Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 149

Chapter 149: You Promised Me Ninety Seconds

Behind them, Eron Solandris spilled out of the tent.

"Get Ashenvale. NOW." He hurled the command at his men, and twenty-odd Solandris soldiers broke into a grid sweep, boots hammering the frozen mud in a fan of practiced, pointless violence.

Kael ran.

He ran the way a man runs when he has a glowing woman tucked under one arm while her father’s Alpha commands tried to yank her backwards. The pair of them moved through Diplomat Row like a lit torch dragged through a fireworks warehouse.

They blew past a dice game mid-throw. Six lords on their knees in the mud, a fortune in gold between them, and every last one of them looked up at the exact wrong second to watch a glowing wolf princess get carried past by a dragon.

"Sixes," Kael called over his shoulder without breaking stride. "Trust me. I’ve got a feeling."

Guinevere’s body jolted in his arms as her father’s command hauled at her hips. "Kael, my legs keep trying to go the other way."

"Yeah, I noticed. Your dad’s got a leash on you and it’s tugging. Ignore it. We’re improvising."

"If I could ignore it, I would," she snapped.

They blew straight through the flap of a tent that turned out to be hosting a structural miracle of a group encounter, a tangle of limbs and enthusiasm that no fewer than five people had committed to fully.

Every participant froze mid-endeavor to stare at the glowing woman and the dragon who had just used their orgy as a hallway.

"So sorry. Wrong tent. Beautiful work, though, truly. The one in the middle is carrying the whole thing." Kael was already out the other flap. "Don’t stop on our account."

"Oh gods," Guinevere started.

"Yes. Some things you don’t unsee."

They vaulted a passed-out baron. They knocked over a cauldron of something that had once been soup.

Kael snatched a bottle of wine off a stunned soldier’s table without slowing, took a swig, decided it was garbage, and handed it back to him. "Brother, who hurt you."

"KAEL. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL."

"Working on it."

Then, the row closed like a fist.

They came out of everywhere. Tents. Shadows. Alleys. Gaps between carts that shouldn’t have fit a man but apparently did. A dozen blades. A dozen palms. The entire row pivoted from fuck-fest to kill-zone in under three seconds.

Kael stopped. Nowhere left to run that did not end on a blade.

Guinevere pulled out of Kael’s hold, planting herself in front of him and the ring of steel.

Kael gave the back of her head a look so loud it had subtitles. The subtitle was: this again? The back of her head said: yes, this again.

"Always for the dramatics, Daughter." Renwick strode into the ring with his cloak thrown over one shoulder, unbothered, like he owned the frozen ground and everyone shivering on it. "None of this needed to be so difficult."

"Your move, Ashenvale." Eron came up beside the Wolf King, his ruined-evening face curdled into something genuinely mean. "No little brother around to help you. No tent to hide in. You, the girl, and forty men who would love to end their night on a dragon."

Marek raised both hands, one healed and one whole, and the air behind them started to blacken.

Guinevere flexed her flame muscle with the same fury-driven focus that had cracked four hundred dragon iron cuffs.

Gold erupted from the ground beneath them in a perfect circle.

FWOOOOOSH.

The flame detonated upward in a cylinder of fire that climbed hundreds of feet into the night sky and turned Diplomat Row into noon.

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