Chapter 117
Third Person’s POV
Ulrik’s Adams‘ apple moved, a metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.
“Mother,” he finally spoke, his voice rough like sandpaper, “stop it.”
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He deeply regretted using his two battle honors–enough to secure his promotion to a royal general–for Velda, only to be dragged down by her.
He feared no such opportunities would come again, and if they did, they’d be trivial, like culling rogues.
His future was ruined by a moment of infatuation.
Now, he just wanted the Bloodmoon Pack to stay quiet, vanish from everyone’s sight for three to five years until they were forgotten.
Hence his strict order–no one was to contact Adelaide.
Their mate bond was severed. No contact was best.
Rosemary, however, couldn’t accept that her exceptional son chose Velda over Adelaide.
Adelaide’s POV
I spent the entire day shopping with Paisley and the others. We returned to the Frostfang Pack laden with shopping bags.
Avery insisted on buying cosmetics despite our warnings.
“I want to see if your teacher praises you for your merits or punishes you by whipping your wolf tail!”
Paisley leaned against a wolf–head pillar, spinning a moonstone–inlaid dagger on her finger. “Thirty lashes or detention? Those who bet on lashes go left; those on detention, right. Where do you put your money, Adelaide?”
I removed my silver moon grass wristguard and smiled, “I’ll take detention for ten grand.”
Glancing at Avery’s red face, I added, “After all, our brave warrior returns with the Lycan King’s reward. His teacher wouldn’t dare raise a wolf tooth baton to him.”
Everyone laughed.
The next day, after breakfast at the Frostfang Packhouse and a quick visit to the army, we parted ways.
Once alone, I composed myself and summoned Beta Valentin and two omegas to the conference hall.
The moon grass oil lamp cast the Frostwolf totem’s shadow on the wall like a lurking beast.
I placed the parchment on the table and said, “Three months–find a Second Chance or wear the New
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Chapter 117
Moon Priestess’s shackles.” My wolf claws dug into the table unconsciously.
This baffling decree left me clueless.
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Beta Valentin, ever–knowledgeable, mused, “At least it’s clear Lycan Erasmus doesn’t truly want you in the palace. He could’ve directly declared you a priestess, and you’d have no choice but to obey.”
“I know, but this three–month deadline feels like he’s pressuring me to find a mate.”
I sighed, “What’s the harm in being single? The key is, if I find a mate, he inherits the right to join the Royal Council. Is Erasmus aiming to grant this right to someone else? Or have him inherit the Frostfang Pack?”
Beta Valentin recalled, “The decree did mention you could recruit suitable Davidson werewolves from other packs. Perhaps Lycan Erasmus doesn’t want the Davidsons in the Royal Council. Or maybe he already has a mate in mind for you.”
1 pondered, twirling my mother’s bracelet.
“If your guess is right, Lycan Erasmus is pre–selecting someone.”
The idea of bonding with a stranger and reliving my past marriage filled me with weariness.
Omega Ivy suddenly knocked over her teacup. Moon grass tea spilled across the wolf–head emblem like blood. Her wolf ears trembled with fear. “If it’s a pre–selected mate, will he join the Frostfang Pack?” she asked. “A man’s vows melt like snow in battle. Didn’t Ulrik swear blood oaths before the moon goddess
statue?”
Traditionally, female wolves join their mates‘ packs.
Few male wolves do the reverse.
If Lycan Erasmus’s chosen mate was a lone wolf, it was manageable, But if he had a large family, they wouldn’t migrate.
My mother wanted me to find a mate, have pups, and live peacefully.
That was why I answered Alpha Lance as I did.
Now, I felt neither anticipation nor aversion to marriage.
My former ambitions were shattered; life felt stagnant.
After reclaiming the Southern Border, I became a hero, yet my joy was unshared.
Without this decree, I’d have groomed someone from the Davidsons to inherit the Frostfang Pack.
But now, complications arose,
“Enough,” I said, rising abruptly. My cloak swept the parchment off the table. “Sooner or later, they’ll reveal
their claws.”
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I’ll confront him with my silver spear.”
Subsequently, visitors flocked to the Frostfang borders.
Many Lunas arrived with moonstone–encrusted gift boxes, their smiles as inscrutable as battlefield fog.
The very ladies who once mocked me as the “banished rose” at tea parties now vied to compliment my silver spear, claiming it was “sharper than the Moon Goddess Temple’s sacred blade.”
Leaning against a wolf–head pillar, watching the constant stream of guests, I was reminded of the Southern Border battlefield.
At least there, enemies bared their fangs openly.
These ladies, with their lace–gloved hands, might possess nails sharper than wolf claws.
