All Chapters of Four Times Rejected, Destined for The Throne: Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Atticus moved with long strides, following Chief Warrior Walther down the vast, marble-clad corridor of the Royal Palace. The honor guard reception and the waving crowds outside had solidified Atticus’s suspicion: this was a calculated political maneuver, not merely a summons. He expected to find King Arthur primed for a lecture, demanding immediate, humiliating submission. As Walther led them into a grand, sunlit sitting room, Atticus stopped abruptly. The sight before him defied every expectation. King Arthur was seated on a sofa, but he was not alone. His mother, sat beside him, acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Both turned toward him and smiled broadly. The King’s face, which Atticus had only ever seen set in lines of cold fury or political cunning, was softened by genuine warmth. This was not the scene for a prisoner’s interrogation. “Mother!” Atticus roare

Walther stepped back into the Royal living room, running a heavy hand through his hair. The sound of the door closing behind him was a solid finality. He knew the King and the Princess would not retire to their private quarters until this immediate crisis, the Crown Prince return, his illegal human mate, and his obsessive pursuit of a vengeful she-wolf, had been thoroughly analyzed. He settled into a leather armchair directly across from the Royal siblings. Cleo, the deputy Chief Warrior, positioned himself against the wall behind Walther, maintaining a posture of alert silence. “Your Majesty, congratulations on the successful recovery of your sister and your nephew,” Walther began flat and professional. He immediately pivoted to the cost of the victory. “However, this achievement comes with significant complications regarding the line of succession. Atticus’s mate situation is now the prim

The video call connected on the very first attempt. Three anxious faces instantly flooded my screen. Amy, Jor, and Margie were a portrait of strained worry. Even from afar, their concern seeped into my skin, dense, unspoken, and impossible to ignore. To alleviate their immediate panic and convince them that their fear was misplaced, I forced a wide, dazzling smile onto my face, ensuring my eyes radiated genuine, relieved joy. The maneuver worked. Their shoulders visibly dropped, the tension melted and the strain around their lips unraveled, revealing a softness born not of something no longer feared. “Anna, you nearly drove us insane with worry!” Amy exclaimed, her relief quickly morphing into irritation. “For months, we debated whether we should issue a pack-wide red alert to try and locate you. Where were you this entire time, what were you doing, and more to the point, who was there with

The force that erupted from the doorway was not a greeting, it was, a surge of energy so intense it seemed to bend the air around it, as if the very atmosphere had been waiting for this collision. Farah stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat as the figure before her took shape. He was tall —impossibly tall— and broad in a way that suggested brute strength honed into precision. His presence was magnetic, his body a sculpted monument of power, and even beneath the casual clothing, every line of him radiated dominance. His eyes, a piercing blue at first glance, flared with a sudden, golden glow, the mark of a fully awakened wolf. It was not beauty she saw, but something far more dangerous, a creature so perfectly formed it defied reason, a force of nature condensed into male flesh. Before she could process the shock, he moved too fast for her to react. His hands gripped her arms with a

Anna’s Point of View Stepping into the heart of the Palace, flanked by the rigid formation of warriors, I had to actively suppress the urge to gasp in awe. This was Lycan aristocracy stripped to its core, wealth so excessive it bordered on vulgar, flaunted without apology. Only the rarest, most outrageously expensive items were allowed inside their estate. The thick, hand-loomed carpet that stretched the immense length of the hall likely represented half of my entire accumulated net worth. The furnishings, though sparsely placed, were unquestionably antique, immeasurably valuable, and spoke of a history that was both rich and unforgiving. Here, the doctrine was simple: only the very best would suffice for the ruling class. The Head Warrior, whose face was as severe as the marble beneath our feet, muttered a sound of low, annoyed disdain when he caught the undisguised fascination in my expression.