Chapter 3- Taken by the Crown
1104 Words
By morning, Kaelin’s world had changed—and not by her choice.
She awoke to banging at her door. Not the impatient knocks of pack warriors or gossipy omegas. These were sharp, deliberate, commanding.
Royal guards.
“Kaelin Ryn,” one of them barked. “You’re to come with us. The Alpha King has summoned you.”
Kaelin rolled out of bed slowly, spine stiff with defiance.
“No,” she said flatly, arms crossed.
The guard’s jaw ticked. “It wasn’t a request.”
“Too bad.”
She slammed the door shut, her heartbeat racing. But it didn’t stay closed long. The next moment, the door flew open—shattered off its hinges like it had been made of twigs.
Theron stood behind the guards.
Of course he did.
She met his eyes, fury rising like wildfire. “Are you seriously going to drag me out of my own home?”
He didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. “You were warned.”
“I’m not yours,” she growled.
“I don’t care.” His voice was steel. “You’re coming to the capital. Now.”
Kaelin lunged at him, fists flying—not to hurt, but to push. To resist. To say you don’t own me. But the moment her hands hit his chest, something snapped between them.
Not just tension.
Power.
The bond flared, hot and violent, slamming into her like a storm. Her knees buckled, vision swam. He caught her before she hit the floor, arms like iron around her.
Their eyes locked—hers burning with hatred, his with something deeper. Darker. Hunger and frustration twisted behind that perfect face.
“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s not something you can run from, Kaelin.”
She wrenched herself out of his grasp, breathing hard. “You think I’ll fall at your feet because of a bond? Go find someone desperate enough to care.”
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t argue.
He just said, “Get dressed. We leave in an hour.”
Then he turned and walked out, leaving only shattered wood and a storm in her chest.
---
Kaelin didn’t cry.
Not when she packed her few possessions into a canvas satchel.
Not when she passed the warriors who once sneered at her and now looked away in silence.
Not even when she passed Riven, standing with Lira near the gates, his mouth half-open with something like horror in his eyes.
She didn’t look back.
She climbed into the carriage behind Theron without a word.
And as the gates of Edgewood closed behind her, she let herself feel only one thing:
Rage.
---
The ride to the Crownlands was long and silent.
Theron sat across from her, calm, unreadable, every inch a king. His posture was perfect, his coat lined with silver wolf fur, and his sword—an ancient thing carved with runes—rested at his side.
Kaelin sat with her arms crossed and jaw locked, doing her best to ignore the slow burn of the bond in her veins.
The silence between them was loud. Not awkward—dangerous.
He finally spoke hours later.
“You trained like a warrior.”
She didn’t look at him. “So?”
“So most omegas are protected. Coddled.”
“I’m not most omegas.”
His voice dropped, smooth and maddening. “No. You’re not.”
She clenched her fists. “You’ve made your point. You’re the King. You get whatever you want.”
His eyes locked on hers. “Not always.”
“You seem awfully confident for someone being rejected.”
His lips twitched. “You’re not rejecting me, Kaelin. You’re fighting yourself.”
She laughed bitterly. “I don’t want a mate. That’s not a fight—it’s a choice.”
“No,” he said simply. “It’s fear.”
The words hit harder than she wanted them to. She turned away, staring out the window as the snowy forests gave way to fields of gold and silver-leafed trees.
She wouldn’t argue. Not because he was right—but because arguing meant engaging. And she couldn’t afford to let him under her skin.
Not more than he already was.
---
The capital city was unlike anything Kaelin had ever seen.
Tall stone walls rose like mountains around the Crownlands, gilded gates guarded by wolves in armor so polished they gleamed. Towers reached toward the clouds, chimneys puffed pale smoke into the blue sky, and the air—gods, the air—was warm, scented with cinnamon and sun-dried herbs.
It was beautiful.
And it made her feel sick.
Because it wasn’t hers.
The carriage rolled up the path toward Blackspire Keep, the royal fortress. Jagged spires loomed over the land, obsidian walls glittering in the light like something out of legend. The gates opened without a word.
Inside was another world entirely: sweeping halls, grand staircases, velvet banners stitched with silver thread. Servants bowed as they passed. No one met her eyes.
She hated it.
Theron led her to a chamber—massive, elegant, too much. A four-poster bed draped in fur. A fireplace crackling gently. A balcony overlooking the city.
“This is not necessary,” she snapped.
“You’ll stay here.”
“I don’t want your palace. Or your favors.”
His eyes darkened. “This isn’t a favor. It’s your right.”
“I earned my place,” she growled. “I bled for it. This? You’re just giving me this because of a bond I never asked for.”
“You want to earn it?” he challenged, stepping closer. “Then earn it here. I’ll put you in the warrior trials.”
She blinked.
“You’ll let me fight?”
He nodded once. “And if you win, you’ll take your place not just in the Crown Guard—but by my side.”
“And if I lose?”
His voice turned to ice. “You don’t lose.”
The bond burned again—hot, aching, electric. She swore it made the room spin.
“Don’t think this changes anything,” she said, breath shaking.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He left her in the chamber, the heavy door shutting with a click.
Kaelin stood still for a long time, staring at the space he’d just occupied.
Warrior trials?
So he wanted her to fight?
Fine.
She’d give him a war.
And when she won, he’d learn something no one else in his perfect palace seemed to understand:
She wasn’t here to be claimed.
She was here to conquer.
---
- Writer
