Rejected By My Betrothed, Claimed By The Warlord Alpha

Kalea POV:

Gaines hoisted me onto the frosted stone bank with a single, effortless pull.

I collapsed onto my hands and knees, coughing up bitter mouthfuls of pond water while the freezing wind whipped my soaked hair across my face.

A few paces away, Emory stumbled onto the grass, carrying a weeping Dessie in his arms.

Dessie clung to Emory's soaked tunic, her fingers digging into his chest as she pointed a trembling, pale hand directly at me.

"She pushed me!" Dessie wailed, her voice echoing across the courtyard for every noble Lord and Lady to hear. "Kalea tried to kill me! She dragged me into the ice!"

Emory pulled Dessie tighter against him, his handsome face twisting with righteous disgust as he glared down at me.

"Kalea, you have lost your mind!" Emory barked, his voice carrying the full weight of a high-born knight. "Dessie is your sister! How could your heart be so vicious?"

The surrounding nobles immediately began to murmur, their judgmental gazes stinging like nettles against my skin.

"Look at her... a wolfless cripple with no inner wolf, and yet so full of spite."

"She knows she cannot hold a knight like Lord Lambert, so she attacks her own kin."

I pushed myself up from the cold flagstones.

Water dripped from my ragged skirts, but I stood with my spine straight, refusing to shake beneath their contempt.

I did not offer a tearful excuse.

I did not beg Emory to look at me.

Instead, I took three calm, measured steps across the wet gravel, stopping directly in front of Dessie where she sat nestled in my betrothed's arms.

Dessie looked up at me, a flicker of triumphant cruelty dancing in the depths of her wet eyes.

I raised my right hand and swung it with every ounce of strength in my body.

Smack!

The sharp crack of flesh against flesh echoed off the high stone arches like a whip cracking through the garden.

Dessie's head snapped sideways.

She tumbled out of Emory's lap onto the frozen mud, her hair coming undone as five bright crimson welts bloomed across her pale cheek.

The entire garden plunged into absolute silence.

No one had ever seen the quiet, submissive Richmond daughter strike a single blow in her life.

"Kalea!" Emory roared, his hand instantly dropping to the silver pommel of his ceremonial sword. "Are you insane? You dare strike her in front of the entire court?"

I looked into his furious eyes, completely unfazed by the threat of steel.

"I answer to the laws of the Moon Goddess and the King," I said, my voice ringing out clear and steady. "If my sister insists that I violently shoved her into the pond with murderous intent, then let the Royal Healers examine her body right here, right now."

Emory's brow furrowed.

Dessie froze on the ground, her hand flying to her swollen cheek.

"If she was pushed with violent force," I continued, staring down at them both, "her shoulders, neck, and arms will bear the bruising of a struggle. A wolfless girl cannot push an able-bodied wolf without leaving heavy marks."

Dessie's breath hitched.

She quickly clutched her sodden collar shut, her voice rising in panic.

"No... there is no need! Everyone saw it! Emory, please take me away, I am freezing..."

"A refusal to be examined is an admission of deceit," I cut her off cleanly, turning my head toward the two white-robed figures pushing through the crowd. "Healers of the royal court, do your duty."

The two royal healers, bound by strict crown oaths, did not hesitate.

They stepped past the hesitating guards and knelt beside Dessie, ignoring her frantic squirming.

A faint golden light flared from the chief healer's fingertips as he pressed his palm against her collarbone, neck, and wrists.

After a few tense seconds, the senior healer stood up and addressed the gathered court.

"Lady Dessie bears no defensive bruising, no grip marks, and no signs of blunt force on her upper body."

The crowd stirred.

The healer lifted his hand, holding up several fine threads of silver-blue silk plucked from beneath Dessie's fingernails.

"However, the silk fibers under her nails match the fabric of Lady Kalea's left wrist. The physical evidence shows Lady Dessie reached out and grabbed Lady Kalea first."

A wave of sharp murmurs swept through the terrace.

The sneers that had been aimed at me flipped instantly toward the girl cowering in the mud.

Emory's face turned an ugly shade of crimson.

His hand slowly dropped from his sword, caught entirely off guard by the undeniable proof.

He swallowed hard, stepping toward me with a stiff, apologetic expression.

"Kalea... Dessie was merely frightened by the water. She lost her head. Here, let me give you my cloak—"

"Do not touch me, Knight Lambert," I said, stepping back so his fingers grabbed empty air. "Had the healers not been here, you would have gladly watched the executioner take my head for a crime she fabricated."

A low, mocking chuckle rumbled from behind me.

Gaines Moss was leaning casually against a carved marble pillar, wringing the pond water from the sleeve of his black tunic.

His golden wolf eyes burned with raw contempt as he looked at Emory.

"The grand Champion of the Trials cannot even tell the difference between an attack and a desperate cling," Gaines drawled, his deep voice carrying easily over the garden. "It seems the crown handed a silver sword to a blind fool."

Emory gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white, but he dared not draw a blade against the heir of the Moss Pack.

Before another word could be spoken, the heavy, synchronized thud of armored boots sounded from the grand colonnade.

The royal guard parted the sea of nobles, their golden wolf banners fluttering in the freezing wind.