The Unchosen Alpha, the Self-Crowned Queen Chapter 04

The Unchosen Alpha, the Self-Crowned Queen Chapter 04

At 2 PM, Lyanna pushed me to go to the appointment she’d booked at the styling studio. I said okay.

I didn’t go. I went to the bank instead.

Seventeen years of allowance, scholarship money, combat trial prize winnings—all sitting in a card Lyanna didn’t know about.

Balance: eighty-three thousand four hundred dollars.

Not much. But enough to get me through the first stretch.

I stood at the ATM, changed my PIN, then walked into a cell phone store and bought a new SIM.

When I got home, Lyanna asked why my hair was still the same.

“Long line. Rebooked for tomorrow.”

She nodded and didn’t push.

At dinner, Nerys served her honey-roasted roots with rosemary-garlic sauce. Grandmother was on video call, heaping praise.

Everyone was laughing.

Nobody noticed I spent the whole meal counting every single thing at that table that was actually mine.

One bowl of oatmeal.

One plate of pickled cucumbers.

That was it.

The Silvercrest delegates came earlier than expected.

Lyanna had me on a three-day prep schedule—dress fittings, etiquette refreshers, memorizing every Silvercrest family member’s preferences.

Lucien’s father loved black tea. His mother was allergic to shellfish. Lucien himself was a graduate of the London School of Economics and hated when people brought it up.

I took notes like I was prepping for the world’s most soulless job interview.

At the dress fitting, Lyanna took me to the most expensive boutique in town. While the tailor pinned and tucked, she stood in front of the floor mirror, directing.

“Take the waist in another half-inch. She’s lost weight.”

“Neckline not too low. The Silvercrest elder matriarch is conservative.”

“Champagne gold. Elegant. Doesn’t upstage the bride—though she’s not the bride yet.”

The designer smiled and nodded along. I stood in the three-way mirror, watching myself from every angle. Seventeen years of shaping and molding. All of it—not for the Alpha throne. For a good price tag at a mating auction.

“I don’t want to wear this color.”

Lyanna didn’t even turn around. “What you want doesn’t matter. What Silvercrest likes does.”

On the way out, Nerys called. “Come home for dinner. I made your childhood favorite—Honey BBQ Ribs.”

“When did I ever like Honey BBQ Ribs?”

Silence on the other end for a beat. “Oh… not you? Maybe I mixed it up.”

She didn’t even know what I liked to eat. Yet she could fake sisterly warmth with that much conviction.

I’ve always loved spicy food. No one in that family had ever remembered.

Back home, sure enough, a plate of Honey BBQ Ribs sat on the table. Lyanna pointed at it, beaming. “Nerys made these just for you. Go on, try them.”

I picked one up. Took a bite. Still that cloying honey sweetness.

I set the rib down. “I wanted something spicy.”

The whole table went quiet.

Evander frowned. “Your sister went out of her way to cook for you. What’s with the attitude?”

Lyanna sighed. “Can’t you be reasonable for once?”

Nerys bit her lip, a wounded look on her face. “Oh… I’m sorry. I totally mixed that up. Look—if it’s really that bad, I can whip something else up for you?”

When she said that, both Evander and Lyanna shot her identical looks of sympathy. Like she was the one who’d been wronged.

“No need.”

I finished my oatmeal and went to my room.

Behind me, I heard Lyanna comforting Nerys. “Just ignore her. She’s being a child. She’ll come around. Honestly, your cooking is amazing—Grandma said so herself. Don’t let her attitude get to you.”

I shut my door. Didn’t lock it—Lyanna had the locks removed last month. “No secrets in this family,” she’d said.

Nerys’s room had a fingerprint lock.

I sat on my bed, slid the new SIM into my backup phone, and texted my uncle Elias.

He lived down in Blackridge. Lyanna’s younger brother. Kept to himself, ran a vineyard and winery, stayed out of Blackwood Pack affairs.

My mother always said he was “undisciplined” and “irresponsible.” Eventually she stopped letting me contact him altogether.

But when I was a kid, he was the only one who ever sneaked me out of training. While other kids played at full-moon festivals, I was swinging swords on the training ground. He’d grab me when Lyanna wasn’t looking and take me to the tavern in town. Order me a rack of ribs covered in chili and smoked spices.

I still remembered it—the first time I ever ate something I actually wanted. The first time anyone ever asked me: “Maeve. What do you like to eat?”

I stared at the chat screen for a long time. Then typed: [Uncle, it’s Maeve. If I wanted to leave Blackwood Pack… would you help me?]