Chapter 135

Third Person’s POV
Priscilla froze, realizing she was outmatched.
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Her initial plan to slap Adelaide and assert dominance had backfired–her own guard was injured before Adelaide even flinched.
In all her years, Priscilla had never suffered such humiliation.
“The Frostfang blood runs wild,” she sneered.
Her sulfur–laced pheromones faltered under Adelaide’s cold gaze.
The she–wolf knelt on moonstone tiles, her fresh scar from the mate bond dissolution gleaming faintly–a mark of her resilience.
Priscilla, suppressing her dread, fidgeted with her wolf–head bone token. Meant to suppress Adelaide, it now burned under her Alpha aura.
“Forget being the Blackthorn Pack’s Luna,” Priscilla declared, shaking her snow–wolf–haired cloak. “I’ll arrange a reliable mate for you to inherit your father’s pack.”
Adelaide replied, “Thank you, but I’ve already agreed to bond with Alpha Lance. Integrity is fundamental; I won’t renege.”
Priscilla stared, struck by Adelaide’s aura of ancient wolf–king majesty. Even in a kneel, she exuded the Frostfang’s pride.
What enraged her most was that Adelaide, declaring her marriage to Lance, emitted no ingratiating pheromones.
To her, the union seemed a casual pick, not a royal climb.
Unwilling to let Adelaide leave so easily, Priscilla resolved to deter her from Lance.
Yet Adelaide remained unruffled, understanding that Priscilla’s bluntness, while formidable, lacked guile— easier to handle than deceitful types.
She wouldn’t appease Priscilla, nor tolerate being bullied.
This marriage to Alpha Lance was a mutual arrangement, requiring no flattery from her side.
Dealing with Priscilla’s forthright nature was, in fact, easier than managing those with hidden agendas. While Priscilla was domineering, she lacked subtlety–a refreshing contrast to the duplicitous.
Adelaide wouldn’t allow herself to be bullied by Priscilla, just as she wouldn’t bully her back.
Recalling Luna Rosemary of the Bloodmoon Pack, Adelaide was always treated kindly before Ulrik’s return, and she dutifully respected Rosemary in return.
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However, after Ulrik’s victorious return altered Rosemary’s attitude, Adelaide no longer felt obliged to tolerate such treatment.
“Stubborn!” Priscilla slammed the table, her wolf claws leaving deep grooves.
She was about to press further when light footsteps approached, a playful youthful voice calling out, “Mommy–”
Princess Zelda burst in like a flame of apricot fire. Freshly fifteen and post–coming–of–age, she still wore her silver wolf-car studs from the lunar ceremony.
Her pure cedar pheromones, mark of royal lineage, softened on Adelaide’s approach, her eyes brimming with curiosity.
Having heard omega’s chatter about Adelaide’s presence, Zelda rushed to meet her.
She hadn’t expected to find her mother and Adelaide at odds.
Adelaide looked up and met Princess Zelda’s gaze. “Princess Zelda, hello.”
“Gamma Adelaide? Is it really you, Gamma Adelaide?”
Zelda, delighted to find Adelaide in person, helped her up. “You’re the Southern Border hero!”
“Zelda, why are you here?” Priscilla’s roar, half–wolfish, dissolved into sighs under her daughter’s innocent
stare.
She watched Zelda assist Adelaide, noting the battle scar on her sleeve–a sucking wound, now golden- crusted in the morning light, resembling a medal’s gilt.
“Mom, I heard Gamma Adelaide was here,” Zelda chided gently, “How could you make her kneel? She’s just back from war, still healing.”
Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Wolf generals‘ injuries are no rarity. Lycan Erasmus often fights and gets hurt
too.”
“If Lycan Erasmus is hurt, wouldn’t you be worried, Mom? Gamma Adelaide’s family would worry about her too,” Zelda said.
Priscilla snorted, “She has no family left. They’re all dead.”
“Priscilla, watch your words,” Adelaide interjected coldly, her wolf hackles rising.
Her pheromones materialized into a spectral wolf head–the Frostfang banner’s totem. “My father and brothers died defending the Southern Border. My family was slaughtered by the Western Tribe. This is a great misfortune for our kingdom. Your remark pains not only me but also Lycan Erasmus, the Royal Council, and all werewolves.”
Mentioning this, Priscilla felt a headache coming on.
She never involved herself in politics or warfare.