stood in the throne room he now ruled, watching his mate address the assembled court. Revery had transformed from the cowering omega in the kennels to a queen who commanded respect through intelligence and strength rather than bloodline. The nobles who’d once sneered at her now sought her counsel. The territories that had doubted their bond now saw the stability it brought.

 A king who slept peacefully, ruled justly, and had a partner who understood both power and compassion. Their story had spread beyond the castle, becoming legend. Songs were sung about the rejected Omega and the sleepless air, about bonds that transcended status and love that survived impossible odds.

 Other rejected wolves found hope in their union. Proof that rejection wasn’t an ending, but sometimes a redirection towards something greater. They’d faced challenges. Nobles who tried to undermine Rey’s position. political enemies who’d used her past against them.

 Moments when the weight of ruling had nearly crushed them both, but the bond held. Through every storm, through every doubt, through every impossible choice, they’d stood together. And when Revery finally became pregnant, defying the healers who’d said rejected Omega’s rarely carried to term, the kingdom celebrated as if the moon herself had blessed them.

 Kalin watched her now, his mate, his queen, his everything, and felt gratitude so profound, it still surprised him. She’d given him sleep when nothing else could. She’d given him love when he’d been too young to understand it. She’d given him strength when ruling felt impossible, and now she was giving him a future, a child who would be born from a bond everyone said shouldn’t exist.

 After the court session, they retreated to their private chambers, and Revery immediately went to the window, where moonlight spilled across the floor. It had become her habit, basking in the moon’s light, thanking the force that had brought them together through the most unlikely circumstances.

 “Regreats?” Calin asked, wrapping his arms around her from behind, hands resting gently on her growing stomach. Never. She leaned back into him. Though sometimes I wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t found me that night in the kennels. I always would have found you. Maybe not that exact night, but eventually. We were always meant for each other.

 She turned in his arms, silver eyes meeting his. Do you ever think about the life you could have had with Saraphene or another proper mate without all the fights and struggles our bond caused? I think about it sometimes, he admitted. And I’m grateful I don’t have it.

 Because that life would have been comfortable and politically convenient and absolutely empty. You gave me everything that matters. Peace, purpose, love. Everything else is just noise. Their child kicked then a flutter of movement that made them both laugh. This tiny life was proof that rejected bonds could heal, that broken wolves could become whole, that destiny cared nothing for rules and hierarchies.

 What should we tell them? Revery asked, hand on her stomach. when they’re old enough to understand about the kennels and the rejection and how we started the truth. Kalin said firmly that their mother is the strongest wolf in six territories that she survived what should have killed her that she was rejected and forgotten and still found a way to become a queen and that their father was lucky enough to recognize her worth when the rest of the world was blind.

 Revery kissed him deep and sweet and full of promise. I love you. Even if saying it still feels impossibly fragile sometimes. Then I’ll say it enough for both of us. He pulled her closer, careful of her pregnancy. I love you. I’ve loved you since I was 4 years old. I’ll love you until my last breath.

 And nothing, not rejection, not court politics, not any force in this world or the next, will ever change that. They stood in the moonlight. Two wolves who’d found each other in the darkest places and built something luminous from shared pain and trust and love that refused to follow anyone’s rules but their own. The rejected Omega who’d slept in kennels. The heir who’d never slept until her.

 now king and queen, mates, partners, parents. Their story wasn’t a fairy tale. It was too messy, too painful, too hard one for that. But it was real. It was theirs. And it was proof that sometimes the moon’s greatest gifts came wrapped in rejection and kennels and sleepless nights, waiting for the moment when two souls were finally brave enough to claim each other.

 The future stretched before them, full of challenges and joys and all the complications of ruling together. But whatever came, they’d face it as they’d faced everything else. Together, always together. And that was enough. That was everything.