Word of the announcement traveled like fire through dry brush. The revelation that Mira Damaris, the lost princess, had returned—and brought with her two sons—shook the Lycan Realm to its core. And when it was confirmed that those boys carried not just royal blood, but also the mark of Northcrest?
Panic. Praise. Outrage. In the capital, council chambers erupted.
“It’s a miracle,” one elder said, rising to his feet. “A blessing from the moon herself!”
“A curse,” another snapped. “A poisoned line. The blood of a traitorous Alpha now mixed with our royal heir?”
“Do not speak of her that way,” another barked. “She is the King’s daughter. You question his right to name an heir?”
“I question what happens when her sons come of age,” the elder growled. “Do we crown wolves who are half Northcrest?”
“They are children,” the High Priest reminded. “They deserve protection, not suspicion.”
“They are not just children,” said a noble. “They are symbols. And symbols start wars.”
The King rose from his seat at the head of the council. The room went quiet.
“My daughter and her sons are under the protection of this crown,” Alaric said. “Let no one in this court forget that.”
Mira, unaware of the heated debate, sat curled on a settee in the royal wing. Caelan dozed at her side. Rowen held tightly to her sleeve, quiet but wide-eyed.
“They’re talking about us, aren’t they?” she whispered.
Alaric leaned against the doorway. “Yes. But not one of them dares raise a blade.”
Mira looked up. “They’re afraid.”
“As they should be.”
She stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “They think of the boys as weapons. Not sons.”
“They are both,” Alaric said calmly. “And I will protect them either way.”
Mira’s throat tightened. “You say that now. But when the pressure mounts? When they start demanding bloodlines stay pure?”
“Let them demand,” he said. “I answer to no one.”
She stepped closer. “He’ll come for them.”
Alaric didn’t blink. “He already tried.”
“You don’t know him like I do. Ronan doesn’t just want to take them back. He wants to erase everything I’ve built.”
Alaric’s expression turned cold. “Then let him come. He will not touch my family.”
“He’ll twist the laws. The traditions. The mate bond. He’ll say the children belong to him.”
“Then he will learn what happens when he challenges the throne.”
Mira sat beside her sons, stroking Caelan’s hair. “How can I raise them here? How do I prepare them for what’s coming?”
“You prepare them by standing tall,” Alaric said. “By showing them strength. Love. Discipline. They are the future of this realm.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “And if I fail?”
“You won’t,” he said. “Because I’ll stand beside you.”
That night, Mira couldn’t sleep. She walked the halls, heart pounding. She checked the boys three times before sunrise. The elite guard stood silent, unmoving.
She whispered to one, “Would you give your life for them?”
The guard’s voice was low. “Gladly, Princess.”
In her chamber, Mira sat at the window, staring into the horizon.
Alaric joined her. “They are the storm,” he said. “And the world will either bow or be swept away.”
***
Far to the north, in the snow-covered halls of Northcrest, Ronan stood before his war table.
“They call her princess now,” a warrior spat.
“They call my sons heirs,” Ronan muttered.
He picked up a blade and began sharpening it. The sound was slow and steady, scraping through the silence.
“She took them from me. Lied. Hide them.” “She named them in court,” another Beta said. “They stand under the Lycan banner now.”
Ronan’s eyes burned gold. “They are mine.”
“What do we do?” the warrior asked. “We remind them.” He sliced the blade across the stone.
“Prepare the army.”
“And Mira?”
He stared at the fire. “I will claim the princess. The heirs return to me.”