Chapter 10 - The Sovereign Queen
The White Wolf was not a myth, but a bloodline long thought extinct—a legendary strain of alpha blood that remained dormant until triggered by extreme trial and the soul-bond of a true Sovereign Alpha.
She had not been broken or wolfless. Her power had simply been too vast to awaken for a lesser life, locked away until the cold mountain storm demanded her true nature.
With a swift, terrifying motion, the royal guards seized the weeping Silas Blackwood, dragging him away to the dungeons to await his exile to the dark silver mines.
The hall fell dead silent.
The massive snow-white wolf turned back to face Davian.
Davian walked toward her, his golden eyes filled with a fierce, profound warmth. He did not command her. He did not force his dominance. He simply dropped to one knee on the cold marble floor before her, lowering his head in absolute respect.
"My Queen," Davian whispered.
The white wolf stepped forward, resting her massive, velvet snout gently against his cheek.
With a soft shimmer of silver light, the white wolf receded, leaving Dorothy standing in her dark velvet dress once more. But she was no longer the small, timid girl from Thorn Ridge. Her posture was regal, her eyes glowing with gentle, golden fire, her skin radiating heat and life.
She looked down at the King kneeling before her, a soft, beautiful smile touching her lips. "Get up, Davian. Kings don't kneel in the dirt."
Davian stood, taking her small hand in his massive grip. He turned to face the hundreds of lords, ladies, and warriors gathered in the hall.
"Hear my word!" Davian’s voice boomed across the court. "Dorothy Thorne is no longer an omega of the outer reach. She is the Savior of the Throne. The White Alpha. And my chosen Mate!"
The Great Hall erupted into a deafening roar of cheers and pounding shields. High lords bowed low, and warriors raised their swords high into the air, chanting her name until the white stone walls vibrated with joy.
Six months later.
Spring had finally arrived in the Northern Reach. The snows of the mountain passes had melted into clear, rushing streams of cold water, and the dark pine forests were blooming with wild purple heather.
High on the balcony of the Silver Citadel, Dorothy stood watching the sunset over the vast, peaceful valley. She wore a simple dress of white wool, her hair flowing long and free over her shoulders.
Strong, warm arms wrapped gently around her waist from behind. Davian pulled her close against his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder as they watched the golden light fade over the mountains.
"You're quiet tonight," Davian murmured, his deep voice a soothing vibration against her back.
"I was just thinking," Dorothy said softly, leaning back against his chest. "About Thorn Ridge. About the tavern."
"Do you miss it?"
Dorothy smiled, turning slightly in his arms to look up into his striking golden eyes. "Not for a single second."
She placed her hand over her own stomach. Beneath the soft white wool, a gentle, vibrant warmth was pulsing—a new, strong heartbeat growing inside her.
The healers who had called her infertile were long gone, replaced by the truth of the ancient blood. She was carrying the King’s heir—a child of silver and gold.
Davian laid his massive hand over hers, his eyes softening with a rare, gentle tender affection that he reserved only for her. He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
"They thought you were broken, my love," Davian whispered against her skin.
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Dorothy looked out over the vast kingdom that now called her Queen, her golden eyes shining bright in the dusk.
"They only saw the snow," Dorothy said softly, holding her King tight. "They didn't know the sun was coming."
