Chapter 6 of Rejected by the Wolf King, Reborn as His Doom

The border guards didn't know what to make of me.

I approached the checkpoint at dawn, riding a black horse that seemed to materialize from shadows. My cloak billowed behind me despite the still air, and my eyes, I knew, reflected light like a predator's. I'd spent hours perfecting this entrance, making sure every detail screamed power and danger.

"State your business," the lead guard demanded, though his hand trembled on his weapon. He could sense what I was, something other, something that didn't belong in the natural order.

"I'm here to see the king," I said simply. My voice came out layered, like multiple people speaking at once. Another trick Morganna had taught me. "Tell him Lyra the shadow-walker requests an audience."

"The king doesn't see just anyone who wanders up to the border," another guard said, trying to sound brave. "Especially not witches."

I smiled, and it wasn't a kind expression. "Then tell him I have information about the curse that's killing his kingdom. Tell him I know why his lands are dying, why his people suffer, why he can't sleep without nightmares. Tell him I can help."

It was partially true. I did know about the curse because I was the curse, or at least the catalyst for it. The Moon Goddess had punished Alaric's rejection by tying his fate to mine. As long as I existed in this half-dead state, his kingdom would continue to decay.

The guards exchanged nervous glances. Finally, the leader nodded. "Wait here. I'll send word to the palace."

They made me wait three hours. I didn't mind. I used the time to study the border territory, noting how thin and sickly everything looked. The trees had bare patches. The grass grew in uneven clumps. Even the air tasted wrong, like something rotten just beneath the surface.

This was what Alaric's choice had brought. Slow death for everything he'd tried to protect.

When the messenger finally returned, he looked shaken. "The king will see you. But you must surrender any weapons and submit to a magical binding while in the palace."

I laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally. "I am the weapon. Binding me would be like trying to chain smoke. But I give my word that I won't harm anyone in the palace unless they harm me first. Will that suffice?"

More discussion. More nervous glances. Eventually they agreed, probably because they had no real way to enforce their rules on someone like me. They gave me an escort of six guards, all of them keeping as much distance as possible while still technically guiding me.

The ride to the palace took most of the day. I watched the landscape pass, remembering how it had looked centuries ago. Vibrant. Alive. Full of wolves running free and children playing in meadows. Now it was a shadow of itself, dying slowly like its king.

We passed through villages where people stopped to stare. They felt my presence, the wrongness of me, and made warding signs or hurried indoors. A few brave souls whispered questions to my guards, asking who I was and what business I had with the king.

"Death comes to Silvercrown," I heard one old woman say. "I saw it in my tea leaves this morning. Death in a woman's form."

She wasn't entirely wrong.

The palace looked the same but different. The bones of it were familiar, the grand architecture I remembered from my brief time there. But the details had changed. New wings had been added. Old decorations had been replaced. Gardens I'd once tended as a servant were overgrown or redesigned.

Only the throne room remained exactly as I remembered it. The same marble floors. The same high ceilings. The same raised platform where I'd been rejected and destroyed.

They made me wait again, this time in an antechamber while they announced my arrival. I could feel him nearby, his presence like a magnetic pull even after all these centuries. The bond, severed and broken, still echoed between us. It would never fully disappear, Morganna had warned me. Part of us would always be connected, like two trees whose roots had tangled underground.

My hands shook slightly, so I clasped them behind my back. I couldn't show weakness now. Couldn't let anyone see that being this close to him affected me.

The doors opened. A familiar figure stepped through, older but unmistakable. Kael. He'd aged, probably in his sixties now, but still carried himself like a warrior. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"You're the shadow-walker?" he asked, studying my face intently. "I've heard stories about you. They say you're not quite alive, not quite dead."

"Stories are often true," I replied carefully. Did he recognize me? Could he see Eira beneath Lyra's mask?

"The king will see you now," Kael said slowly. "But I'm warning you, whatever game you're playing, whatever magic you're working, it won't end well. He's suffered enough."

Oh, so he was loyal still. Good. That would make my revenge sweeter when Alaric fell.

"I'm not here to play games," I lied. "I'm here to help, if he'll let me."

Kael didn't look convinced, but he led me through the doors anyway. The throne room opened before me, full of courtiers and nobles and guards. All eyes turned to watch me enter, and I felt their fear like a physical thing.

But I only had eyes for him.

Alaric sat on his throne at the far end of the room, and my heart, strange and slow as it was, stuttered in my chest. He looked exactly the same as I remembered. The curse had frozen him at twenty-eight, keeping him young while the world aged around him. But his eyes were different. Older. Tired. Haunted by things I could only imagine.

Our eyes met across the distance, and I watched him go completely still. His hands gripped the throne arms. His breath caught. For a moment, just a moment, I saw recognition flash across his face.

Then it was gone, replaced by careful neutrality. But I'd seen it. Some part of him knew me, even if his mind couldn't accept it.

"Lyra the shadow-walker," he said, and hearing him speak my new name sent shivers down my spine. "You claim to know about the curse affecting my kingdom."

"I do." I walked forward slowly, each step deliberate and measured. The crowd parted before me like I carried plague. "I know exactly why your lands are dying, Your Majesty. I know why you can't sleep. Why your wolf howls every night. Why nothing you do can stop the decay."

His jaw tightened. "And you can fix it?"

"Perhaps. But first, you need to understand what caused it." I stopped at the base of the platform, the same spot where I'd stood for my rejection. "Tell me, do you believe in the Moon Goddess? In her power to punish those who defy her will?"

Murmurs rippled through the court. Seraphine stepped forward from her place beside the throne. She'd aged too, her face heavily lined, her pale eyes now milky with cataracts. But she still radiated cunning.

"Careful, witch," she hissed. "You speak dangerously close to treason."

I ignored her, keeping my focus on Alaric. "You rejected your true mate. Your goddess-given bond. You severed something that was meant to be eternal. Did you think there wouldn't be consequences?"

His face remained impassive, but I saw his fingers dig into the throne. "My reasons were sound. The prophecy..."

"The prophecy came true anyway," I interrupted. "You tried to avoid destruction by destroying your mate, and in doing so, you brought destruction on yourself. Your crown burns slowly instead of quickly. Your doom arrived anyway, just spread out over centuries instead of years. How does it feel, knowing you suffered for nothing?"

The throne room erupted. Guards stepped forward. Nobles shouted accusations. Seraphine called for my immediate execution. But Alaric raised his hand, and silence fell instantly.

"Everyone out," he commanded. "Now."

"Your Majesty, you can't be alone with this creature," Seraphine protested. "She's dangerous. She's..."

"Out." His voice cracked like thunder. "All of you. I will speak with her privately."

They left reluctantly, filing out with backward glances and whispered concerns. Kael was the last to go, and he gave me a long, searching look before closing the doors behind him.

Then it was just us. Alone in the throne room where everything had ended and, perhaps, where everything would end again.

Alaric stood slowly and descended from the platform. Each step brought him closer until we were face to face, close enough that I could see the silver flecks in his eyes, close enough that the broken bond between us screamed and pulled and tried desperately to reform.

"Who are you really?" he asked quietly. "Because my wolf is going insane, and I don't understand why."

I smiled, sharp and cruel. "I'm exactly who I said I am. Lyra. Shadow-walker. Death-touched. Your doom finally come to claim you."

"You feel like her," he whispered. "Like my mate. The one I killed. But that's impossible. She died centuries ago."

"Did she?" I tilted my head. "Or did she become something else? Something that waited and grew strong and came back for revenge?"

His hand shot out, gripping my arm. The contact sent electricity through both of us. The bond fragments tried to reconnect, reaching for each other like severed nerves seeking reunion.

"Tell me the truth," he demanded. "Are you her? Are you Eira?"

I looked into his eyes and let him see the hatred there, the centuries of pain and rage. "Eira died in a forest, shot full of arrows, alone and abandoned. What I am now is what your rejection created. So yes and no. I'm what's left when love turns to vengeance."

He released me, stumbling back like I'd burned him. "No. That's not possible. You're lying. You're some trick, some manipulation..."

"Believe what you want," I said coldly. "But the curse won't break until one of us is truly dead. That's the price of your choice. You and me, bound together in suffering until one of us finally ends it."

I turned to leave, my cloak swirling dramatically. I'd planted the seed. Now I needed to let it grow, let him wonder and doubt and slowly realize the truth.

"Wait," he called out. "If you're really her, prove it. Tell me something only Eira would know."

I stopped at the door and looked back at him. He looked desperate and broken, nothing like the powerful king who'd rejected me. It would be so easy to soften, to let the old feelings resurface.

But I couldn't. I wouldn't.

"You told me once that you were sorry," I said quietly. "Sorry that the goddess chose wrong. Sorry that I was born into a prophecy. Sorry that you were going to break my heart. Do you remember what I said in response?"

He shook his head slowly.

"I said nothing. Because there was nothing to say when the man you loved chose fear over you." I opened the door. "Sleep well, Your Majesty. I'll be staying in your kingdom for a while. We have so much catching up to do."

I left him standing there, and I didn't look back.