My Lover Sold Me For 300 Silver Coins — Then I Crashed His Wedding
Part 2
“They said you were dead,” the terrifying king breathed.
Cracking with unexpected emotion, his deep voice lacked any trace of his fearsome alpha persona.
A rough, heavily scarred thumb reached out to gently trace the line of my jaw.
It was as if the towering warlord believed I was constructed from incredibly fragile glass.
“For twenty-three years, I hunted the assassins who burned my nursery,” he said.
Thick tears spilled freely from his otherwise terrifying, glowing crimson eyes.
“And all this time, my daughter, the lost princess of the north, was living as a slave.”
Reality itself seemed to fracture inside my exhausted, overwhelmed mind.
Freezing cold and the brutal betrayal of Greg collided head-on with the sheer, blinding impossibility of this exact moment.
The towering warlord of the north was kneeling in the snow, calling me his blood.
The rusted iron door deep inside my soul suddenly shattered.
A sickening crunch of bone echoed in my own ears.
A flash of blinding light erupted behind my eyes.
The dormant power within me tore free.
What began as a human scream rapidly morphed into a deafening, earth-shattering roar of pure dominance.
Unlike the painful, grotesque struggle of a common wolf, this transformation felt like divine intervention.
It was an explosion of pure, blinding lunar energy.
A shockwave of silver light blasted outward.
It threw the remaining northern guards off their feet.
It cracked the thick ice covering the stone walls of the fortress.
I stood in the center of the blast, breathing heavily.
I had shifted into a massive, ethereal direwolf.
My coat was blinding, iridescent white, shimmering like starlight.
My senses exploded with new, terrifying clarity.
The suffocating pressure of my royal alpha aura slammed into the courtyard.
Every single warrior within a mile radius dropped to their bellies.
They bared their throats in absolute, involuntary submission.
Only king Brian remained kneeling.
Tears streamed down his scarred face as he looked upon me with fierce paternal pride.
He reached out a trembling hand.
I lowered my massive head and pressed my cold snout against his calloused palm.
My wolf had been locked away to protect my fragile human body from its own power.
Now, the seal was broken.
I was no longer the subservient girl who scrubbed floors for scraps of affection.
I was the true heir to the most powerful bloodline in existence.
In three weeks, Greg was going to marry Heather to secure his stolen power.
He thought he had discarded a useless peasant.
He had no idea he had just unleashed a monster.
Should I let him say his vows before I tear his new life to shreds?
Part 3
She would let him stand at the altar.
Megan stared out the massive frost-covered window of her new bedchamber in the northern keep.
Watching the relentless snow bury the jagged spires of the ancient fortress brought her a strange sense of peace.
Before it was ripped away, the traitor deserved to fully experience the intoxicating rush of total victory.
His arrogant mind needed to believe that the cruel betrayal had functioned exactly as planned.
The three hundred pieces of silver were meant to buy his wealthy bride, and he needed to feel secure in that transaction.
She would let him put on his tailored velvet suit and smell the expensive roasted meats of his wedding feast.
She would let him stand beside lady Heather and smile at the assembled nobility.
Only when he felt secure in his stolen power would she strike.
Warmth was the very first sensation that finally breached the darkness of Megan’s fractured mind.
It was not the biting, smoky heat of the kitchen hearths she was accustomed to in the south.
It was a deep, encompassing warmth radiating from thick velvet quilts that smelled faintly of crushed pine.
A massive fireplace, large enough to roast a whole ox, roared steadily on the far side of the room.
The dancing flames cast long, shifting shadows across the intricate stonework.
Slowly opening her silver-flecked eyes, the newly awakened princess gasped softly as she pushed herself up from the mattress.
Gone were the filthy, soot-stained rags that had defined her entire miserable existence in the south.
Wrapping her previously bruised and starved body was a luxurious silken nightgown that flowed like cool water against her healing skin.
She was miraculously healed.
Every single ache in her joints and every dark scar from her brutal life in the south had vanished without a trace.
She was lying in a massive four-poster bed carved from dark mahogany.
It sat in the center of a palatial stone bedchamber adorned with heavy, colorful tapestries.
The woven threads depicted the long, bloody history of the blood iron pack.
Silver wolves chased golden moons across the fabric, telling stories of ancient conquests.
“Drink this slowly,” a deep, rumbling voice commanded gently from the shadows.
King Brian sat in a high-backed wooden chair beside the massive bed.
He held a large silver goblet filled with a fragrant, steaming herbal broth.
The terrifying warlord of the north looked incredibly exhausted.
His broad shoulders were slumped with a profound, bone-deep weariness.
Yet, his glowing crimson eyes never left her face for a single second.
He looked terrified that if he blinked, she might vanish into thin air like a phantom.
Megan took the heavy goblet, her hands trembling slightly as the hot metal warmed her palms.
“What happened to me?” she whispered into the quiet room.
Her own voice sounded distinctly different to her ears.
It was richer, deeper, and far stronger than the subservient whisper she had used her entire life.
“I shifted, but I am a defective,” she said, staring down at her unblemished hands.
“I possess no wolf.”
Brian smiled softly, speaking her name with a reverence usually reserved for the gods.
“You were never defective, Megan,” he said gently, his voice devoid of its usual terrifying edge.
He leaned forward, resting his massive, scarred hands heavily on his knees.
“You are of the blood iron lineage, the purest royal lycan blood in existence.”
He paused, his eyes glowing with fierce, undeniable pride.
“A royal pup’s wolf is so immensely powerful that it requires the proximity of their bloodline to break the seal safely.”
“Without your pack and your true family, your wolf remained locked away deep inside your soul.”
“It hid there to protect your fragile human body from being consumed by its own raw, untamed power.”
Megan stared quietly at her hands, the painful memory of Greg’s cruel dismissal echoing loudly in her mind.
He had called her a useless mutt in front of the entire great hall.
“Twenty-three years ago, our keep was breached,” Brian continued.
His voice immediately darkened with a profound grief that had fermented into cold rage over two decades.
“It was not rogue wolves who attacked our sanctuary.”
“It was a human mercenary band paid in southern gold by rival factions who feared our growing power.”
“They breached the walls during a terrible blizzard and burned the nursery to the ground.”
“We found the remains of your mother, but your tiny body was never recovered from the ashes.”
“We assumed the worst and mourned you as dead.”
Megan felt the missing puzzle pieces of her fractured childhood snapping sharply into place.
“They smuggled me south to hide the evidence,” she realized quietly.
“I was found wandering the freezing woods near the southern borders.”
“I was just an orphan with no scent of a pack to claim me.”
“They took me in to be a servant, a simple thrall to sweep their floors.”
The stone floor beneath Brian’s heavy boots cracked loudly as his rage spiked.
“And the southern boy dared to use you,” Brian growled, his voice vibrating with murder.
“He dared to trade the lost princess of the north for three hundred pieces of silver.”
The king stood up abruptly, pacing the room like a caged, furious beast.
“I will march the entire blood iron army south at dawn.”
“I will burn his keep to the foundation and salt the earth.”
“I will rip his spine from his body and feed his entrails to the carrion crows.”
Megan did not flinch at the violent words echoing off the stone walls.
“No,” she said, her voice cutting sharply through the tension in the room.
It carried a sudden, sharp authority that made even the furious king pause in his tracks.
She threw off the heavy velvet quilts and stepped onto the warm rugs covering the floor.
The timid, subservient thrall who had scrubbed Greg’s floors was dead.
She had been left behind forever in the freezing blizzards of the brutal march north.
In her place stood a woman whose veins hummed loudly with the ancient power of a goddess.
She could literally feel the rhythmic pulse of the ancient castle walls around her.
She could hear the steady heartbeats of the armed guards standing three floors below in the courtyard.
She sensed the overwhelming, ancient magic coursing fiercely through her royal blood.
“Greg threw me away because he craved power and status above everything else,” Megan stated coldly.
Her silver eyes narrowed with a meticulously calculated fury.
“Death is far too quick a mercy for a man who trades loyalty for cheap coin.”
“I do not want him dead, father.”
“I want him to lose everything he sacrificed me to gain.”
Brian looked at his daughter, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his heavily scarred face.
He saw his own ruthless, unwavering determination perfectly mirrored in her gaze.
“He is to wed lady Heather of the wealthy family in three weeks,” Brian noted.
“It is a political union designed to officially crown him as the supreme alpha of the southern territories.”
Megan turned to the massive silver mirror standing in the corner of the room.
She barely recognized the stunning, regal woman staring back at her.
“Then we shall attend this wedding,” Megan said quietly, adjusting the silk of her gown.
“And we shall bring them a wedding gift they will never forget.”
For the next week, Megan refused to rest for even a single hour.
The northern fortress became her personal training ground.
She spent hours every day in the frozen courtyards, mastering the immense speed of her new direwolf form.
The transformation, which had once been blocked by an iron seal, now flowed as easily as breathing.
Her massive, iridescent white wolf moved like a phantom across the snow.
Her paws barely left prints as she leaped over high stone walls and tore through thick wooden targets.
She learned how to harness the terrifying strength that came with her royal lineage.
Under the guidance of her father’s most trusted generals, she studied the intricate politics of the southern territories.
She memorized the ancient laws of the lycan crowns that governed the packs.
She learned how the vassal systems worked, and how easily alliances could be broken by a show of superior force.
Most importantly, she learned how to wield her royal alpha aura as a devastating weapon.
She practiced projecting her dominance until even the fiercest veteran warriors were forced to lower their eyes in her presence.
The entire north rejoiced at the news of her miraculous return.
Celebrations echoed through the lower halls, but Megan remained sharply focused on her singular goal.
She spent her evenings in the war room with king Brian, charting their path south.
They mapped out the exact route the army would take to remain undetected until the final moment.
They calculated the precise timing needed to arrive right as the high priest spoke the vows.
Megan chose her armor carefully, opting for a magnificent cloak of shimmering silver thread over dark, reinforced leather.
She wanted to look every bit the royal princess she was born to be.
She wanted Greg to recognize exactly what he had thrown away.
As the day of Greg’s opulent wedding steadily approached, a dark, unstoppable storm began to gather in the north.
Three hundred of the finest, most heavily armored northern lycans were selected for the march.
They were elite soldiers clad in dark steel and thick wolf pelts, their faces painted with the ash of their hearths.
They rode massive warhorses that breathed plumes of steam into the freezing air.
Megan rode at the front of the column beside her father.
The journey south was vastly different from the agonizing march she had endured weeks prior.
She no longer felt the biting cold, protected by the unnatural heat of her alpha blood.
They moved swiftly and silently through the mountain passes, descending toward the warmer southern valleys.
The landscape slowly changed from jagged, snow-covered peaks to rolling green hills and dense pine forests.
With every mile they covered, the burning anticipation in Megan’s chest grew stronger.
She rehearsed the confrontation in her mind over and over again.
She pictured the look of shock that would wash over Greg’s face when he realized his fatal mistake.
She imagined the satisfying sound of his fragile ego shattering into a million pieces.
The southern territories were unaware of the approaching doom.
The local patrols were easily bypassed or quietly subdued by the northern scouts.
The element of surprise was their greatest advantage.
Megan’s silver eyes stared straight ahead, fixed on the horizon where the wealthy estates lay waiting.
Her revenge was no longer a distant fantasy.
It was a rapidly approaching reality, riding on the backs of three hundred heavily armed warriors.
The days bled into nights as they pushed their horses to the limit.
The rhythmic thundering of hooves became a constant, driving beat matching the pulse of her heart.
She was returning to the place of her deepest humiliation, not as a broken servant, but as a conquering queen.
The memory of scrubbing floors and eating kitchen scraps faded into insignificance.
She was princess Megan of the blood iron pack, and she was coming to collect her due.
The swift journey south took exactly two weeks, though time passed strangely for the newly awakened princess.
She was no longer a frozen, starving prisoner stumbling blindly through the snow.
She rode atop a magnificent northern warhorse, wrapped securely in heavy furs and shimmering silver thread.
The landscape slowly transformed around her with each passing day.
The jagged, unforgiving obsidian spires of the north gradually gave way to rolling, snow-dusted hills.
Eventually, the snow thinned out entirely, replaced by the lush green valleys of the southern territories.
During the long days in the saddle, king Brian rode closely beside her.
He used the quiet hours of the march to teach her the heavy responsibilities of the crown.
He spoke of the delicate balance required to maintain peace among the volatile lycan packs.
He explained how a true leader must rule with both a terrifying iron fist and a profoundly merciful heart.
“A supreme alpha does not demand respect through cruelty,” Brian told her one crisp morning.
“Cruelty is simply the weapon of the weak, the frantic shield of a coward.”
“True power lies in absolute, unwavering control over oneself and one’s enemies.”
Megan absorbed every single word, reflecting deeply on Greg’s pathetic desperation for status.
Greg had possessed no true power, only a desperate, consuming hunger for it.
He had been willing to sell the only person who genuinely loved him to feed that insatiable hunger.
At night, the northern army made camp in secluded valleys and hidden ravines to avoid detection.
Hundreds of small campfires flickered to life in the darkness, looking like fallen stars scattered across the grass.
Megan would sit beside her father’s fire, watching the elite warriors meticulously sharpen their heavy broadswords.
The soldiers treated her with an awe-inspiring level of profound reverence.
They brought her the choicest cuts of roasted meat and immediately lowered their eyes when she spoke.
It was a staggering contrast to the disdain she had suffered in the southern kitchens.
She was no longer the invisible, defective girl scrubbing soot from the flagstones.
She was the terrifying, undeniable future of the entire lycan race.
As they drew closer to the wealthy estates, the air grew noticeably warmer and thicker.
Megan recognized the familiar scents of the southern forests: damp earth, wild honeysuckle, and aged oak.
A strange mixture of profound nostalgia and bitter hatred twisted sharply in her chest.
This was the land where she had grown up, where she had been forced to hide in plain sight.
She remembered the countless nights she had spent shivering in the drafty servant quarters of iron oak keep.
She remembered the stinging physical pain of the backhanded slaps she had received from pureblooded ladies.
Those memories no longer elicited fear or shame.
They merely fueled the burning, unquenchable fire of her impending revenge.
On the final night before they reached their destination, the army camped within striking distance of the estate.
Megan could not sleep a single wink.
She slipped quietly out of her silken tent and walked to the edge of the sleeping camp.
She looked out over the darkened valley, her silver-flecked eyes easily piercing the gloom.
In the far distance, she could see the bright, twinkling lights of the wealthy manor.
They were burning hundreds of expensive oil lamps in preparation for the grand wedding.
The soft sound of string music carried faintly on the cool night breeze.
They were already celebrating Greg’s stolen ascension to supreme alpha.
King Brian stepped silently out of the shadows and stood beside her on the ridge.
“Are you ready for this, my daughter?” he asked quietly, his voice a deep, comforting rumble.
“Once we cross those gates, your old life will be erased from existence.”
Megan turned to look at her father, her expression hardening into a mask of pure, royal determination.
“My old life was erased the moment he handed me over for three hundred pieces of silver,” she replied coldly.
“I am not going there to reclaim anything I lost.”
“I am going there to burn his stolen kingdom to the ground.”
Brian smiled fiercely in the darkness, his crimson eyes glowing with intense pride.
“Then let us march, princess of the north,” he said simply.
“Let us show the southern dogs the true meaning of power.”
By dawn, the army was fully armored, painted, and ready for war.
They mounted their massive beasts and began the final, silent descent toward the wealthy estates.
Golden banners fluttered brightly against the crisp autumn sky above the sprawling wealthy estates.
The opulence of the highly anticipated event was staggering to behold.
Hundreds of wealthy nobles, powerful alphas, and aristocrats gathered in the grand courtyard.
They were all dressed in their finest imported silks and heavy velvets.
Long tables groaned under the immense weight of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and rivers of expensive wine.
Servants scurried between the tables, carrying silver platters piled high with delicacies.
The scent of roasted venison mingled with the sweet perfume of the gathered nobility.
Standing proudly at the altar before the high priest of the moon goddess was Greg.
He wore an impeccably tailored suit of crimson and gold.
His chest was puffed out with arrogant pride as he looked out over the massive crowd.
Beside him stood lady Heather, a beautiful but notoriously haughty woman dripping in diamonds.
Her intricate lace gown swept across the pristine white marble of the altar steps.
Greg surveyed the massive crowd, a smug, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
He had successfully secured his glorious reign over the southern territories.
The silver he had acquired for that useless defective had paid off all his lingering debts.
Now, he was marrying into the wealthiest and most powerful family in the realm.
Megan was probably already a frozen, forgotten corpse in a northern ditch by now.
The thought brought him no guilt, only a fleeting sense of relief.
Loose ends were always messy, and he had tied his up perfectly.
The high priest raised his hands to bless the powerful union.
“If any wolf objects to the merging of these two powerful bloodlines, let them speak now,” the priest intoned.
“Or forever hold their peace beneath the moon.”
A deafening, unnatural horn blast suddenly shattered the serene atmosphere.
The massive wrought-iron gates of the estate did not merely open.
They were blown off their heavy hinges with a deafening crash.
They crashed into the courtyard with the devastating force of a massive siege engine.
The string music stopped in an instant.
Women screamed in terror, dropping their crystal wine glasses onto the paving stones.
Powerful alphas leapt to their feet in a panic.
Their eyes flashed dangerously as they half-shifted in defense of the estate.
Marching flawlessly through the billowing dust and splintered iron was an army.
Three hundred heavily armored northern lycans, clad in dark steel and thick wolf pelts, formed an impenetrable phalanx.
Their boots struck the ground in perfect, terrifying unison.
At the very head of the frightening procession strode king Brian.
His mere presence sent a suffocating wave of pure dominance rolling over the crowd.
Weaker wolves dropped to their knees immediately, unable to withstand his suffocating aura.
Heather’s father stepped forward, his face pale with stark terror.
“king Brian, we did not expect the crown of the north,” the duke stammered nervously.
“Silence,” Brian boomed, his voice echoing fiercely off the high manor walls.
He stopped right at the base of the stone altar.
His glowing crimson eyes locked dead onto Greg’s face.
Greg’s smugness evaporated in a single instant.
It was rapidly replaced by a cold, deeply paralyzing dread that rooted his boots to the floor.
“I have not come to drink your cheap wine,” Brian announced loudly to the silent crowd.
“I have come to introduce the southern territories to the future queen of the lycan race.”
“My blood, my true heir, miraculously returned to me.”
The massive northern soldiers parted their ranks flawlessly down the center.
A lone figure stepped forward, draped elegantly in a magnificent cloak of shimmering silver thread.
Her face was obscured by a delicate, finely woven veil.
She moved with a terrifying, otherworldly grace that commanded the attention of every eye in the courtyard.
She slowly ascended the steps of the altar until she stood directly in front of Greg and his trembling bride.
Greg swallowed hard, desperately trying to maintain his wavering composure.
“My king, we are overjoyed at this news,” Greg lied smoothly, attempting a bow.
“We pledge our loyalty to the princess.”
“Do you, Greg?” the veiled woman asked quietly.
Greg froze.
His heart stopped dead in his chest.
He knew that voice intimately from a thousand whispered conversations in the dark.
It was impossible.
It was the voice of a ghost.
Megan reached up slowly and pulled the delicate veil away from her face.
Loud gasps rippled through the gathered nobility as they recognized the former servant girl.
The woman standing before them was breathtaking.
She radiated an aura of terrifying power that pressed down heavily on their chests.
She wore a heavy crown of dark iron and brilliant sapphires.
Her silver-flecked eyes bored into Greg’s soul with the intense heat of a dying star.
Greg stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the stone altar steps in his blind panic.
Every single drop of blood instantly drained from his pale face.
“Megan,” he gasped out, his voice cracking.
“No, you are a thrall.”
“You are nothing but a defective.”
Megan’s voice resonated with the terrifying alpha command when she finally spoke.
“I am princess Megan of the blood iron pack,” she declared loudly.
The command hit Greg like a massive physical blow to the chest.
It forced him to his knees before her on the hard stone.
He desperately tried to stand up, his muscles straining.
The sheer weight of her royal bloodline crushed him against the floor.
“You sold a royal to slavery,” Heather’s father gasped in horror.
To assault or enslave a member of the royal lycan bloodline was the highest treason imaginable.
It was a crime punishable by a slow, agonizingly painful death.
“You brought this incredible wrath upon my house,” the duke yelled at Greg, his face purple with rage.
“Heather, please,” Greg begged pathetically, reaching a trembling hand out to his bride.
Lady Heather sneered in disgust.
She kicked his hand away and backed up as if he were carrying a deadly disease.
“You are no supreme alpha,” Heather spat viciously.
“You are a dead man walking.”
“The betrothal is officially broken.”
Megan looked coldly down at the pathetic man who had once broken her heart.
She felt nothing but profound pity and deep disgust.
He was small, pathetic, and a complete coward masquerading as a king.
“I stitched your wounds, Greg,” Megan said, her calm voice carrying clearly across the silent courtyard.
“I loved you when you had nothing to offer.”
“And you traded my life for a bag of silver and a title you were far too weak to earn yourself.”
She reached deep into the folds of her silver cloak.
She pulled out a heavy, familiar leather pouch.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled it at his face.
The pouch burst open on impact against his cheek.
Three hundred silver pieces scattered wildly across the pristine stone floor.
They clinked loudly and mockingly in the dead silence of the ruined estate.
“Your payment, for services rendered,” she said with chilling precision.
Greg frantically scrambled among the coins, weeping openly like a child.
His pride was shattered before the entire kingdom.
“Mercy, Megan, please,” he sobbed brokenly.
“I didn’t know, I swear it, have mercy.”
Megan turned her back on him completely, walking calmly down the steps to join her father.
“I am showing you mercy,” she said without looking back.
“A quick death is far too good for you.”
“You are officially stripped of your alpha title, your lands, and your name.”
“You are hereby exiled to the deadlands as a rogue.”
“If you ever cross into civilized territory again, my father’s guards have strict orders to skin you alive.”
Greg wailed a broken, pitiful sound.
The local guards dragged him away into the dirt, eager to distance themselves from his treason.
They left the scattered silver coins glinting mockingly in the bright afternoon sun.
Megan stood tall and proud beside king Brian.
The heavy crown of the north rested perfectly and rightfully upon her brow.
THE END
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: My Alpha Discarded Me For Being “Useless” — He Didn’t Know He Was Setting Me Free
Disclaimer
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. If you would like to share your story, please send it to [email protected].
