The Alpha King stopped smiling when twenty-three rejected Omegas walked into his mating ball wearing ribbons that were supposed to mean they had been forgotten.

The candlelight flickered against the cold stone of the High Tower, casting jagged shadows across the mountain of parchment piled on Alpha King Nathaniel Crow’s desk. Outside, the blizzard howled against the stained-glass windows, but inside, the atmosphere was dead silent.

In the corner stood Archival Master Vane, trembling beneath his robes. His eyes darted nervously toward the ancient iron door.

"Say that again," Nathaniel’s voice was dangerously low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "The original mating registry was destroyed?"

"By... by royal directive, Your Majesty," Vane squeaked, his hands clutching his belt. "Three years ago. A sudden outbreak of silver-rot fungus in the lower vaults. The High Council ordered the infected ledgers burned to prevent the decay from spreading to the royal bloodlines."

Nathaniel leaned back, his piering blue eyes locking onto the trembling archivist. His inner wolf, a massive shadow lingering at the edges of his consciousness, growled. Silver-rot was real, but it attacked living wood, not treated vellum.

"Baroness Celeste Pike was the head of the High Council three years ago," Nathaniel said smoothly, tapping a heavy silver signet ring against the mahogany wood. Tap. Tap. Tap. "She signed the destruction order."

"She was merely protecting the court’s integrity, my Liege!"

"And what of these?" Nathaniel slammed a leather-bound book open. It contained twenty-three medical assessments, all stamped with the crest of the Royal Apothecary. "Twenty-three Omegas. Twenty-three identical diagnoses of absolute infertility. Every single one signed by Baroness Pike’s personal physician, Dr. Hallow, and cross-referenced with forged family lineage papers."

Before Vane could answer, the heavy oak doors of the study burst open.

Grace Rowan stood on the threshold. She was wrapped in a simple velvet cloak over her tattered white gown, the silk rejection ribbon still wrapped tightly around her wrist like a bandage over a fresh wound. Behind her, two royal guards stood hesitant, clearly unwilling to lay hands on the woman who had brought the entire mating ball to a standstill just hours prior.

Nathaniel raised a hand, dismissing the guards. They bowed quickly and retreated, pulling the heavy doors shut.

Grace didn't bow. Her dark eyes burned with an icy, unyielding light as she marched toward the desk. Her skin was pale from eleven days of starvation in Moon Hall, but her posture was unbending.

"You're looking at the wrong ledger, King Nathaniel," Grace said, her voice steady despite her physical weakness.

Nathaniel looked at her, noting the sharp line of her jaw and the quiet defiance radiating off her. "Am I?"

"Vane didn't burn the original registry because of rot," Grace said, pointing a slender finger at the terrified archivist. "He burned it because the original registry proved that none of us are infertile. Our bloodlines carry the ancient Silver-Moon gene—the very gene Baroness Pike’s family lost four generations ago."

Vane gasped, his face draining of all color. "Heretic! You dare slander the High Noble houses—"

"Silence!" Nathaniel barked. The sheer alpha pressure in his voice forced Vane to his knees, the old man clutching his chest as he gasped for air.

Nathaniel turned back to Grace, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly. "Silver-Moon gene? That bloodline was thought to be extinct."

"It wasn't extinct," Grace stepped closer, leaning against the desk to support her frail frame. "It was stolen. Baroness Pike knew that if an Omega with Silver-Moon blood mated with an Alpha of royal descent, their offspring would hold a stronger claim to the throne than her own lineage. So she manufactured our infertility, forced our rejection, and sealed us in Moon Hall to starve."

"To starve..." Nathaniel repeated, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the desk. "The White Fast was never a tradition."

"It was an execution," Grace whispered. "Slow, quiet, and invisible."

Nathaniel stood up, his massive frame towering over the desk. He walked around the table until he was standing directly in front of Grace. The air between them crackled with an electric tension—a strange, invisible pull that neither of them had expected.

"If what you say is true," Nathaniel murmured, his eyes searching hers, "there must be proof beyond forged medical papers. A paper trail leaves a blood trail."

"There is proof," Grace said, reaching into the folds of her cloak. She pulled out a small, blood-stained brass key. "It belonged to my grandmother. Before they locked me in Moon Hall, I hid her diary inside the old library wall behind the hearth. It lists every child born with the silver mark over the last thirty years."

Vane suddenly lunged forward, his eyes wild. "Don't listen to her, Your Majesty! She's a disgraced Omega! A madwoman!"

Before Vane could reach Grace, a massive black shape materialized from the shadows of the room. A monstrous black wolf, standing higher than a man's chest, stepped between Grace and the archivist, a terrifying snarl ripping through its throat. The wolf's glowing blue eyes matched Nathaniel's exactly.

Vane froze, trembling violently on the floor, terrified to even breathe.