Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 312

Chapter 312: Pythagoras, Explain This Shit

Three men wanted the same woman. The woman wanted to stop crying. Nobody was getting what they wanted and the corridor was running out of square footage for the tension.

Somewhere in the universe, the god who invented matebonds was watching this unfold on a giant screen while eating grapes.

A love triangle implies three points. This was a love quadrilateral with a crying woman at the center and three men who each believed, with full conviction, that they were the hypotenuse.

Guinevere was wiping her eyes and trying to get herself together with the visible effort of a woman whose emotional scaffolding had been taking hits all night and was running out of beams. She hadn’t looked up yet. She was busy fighting a war with her own tear ducts and losing.

Two reaching. One holding. Only one of them was married to her.

Kael and Nicholas let go at the same time.

The release was simultaneous. Kael’s hand dropped from where it had been reaching. Nicholas’s arm loosened from around her. Both men stepped back by a fraction so small it barely qualified as movement but was enough.

The synchronized release was the most disciplined thing either man had done all night and it cost both of them more than any fight they’d been in. Letting go of Guinevere Lunaris required a kind of strength that punching walls did not.

Enough for Maddox.

He grabbed her and pulled her into his chest with the authority of a husband collecting something he lost and had finally found. The receipt was his ring. The claim was non-negotiable.

She hid her face against him. One second. Just one. Not because she wanted to cry into the Dragon King’s shirt but because she needed thirty seconds where nobody could see her face while she put herself back together. The shirt was available. The face was a mess. The math was simple.

Every instinct Kael had was screaming at him to grab her back, and every instinct Nicholas had was telling him the same damn thing, and both of them were white-knuckling their own restraint like it owed them money.

"Alright, nobody’s biting. Kingslayer, what about you? Breakfast?" Ryker tried, nodding at Guinevere. "You look like you’ve had a morning."

Sterling looked at him the way a man looks at someone actively choosing to die.

"What?" Ryker spread his hands. "That was her nickname before everything. Jogging her memories."

Two dragon heads rotated towards him with the slow, predatory precision of siege weapons acquiring a target.

Ryker raised his hands in surrender. "Withdrawing the question."

Guinevere barely heard him. She was overwhelmed and guilt-ridden and exhausted and all of it was flooding into every matebond she had like a haywire, hell-hot, hormone-hijacked homing beacon distress signal that she couldn’t turn off.

Nicholas lit up. The runes on his body flared visible through his shirt, white lines pulsing in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat because it was her heartbeat, broadcast through a matebond that didn’t care about the other two men standing in the corridor.

Kael lit up at the same second. His chest glowed through his bandages with the subtlety of a billboard, the Luminari light responding to her distress the way it always responded, automatically, without consent, and visible to every pair of eyes in a thirty-foot radius.

Maddox felt the glow before he saw it. Warmth against his arms where he was holding her. Gold light bleeding through her clothes. He looked down at his wife and saw the runes on her skin pulsing and then looked up at the two men standing on either side of him and saw matching runes on both of them.

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