EVERYONE FAILED TO BREAK THE ALPHA KING’S CURSE — UNTIL A FORGOTTEN OMEGA KISSED THE MONSTER… AND HIS NEXT WORD SHOCKED THE KINGDOM PART 1 They sold Arth for less than the price of bread.

The transition of power was swift, but the whispers in the court took much longer to die down.

In a kingdom where lineage and wolf-strength were treated as divine rights, the ascension of Arth—a wolfless omega from a disgraced, low-tier family—caused an earthquake among the high-born houses. Whispers echoed through the high galleries, behind velvet drapes, and over goblets of spiced wine during evening banquets.

“A wolfless bride? The queen has no beast inside her.” “How can she sit beside the Alpha King when she cannot even shift beneath the full moon?” “She is a commoner in silk. The court will never truly accept her.”

Arth heard them, of course. Her heightened senses, which had once only brought her pain and the crushing weight of others' misery, now caught every subtle slight, every snide remark hissed behind a fan or whispered in a dark corridor.

One evening, standing alone on a high stone balcony overlooking the moonlit sea, she stared down at her own hands resting against the cold stone balustrade. The starlight washed her skin in pale silver, but no fur sprouted, no golden eyes glowed, no inner wolf stirred to answer the call of the moon.

She was still wolfless.

"Thinking of what they say?"

A familiar warmth enveloped her shoulders as a heavy fur-lined cloak settled over her back. Zepharos stepped up beside her, leaning his forearms against the stone, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the dark ocean met the bruised violet sky.

"I heard the wives of the Northern Duke whispering in the gallery today," Arth murmured, her voice laced with a quiet, lingering doubt. "They said a king needs a mate who can run beside him through the pine forests in winter. They said I am a liability. A crack in the foundation."

Zepharos turned his head, looking at her with an intensity that made the cold night air feel like spring.

"Let them talk of forests and running wolves," Zepharos said softly, reaching out to tilt her chin upward so she had no choice but to meet his eyes. "They know nothing of what it takes to survive in the dark. My generals can run through the snow until their paws bleed, but not one of them could pull me back from the shadow when my soul was tearing apart."

He traced his thumb gently across her cheekbone.

"A wolf is easy, Arth. Anyone can bare their teeth and snarl when threatened. But it takes a rare, extraordinary strength to walk into a monster's cage without a weapon, and offer peace instead of fear. That is not a defect. That is the strongest soul in this entire kingdom."

Arth leaned into his touch, a quiet tear escaping her eye, slipping down to brush against his thumb. The lingering shadows of her past—the auction block, her father’s cold dismissal, the cruel laughter of the crowd—finally dissolved into the night air, swept away by the unwavering love of the king.