All Chapters of The Alpha's Unwanted Queen : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The Grand Council Hall of the Ironwood Pack was suffocatingly hot, packed wall-to-wall with the scent of anxious wolves, heavy leather, and the lingering sting of cheap tallow candles. High on the stone dais sat Alpha Silas, his posture commanding and unyielding, flanked by the senior elders of the pack. To his right stood Victoria, draped in a gown of deep crimson velvet, her chin held high as she bathed in the admiring glances of the assembly. Down at the very back of the hall, half-hidden behind a heavy stone pillar and a cluster of low-ranking guards, stood Evangeline. Her skin burned beneath the rough, suffocatingly high collar of a heavy woolen traveling dress. It was far too large for her, a discarded garment meant to make her look small, frumpy, and forgettable. Over her face hung a thick, dense bridal veil made of opaque white lace. It obscured her vision, turning the crowded hall into a blur of shadows and torchlight. Her hands, still raw and stinging from the morning’s ly

The neutral summit grounds sat in a desolate, forgotten valley where the borders of the two packs collided. A massive pavilion of black iron and heavy canvas had been erected over the frozen earth, snapping violently in the biting northern wind. Inside, a long stone table split the room in two, acting as a stark barrier between peace and total annihilation. Evangeline stood just behind Silas’s left shoulder, a silent ghost shrouded in white lace. The silver-root poison was a heavy, numbing weight in her veins, dulling the sharp edge of her terror into a muted, foggy haze. Beneath the dense bridal veil, her breathing was shallow. She could see only the blurred outlines of the room, the flickering torches, and the tense, rigid backs of the Ironwood enforcers who stood with their hands clamped tightly on the hilts of their blades. "They are late," Silas rumbled, his voice low and vibrating with irritation. He adjusted the heavy fur collar of his cloak, though his posture remained domin

The transport wagon was a rolling cage of ice and iron. Hours bled together in a grueling blur of bone-rattling bumps, sharp turns, and the agonizingly slow drop of the temperature. Evangeline huddled on the floorboards, her knees tucked tight against her chest as she tried to use the excessive, heavy fabric of her oversized dress to trap whatever little body heat she had left. The silver-root poison in her blood made the cold feel different. It wasn't just a physical chill; it was a heavy, numbing frost that seeped deep into her bone marrow, making her muscles feel sluggish and her thoughts move like molasses. Through the dense white lace of her bridal veil, she could see the faint, gray light of the late afternoon filtering through the cracks of the wooden walls. The world outside was changing. The flat, jagged rocks of the Ironwood territory were giving way to towering, suffocating black pines that seemed to swallow the sky. They were deep in Midnight Pack territory now. From th

The heavy oak door of the attic room groaned on its rusted iron hinges as the guard shoved it open. The space inside was small, sharp, and biting cold. Situated at the highest peak of the southern tower, the ceiling sloped drastically down to meet walls of bare, uninsulated black stone. A single, narrow slit of a window looked out over the jagged mountain crags, completely devoid of glass to keep out the elements. The howling northern wind blew straight through the opening, carrying with it fine, icy crystals of snow that dusted the floorboards. Alpha Torin stood in the doorway, his massive frame completely blocking out what little warmth and light drifted from the torches in the stairwell. He crossed his thick arms over his broad chest, his jaw set, his golden eyes gleaming with a cold, sharp intensity. He had deliberately followed the guard up the winding staircase. He wanted to witness the exact moment the spoiled Ironwood princess finally broke. He wanted to see her scream, stamp

The heavy oak door swung open with a slow, deliberate creak that sounded like a death knell in the quiet kitchen. Evangeline squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles turning stark white around the wooden handle of her scrub brush. Her breathing hitched, a tiny, terrified gasp catching in her throat. She stayed frozen on her hands and knees, her head tucked so low that her chin pressed against her collarbone. She braced herself, waiting for the harsh shout, the heavy strike, or the cold disgust she was so accustomed to receiving back at the Ironwood packhouse. But the heavy, booming footsteps of a warrior didn't follow. Instead, there was a soft rustle of linen, followed by the light, brisk patter of sensible leather shoes. The footsteps stopped abruptly. A sharp, collective intake of air pierced the silence. "Merciful Mother," a woman’s voice whispered. It wasn't the voice of a young, arrogant warrior, nor was it the sharp, venomous tone of Victoria. It belonged to an older woman, ric