The Unchosen Alpha, the Self-Crowned Queen Chapter 03

The Unchosen Alpha, the Self-Crowned Queen Chapter 03

The next morning, my Alpha father Evander sat at the head of the table, the Northern Pack Report spread in front of him. His coffee had gone cold, untouched.

I took my usual seat. Four chairs. Three people already eating. My plate was empty.

“Dad. I don’t have any utensils.”

Evander didn’t look up. Just turned a page. “Martha, bring another set.”

Lyanna cut into a perfectly seared venison steak. “Nerys is really getting good. This herb-roasted venison tastes exactly like Grandmother’s.”

Nerys smiled and ladled more Moonberry oatmeal into Mom’s bowl. “Here, Mom, have some more. I tried Grandma’s new recipe today—honey-roasted root veg with bay leaves. I’m making it for dinner tonight, so you’ll get the real deal later.”

Martha brought me a bowl of plain oatmeal and a tiny plate of pickled cucumbers. Across the table? Herb-roasted venison, wild mushroom stew, creamy mashed potatoes, smoked trout, and fresh rye bread—the whole spread.

Lyanna noticed me looking and waved it off. “You’re meeting Lucien next month, remember? Gotta watch your figure. Skip the heavy stuff for now, we want you looking your best.”

I took a bite of that pickled cucumber. Salty. Bitter.

Evander set his magazine down, straightened up, and looked at me with that Council-meeting expression.

“Maeve. Your mother told me what happened last night. I know this is hard to accept. But you need to think about the Pack’s interests.”

He pushed a map across the table—Blackwood territory in one color, Silvercrest in another. “Blackwood’s got the Eastern forests. Silvercrest’s got the Northern snowfields and the biggest silver mines in the region.”

“They’ve also got the strongest warrior legion up here—and we’ve got the best herb farms and supply chains. Once these two Packs join through marriage, there won’t be any more border fights. The whole North locks together—solid.”

He met my eyes. “Lucien Ashcroft—I’ve met the kid. He’s young, levelheaded, and he’s got real power. He’s going to be one of the strongest Alphas out there. And you? You’ll make one hell of a Luna.”

I laughed.

So that’s what I was. A treaty.

“Dad. How many times have you actually met Lucien?”

Evander paused. Thought about it. “Twice. Once at the Alpha Council, once at the Winter Hunt.”

“Two times—and that’s enough to marry off your daughter?”

The air went cold.

Lyanna slammed her chopsticks down. “How dare you talk to your father that way?”

Evander didn’t get angry. Just got that patient, indulgent look—like he was mentoring a young soldier. “Maeve. Marriage isn’t a game. It’s about what families bring to the table. You think your mother married me for my charm?”

He glanced at Lyanna and smiled. They exchanged a look—warm, but more than anything, it was trust between allies. And I was the bargaining chip for their next deal.

Nerys came out with the final dish and caught the tail end of the conversation.

“Don’t stress too much, Maeve.” She sat down across from me, voice soft as cotton.

“Mom and Dad just want what’s best for you. Think about it—everything you learned growing up. Diplomacy, etiquette, riding, negotiation, how to calm Pack members… those are the most important skills for a Luna.”

“You’ll thrive in Silvercrest Pack. Staying here?” She shrugged delicately. “You’ve never even touched Grandmother’s recipe book. How would you earn their respect?”

Every word was a knife—you can’t cook, so you don’t deserve to lead.

But no one ever asked why I couldn’t cook. From the moment I could remember, Lyanna never let me near the kitchen.

My sister? She was five when she started following Grandmother around, kneading dough, mixing sauces, learning heat control. That ancestral recipe book? I’d never even seen the cover.

Not because I wouldn’t learn. Because they never let me.

“Hey. Can I see that Moon Feast journal sometime?”

Nerys’s smile flickered for half a second. “It’s at Grandmother’s. I only see it during lessons.”

Lyanna jumped in immediately. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear another word about it at this table. Maeve, go get your hair done this afternoon. Silvercrest’s sending people over next week, and I need you looking polished.”

I looked down and drank my oatmeal.

Bland. Tasteless.

But I forced myself to swallow every bite.

Not because I was obedient.

Because I finally realized—at this table, I had no bargaining power left. They fed me what they wanted. They’d marry me off to whoever they chose.

Unless I tore apart the future they’d built for me. With my own hands.