Chapter 31. The Rogue Queen

The camp was a flicker of defiance in the throat of the Sunkenwood, a territory officially neutral but now tasting of ash and rebellion. No structured dens, no permanent barriers—just fires banked low and shadows pooled deep, concealing hundreds of wolves who had, in the span of one week, chosen a condemned Omega over their own blood.

Neriah stood on a rise of packed earth, the wind biting and cold, watching them. They were a ragged army: hunters disgraced by Council law, Omegas abused once too often, and Betas who’d grown weary of the Alpha’s hollow word.

The name had spread like wildfire carried by the wind. No longer Neriah Vale, the slave, the scapegoat. Now, they whispered the legend: The Ashen Omega.

She felt the title settle over her shoulders like a second skin—a cowl woven from fire and fate. It was a crown of thorns she had to wear, a promise of vengeance she had to keep, or she would be nothing but ash again.

“They look at you differently now,” Cai