Crown and Shackles: The Princes Mate (Story Updated)

Spirited beginning

I was running through the woods, paws pounding against the cold earth, heart hammering in my chest like it wanted to tear free. My wolf form wasn’t just muscle and fur right now—it was the only way I knew how to keep moving when everything inside me wanted to break. Sweat slicked my coat, muscles burning, lungs screaming for air. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Not yet.

Yeah, surprise: I’m a werewolf. But not the kind of werewolf you read about in fairy tales or even the bad urban legends. I’m an orphan wolf — the pack’s polite word for a magical foster kid chained to servitude, a supernatural slave born without a family or a future. That’s me. Alone in the shadows of a pack that calls itself my family but treats me like property.

How I survived after being found alone in the forest, no parents, no blanket, no one to cry for me—hell, no one even bothered to wonder—no one really knows. Maybe the squirrels raised me. Or maybe I was just too stubborn to die. I don’t have much left but the fight to keep breathing, and a damn stubborn spark they can’t snuff out.

They named me Ally. Didn’t ask me, didn’t care. Freedom’s a joke around here—like names, it’s a luxury no one like me gets. I was handed that name, handed a role: pack slave. No choice. No rights. Just a set of chains disguised as rules.

When I came of age, things got worse. I wasn’t just the kid running errands anymore. I was assigned to the alpha’s estate—this massive, cold palace that was more prison than home. Thirty rooms or more, all empty or filled with ghosts, all demanding my attention. Cleaning, dusting, scrubbing—endless tasks with no end. Meanwhile, the rest of the pack lived in cottages clustered around the estate like shadows I was never meant to escape.

My first real escape was in the laundry corridors. That’s where I met Troy.

Troy—the one spark of light in my dark world. His mother ran the maids, and somehow she saw me as more than a slave. More than a ghost who disappeared when she wasn’t looking. She treated me like a kid. Like family. Troy had wild, unruly hair like he’d been tangled in a storm, and eyes that felt like warm earth beneath my paws. He wasn’t an orphan, didn’t have to slave for every scrap of kindness like me, but he carried the same title—slave. Except for him, it didn’t weigh as much. Not when we were together.

He smiled. A lot. And in a world as cold and broken as ours, that was almost dangerous.

Troy taught me to swim, to fight—both as wolf and human—lessons from his father, a warrior who died before he could teach Troy himself. Troy gave up on the warrior dream early and found his peace in the stables. When I wasn’t scrubbing floors or running endless errands, I was with him. Until the stables called him away. No matter how exhausted, we carved out time. He became the brother I never had.

Then Sam showed up—the kid we didn’t know we needed.

Sam was small, easy to overlook if you blinked, but don’t let that fool you. He was stronger than any of us in ways that didn’t show on the surface. Blonde hair falling just past his shoulders, and violet eyes sharp enough to cut through the darkest lies. He worked alongside Troy in the stables, but it wasn’t until we were twelve that we became a trio. From then on, we were inseparable.

For slaves, life was never perfect, but with them, it was bearable. That was enough.

Then everything shattered when Sam found his mate at sixteen.

And it wasn’t who anyone expected.

It was Henry—the kind, quiet kitchen helper with eyes full of fire and fear. Sam kept it hidden for weeks, afraid we’d turn our backs because he was gay. But we didn’t. We laughed at the idea—because abandoning Sam wasn’t in our blood. He was family. Brother. Friend. And we loved him exactly as he was. Our bond only grew tighter after that.

That future—hope and love growing against all odds—that was still ahead of me.

Right now, I was running. Trying to outrun the weight of every broken promise and every stolen dream.

The werewolf king and his spoiled prince were coming soon.

Every year, the king showed up to “check on the pack,” but we all knew the real reason: the prince was searching for his mate.

Poor girl. Whoever she was, she didn’t stand a chance.

From what I’d heard, the prince was the kind of royal jerk who crushed anyone beneath his golden boot. She could have him—and a whole damn cake on the side. Actually, maybe she deserves the whole cake. She’s going to need it.