Rejected Omega Was Told to Sing the Luna Hymn as a Joke – But Her Voice Left the Alpha King Speechless

Shaking the King

“Moon mother, hear your daughter’s cry. Bless the bond that will not die. Two souls merged, no more alone. Flesh and spirit, blood and bone.”

My voice started soft, almost fragile. I heard someone laugh, but it was cut short when the sound swelled, filling the cavernous hall with a resonance that shouldn’t have been possible from my small frame.

I wasn’t classically trained and had never had a teacher. But I’d spent twenty-three years listening to the world with the intensity of someone who couldn’t participate in it.

I’d heard every nuance, every emotional frequency, and I’d learned to mirror it back. The Luna Hymn was meant to be triumphant, but I made it ache.

“Grant us strength to face the night. Guard our young with Luna’s light. May our love be ever true. Sacred bond, forever new.”

I closed my eyes because I couldn’t bear to see their faces. I couldn’t bear to watch them remember why this was supposed to be funny.

Instead, I sank into the music, into the cruel irony of singing about bonds I’d never feel, children I’d never bear, and love I’d never know.

Something happened. The mockery evaporated, the whispers died, and the great hall fell into a silence so profound I could hear my own heartbeat.

The King’s Command

I sang of the moon goddess blessing a mating bond, and I made it sound like a prayer from someone who knew they’d never be answered. I sang of eternal love, and I made it sound like goodbye.

“Through the darkness, through the pain, Luna’s children shall remain. Blessed by moon and star above. Sealed forever, bound by love.”

The final note hung in the air, shimmering. I opened my eyes and found the entire hall frozen.

Wolves who moments ago had been snickering were now staring at me with expressions ranging from shock to something that looked almost like grief. Several of the mated females had tears streaming down their faces.

Even my father looked uncomfortable, like he’d orchestrated something he didn’t understand and now couldn’t control. But it was the king who terrified me.

He hadn’t moved; he hadn’t blinked. His hands were locked around his wine goblet with enough force that I could see the metal beginning to dent.

His storm-gray eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle and my breath catch. He looked like a man who’d just been struck by lightning and was still deciding whether to burn or fall.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and suffocating. Then he stood.

The Claim of Payment

The scrape of his chair against stone was deafening. Every wolf in the room immediately dropped their eyes in submission—every wolf except me.

I’d never learned that instinct. I never had a wolf to teach me when a predator was too dangerous to challenge, so I stared back.

He walked toward me. My father started to rise, probably to intercede, to apologize, to explain that his defective daughter hadn’t meant to silence the king.

“Sit,”

the king’s voice was low, quiet, and absolute. My father sat back down like he’d been struck.

The king stopped three feet from me. Up close, he was even more overwhelming—tall enough that I had to tilt my head back, broad enough to block out the rest of the room.

He smelled like winter storms and old forests and something darker, something that made my human instincts scream danger.

“Who taught you to sing like that?”

his voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it for anything but commands in years.

“No one, Your Majesty,”

my voice came out steady, which felt like a miracle.

“I taught myself.”

“Impossible.”

But he didn’t sound angry; he sounded shaken.

“That level of skill requires training. It requires—”

“It requires having nothing else,”

I interrupted, then immediately wanted to cut out my own tongue. You didn’t interrupt an Alpha King; you didn’t contradict him.

Claiming the Debt

But he didn’t kill me. He just stared, his gray eyes searching my face like he was looking for something specific.

“You’re the Beta’s daughter,”

he said finally. It was not a question.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“But you haven’t shifted.”

The room held its breath. This was the moment where I was supposed to lower my eyes in shame, to apologize for my existence, and to make myself smaller.

I couldn’t make myself any smaller than I already was.

“No, Your Majesty. I have no wolf.”

Something flickered across his face too fast to read.

“And yet you sang the Luna Hymn like you understood every word of it… like you’d lived it.”

“I understand longing, Your Majesty,”

the words escaped before I could stop them.

“I understand wanting something you can never have. The hymn…”

I swallowed.

“The hymn isn’t about having everything. It’s about hoping for it anyway.”

The silence that followed was different—charged. Then the king turned to my father.

“I’m taking her.”

The hall erupted. My father shot to his feet.

“Your Majesty, surely you don’t mean—she’s wolfless, she’s—”

“I’m aware of what she is,”

the king’s voice cut through the protests like a blade through silk.

“I’m also aware that you presented her as entertainment, as a joke.”

His eyes were cold enough to freeze blood.

“I’m claiming her as payment for the insult.”

Leaving the Past

“Payment?”

My father’s face had gone white.

“Your Majesty, please. I didn’t intend—”

“You intended to humiliate your own daughter for my amusement. You succeeded only in revealing your own cruelty.”

The king’s voice was soft now, which made it more terrifying.

“Be grateful I’m not demanding more substantial recompense.”

He turned back to me.

“You’ll come to the capital. You’ll serve in the royal household. It is not a request—it is a command.”

I should have been terrified. I should have begged my father to intervene or thrown myself at the king’s feet and pleaded for mercy.

But all I felt was a strange, reckless relief. Serving in the capital, even as the lowest servant, even in disgrace, meant leaving this place.

It meant leaving the pack house where every room held a memory of rejection. It meant leaving my father, who looked at me like a mistake he couldn’t correct, and Angelia and her beautiful, casual cruelty.

“When do we leave, Your Majesty?”

If he was surprised by my lack of protest, he didn’t show it.

“Dawn. Bring nothing. You’ll be provided for.”

Walking Into the Unknown

Then he returned to his seat and picked up his wine. The dismissal was clear.

I walked out of the great hall on legs that didn’t feel like my own. Behind me, I heard my father trying to salvage the situation and the Alpha making excuses.

I heard Angelia’s sharp intake of breath—angry, maybe, that her joke had backfired so spectacularly. I didn’t care.

I went back to my small room and sat on my narrow bed. I stared at the walls that had imprisoned me for twenty-three years.

I didn’t pack because the king had said to bring nothing, and also because I had nothing worth bringing. My books were borrowed from the pack library, and my clothes were hand-me-downs and kitchen uniforms.

The only things that were truly mine were my stories: pages and pages of handwritten fairy tales stuffed under my mattress. I pulled them out and held them in my lap—years of desperate dreaming compressed into ink and paper.

Then I built a small fire in the hearth and watched them burn. I was leaving the fairy tales behind; I was walking into something real and unknown and probably terrible.

But it would be different, and different was all I’d ever wanted.