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.

By dawn, the storm had cleared, leaving a brilliant, icy blue sky over Iron Ridge.

The battle was over. The Crimson Pack mercenaries had surrendered or fled into the deep wilderness, and the royal banners of the Silver Realm flew high over the fortress towers.

In the grand courtyard, thousands of bushels of golden wheat and grain were pulled from the underground granaries, ready to be loaded onto royal transport wagons and sent back to the capital.

Lord Malakor and Lyra Pike sat in heavy iron chains at the center of the courtyard, surrounded by hundreds of royal soldiers and local villagers who had suffered under Malakor’s cruel rule for years.

Nathaniel and Grace stood side by side on the high stairs of the main hall.

Grace stepped forward, looking down at the defeated rebels. "Lord Malakor Blackthorn, Lady Lyra Pike. You conspired to starve the kingdom, allied with outlawed mercenaries, and raised arms against the crown."

"Kill us and be done with it, witch!" Lyra spat, her face bruised, her spirit unyielding in her hatred. "My mother’s supporters are everywhere! You will never rule in peace!"

"Your mother’s supporters were built on greed and fear, Lyra," Grace said calmly. "And fear evaporates when light shines upon it."

Grace turned to Nathaniel. "We will not execute them."

A murmur went through the crowd of soldiers. Nathaniel looked at Grace, surprised but listening attentively.

"Death would make them martyrs to the remnants of Celeste’s faction," Grace explained, her voice carrying across the quiet courtyard. "Instead, they will spend the rest of their days working the very iron mines they used to enrich themselves. Their lands are hereby stripped, and House Blackthorn is dissolved."

Grace looked out over the crowd of local mountain villagers. "The mines of Iron Ridge will no longer belong to a single lord. They will be managed as a collective trust, run by the workers themselves, with half the profits dedicated to building schools, hospitals, and shelters for Omegas across the Eastern Territory."

The mountain villagers stared in stunned disbelief for a second before erupting into deafening cheers. Tears streamed down the faces of old miners who had worked as slaves in Malakor’s pits for decades.

"Long live Queen Grace!" an old miner shouted, dropping to his knees.

"Long live the Silver Queen!" the crowd chanted back.

Nathaniel looked at Grace, his heart overflowing with love and deep respect. She hadn't just conquered a fortress; she had won the hearts of the most rebellious region in the realm without shedding unnecessary blood.

He reached out, taking her hand, their silver marks glowing together under the morning sun.