They Mocked the Scarred Omega at Court — The Alpha King Touched Her Face and Changed Everything 🐺👑

The Grand Hall of Edhard Castle was a blinding spectacle of wealth, excess, and raw, predatory tension. Thousands of beeswax candles melted down ornate iron chandeliers, casting long, writhing shadows across tapestries depicting ancient victories. Tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, spiced wines, and towering sugar sculptures, while nobles dressed in furs, silks, and jewels murmured among themselves like restless pack animals sizing each other up.

At the head of the hall sat the massive throne carved from blackened dragon-oak.

And upon it sat Aiden Whitmore.

He did not wear a crown of gold; his sovereignty was stamped into the broad expanse of his shoulders, the terrifying aura of absolute dominance that rolled off him in invisible, suffocating waves, and eyes that glowed with the cold, piercing luminance of a winter moon. Clad in black leather armor overlaid with heavy silver-gray wolf pelts, he looked less like a king attending a celebration and more like an apex predator keeping watch over a pack of restless wolves ready to turn on each other.

Hiana moved through the outer perimeter of the feast like a ghost wrapped in gray wool. Her task was simple: assist the kitchen staff in carting heavy silver flagons of spiced wine to the lower noble tables. Head down. Eyes averted. Do not breathe too loudly. Do not catch the eye of an Alpha looking for a target for his redirected aggression.

"You there—Omega!"

The sharp command cut through the din of lutes and laughter. Hiana froze mid-step, her fingers gripping the handles of a heavy silver pitcher filled to the brim with dark red wine.

It was Lady Bird Lancaster’s table. Birdie sat flanked by influential lords and wealthy heirs, her emerald gown catching the candlelight as she offered a toxic, triumphant smile.

"My glass is empty, little rat," Birdie purred loudly enough for the surrounding tables to turn their heads. "And make sure you don't spill a drop. Though I suppose expecting grace from a daughter of traitorous failure is like asking a stone to bleed."

Hiana lowered her head, stepping forward with cautious, measured steps. "Yes, my lady."

She tilted the heavy pitcher, pouring the rich crimson liquid into Birdie's crystal goblet. The scent of heavy perfume and malicious triumph rolled off the noblewoman in sickening waves.

And then, with microscopic calculation, Birdie’s sneakered foot shot out from beneath the table.

The impact was swift and brutal. Hiana’s boot caught squarely on Birdie’s heel. Her center of gravity vanished.

Clang!

The silver pitcher slipped from her numb fingers, crashing violently against the stone floor. Dark red wine exploded outward in a massive, jagged stain across Birdie’s priceless emerald velvet gown, soaking the fine fabric and pooling across the flags like spilled blood.

Silence crashed over the immediate section of the hall, spreading outward like ripples on a dark pond until the music sputtered and died.

"You clumsy, wretched piece of trash!" Birdie shrieked, springing to her feet with a theatrical burst of rage, her face flushed crimson. Before Hiana could even draw breath to apologize, Birdie’s hand cracked across Hiana’s face with vicious, stinging force.

The blow sent Hiana sprawling backward onto the hard stone. The sudden, violent momentum whipped her ash-blonde hair violently to the right, unpinning the careful arrangement and tearing away the protective curtain that had hidden her face for five agonizing years.

The jagged, thick crimson scars—stretching from her left eyebrow, tearing across her cheekbone, and biting deep down to her jawline—were suddenly laid bare under the blazing light of a thousand candles.

Gasps echoed sharply across the hall.

"By the Goddess..."

"Look at her face..."

"A hideous, cursed omega in the royal court? How vile!"

"She's a monster!"

Birdie stood over her, breathing heavily, pointing a trembling finger down at Hiana’s exposed terror. "Guards! Drag this scarred beast out of the castle! Throw her to the wolves in the courtyard! She has desecrated the Winter Solstice Feast!"

Hiana curled inward on the freezing stone, her hands flying up to cover the burning scars, tears hot and silent blinding her vision. Let it end, she prayed to the cold ceiling. Just let them kill me. Let it end.

And then, the heavy, oppressive silence in the hall grew so absolute that even the crackle of the hearth fire sounded like thunder.

A sound rang out. The slow, rhythmic scraping of heavy boots against stone.

Screeech.