The Pack's Daughter (Aysel and Magnus) novel Chapter 50

**Midnight Letters by Daniel Crowe**

**Chapter 50**

In the shadowy recesses of Ironhowl manor, a tumultuous clamor erupted, shattering the stillness of the night.

“Clatter—”

The sharp crack of yet another goblet splintering echoed ominously through the ancient stone corridors, a sound that reverberated like a wolf’s furious snarl, resonating with the chaos that enveloped Knox. A servant, eyes wide with alarm and hands trembling, hurriedly entered to gather the shards, his movements frantic as he attempted to escape the storm brewing just beyond the threshold of Knox’s simmering fury.

At the heart of this disarray stood Knox, his pale eyes burning with an incandescent rage that painted them a furious crimson. The wound marring his chest was still fresh, a painful reminder of his recent disgrace, and the hasty stitches left by the healers were a mockery of his former glory. The once proud heir of Ironhowl had been reduced to a mere shadow of himself, transformed into a creature more beast than noble, his striking features contorted by sleepless nights filled with humiliation and unrelenting anger.

The elders had already decreed his fate: once his wounds healed, he would be exiled to the desolate southern territories, a punishment that felt akin to a death sentence. Meanwhile, the architect of his downfall—Aysel—roamed free, untouched and unpunished, a fact that gnawed at him like a relentless hunger, a festering wound that refused to heal.

Memories of that fateful night clawed at his mind, a haunting reminder of his disgrace. The sharp sting of his claws digging into his palms was a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil, drawing forth droplets of blood that mirrored his emotional pain. The mocking laughter of his kin echoed in his ears, their jeers swirling around him like ghostly howls in the Pack Hall, each taunt a bitter reminder of his fall from grace.

Aysel Vale, a castaway from her bloodline—how could she dare to defy him? How could she, a wolf of no standing, bring such humiliation upon an Alpha-born? The mere thought ignited a deeper fury within him, a flame that threatened to consume him whole.

Rumors had reached his ears, whispers of an ancient power that had stirred in her defense. Knox dismissed such notions with a wave of contempt. No, Aysel must have ensnared the favor of some dominant male, her soft, enchanting features bewitching those around her. Whoever shielded her from the consequences of her actions was beyond his reach, but Aysel herself? He would ensure she was brought to her knees.

When she became the pack’s disgrace, he mused darkly, we shall see who stands by her then.

Sometimes, he reflected, the cruelty of a male wolf cuts deeper than any blade.

A feral grin crept across Knox’s lips as he envisioned the Moonvale birthday announcement—the grand feast where Aysel would stand before the assembled Packs, her moment of glory twisted into a spectacle of shame. Soon, he would be gone, his exile a certainty, but not before he ensured her downfall. The timing was impeccable. Serena would manage the aftermath, and he would revel in the sight of them all choking on the shame that would inevitably follow.

After all, if he were to fall, Aysel Vale would plummet even harder.

Meanwhile, Aysel remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing around her name. She had not even heard that she was to make her debut at the Moonvale celebration.

The pack estate buzzed with frenetic energy, a hive of activity. Servants scurried through the corridors, their footsteps echoing against the walls, while Luna Evelyn engaged in a heated debate with Alpha Remus over the guest list. Fenrir was preoccupied with managing the northern scouts, ensuring everything was in order. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, Damon declared he would announce the binding of their bloodlines at the feast, sending the Moonvale household into a frenzy of adjustments. Messages were dispatched to the Blackwood wolves and the Frostfang envoys, urgency palpable in the air.

It was only during a meeting between Luna Evelyn and Lady Blackwood, as they deliberated over the ceremonial details, that a critical oversight emerged.

“You mean to tell me,” Lady Blackwood said, her eyebrow arching in disbelief, “that you have orchestrated her entire debut without once informing her?”

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