Chapter 9 - Lydia’s Last Stand

Before the dawn of their coronation day, a final, desperate shadow crept through the palace.
Lydia, having bribed a single remaining loyal guard, had escaped her cell. Driven mad by humiliation and rage, she bypassed the security grid using stolen master keys. Her goal wasn't escape; it was destruction.
If she couldn't have the throne, no one would.
Clutching a jagged silver dagger, Lydia slipped into Toby’s bedroom.
The little boy was sleeping soundly, clutching a stuffed wolf to his chest.
Lydia raised the dagger, her face twisted in a hideous, demonic grimace. “Die, you little bastard...” she hissed.
Before the blade could descend, the bedroom door flew off its hinges with a thunderous crash.
A blinding flash of violet light filled the room.
Ivy stood in the doorway, her hands glowing with ancient, primal energy. Beside her, Kellen transformed into the full majesty of the Iron Wolf—a massive, silver-furred beast towering over nine feet tall, snarling with a fury that shook the foundations of the castle.
Lydia froze, turning around with wide, terror-stricken eyes.
“You...” Lydia gasped.
Ivy didn't speak. She flicked her wrist.
A wave of pure violet energy surged across the room, wrapping around Lydia’s limbs like silken chains, slamming her against the wall and knocking the dagger from her grip.
Kellen shifted back into human form in a blur of muscle and shadow, stepping forward to stand between Lydia and the bed.
“You crossed the ultimate line,” Kellen said, his voice devoid of all mercy.
“Kill me then!” Lydia screamed, laughing hysterically. “Kill me! But the pack will never respect an Omega Queen! They will tear her apart the moment your back is turned!”
“They won't have to,” a voice echoed from the doorway.
Chief Elder stepped into the room, flanked by dozens of pack warriors. He looked at Lydia with profound disgust.
“The pack elders have reviewed the ancient prophecies,” the Chief Elder announced loudly. “The magic that healed the prince and purged the dark sorcery is not a curse. It is the sacred blessing of the Star-Moon bloodline—a royal lineage lost for centuries. Ivy Green is not just an Omega. She is the rightful heir of the Northern Mystic Clans.”
Lydia’s jaw dropped. The color drained entirely from her face.
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“Take her away,” Kellen commanded. “To the deepest exile in the frozen wastes. If she ever sets foot in civilized lands again, execute her on sight.”
As the guards dragged a screaming, broken Lydia away down the hall, silence finally settled over the royal wing.