All Chapters of Four Times Rejected, Destined for The Throne: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

Atticus plunged into me with a single, powerful thrust, and the world narrowed to the overwhelming sensation of him filling me completely, leaving no room for logic, fear, or the King's politics. The sheer, massive force of him fully housed within my body was a physical shockwave that blew through the last of my anger. I couldn’t suppress the involuntary cry of sheer, overwhelming pleasure as my body shuddered violently from the sudden, powerful invasion. My entire being, not just Era, but the woman, Anna, recognized the feeling of home. “Ahh, Goddess! That’s it! Only you can unleash this in me, my mate!” Atticus grunted above me, his face contorted with exertion and devotion. A deep groan escaped his throat, a sound of absolute, desperate relief. “Anna! Please! Let go!” I didn't know what his exact wish was, but I knew my own deep, physical need had to be fulfilled. The physical and emotional starvation had left me insat

Atticus’s Point of View I strode directly from my suite to the King’s office, the adrenaline still humming beneath my skin from the desperate claim I had just staked. The scent of Anna was still heavy on me, a mix of silk, sweat, and my own triumphant possessiveness and it felt like the only armor I needed against the political coldness of the Palace. The heavy, soundproof door of the King’s private office was slightly ajar. I didn’t bother knocking, simply pushing it inward. The atmosphere was thick and poisonous. Inside, the King sat at the long mahogany conference table, his hand still massaging his temple. Across from him sat my mother, Princess Jass, looking pale but resolute. Standing behind them were Walther, the Head Warrior, and two Royal Guards, a clear message that this was not a family chat, but a confidential consultation. Their heated discussion paused the in

Prince Atticus’ Point of View still The week that followed the confrontation was a blurred expanse of absolute, necessary intimacy. Anna and I were inseparable. It was nearly unbelievable, the speed and ferocity with which we connected, as if the massive, gaping wound of my betrayal had finally healed, leaving our bond stronger, denser, and utterly resilient. The relief was a constant trigger beneath my skin, transforming my chronic anxiety into a fierce, territorial peace. Her laugh, sharp, delighted, and wholly unguarded, was what I lived for. I could not, for a single moment, tear my eyes from her. I was aware of the fact that Anna’s vulnerability meant our relationship couldn't be kept private forever. Our physical closeness was absolute, but the political maneuvering around us was escalating rapidly. Every morning, the same cast of characters assembled for breakfast i

Anna’s Point of View The Royal limousine was less a vehicle and more a jeweled cage that had just begun to move.As the Royal Palace receded behind us, Atticus’s mother, the Princess, turned from the smoked window and confronted me. The shift was immediate: the polite geniality vanished, replaced by the acute, dissecting focus of a woman protecting vital interests. Her attention wasn’t just curious, it was calculated, a strategy designed to extract immediate answers. She sat opposite me, her expression a careful study in controlled compassion. I registered the rigid, almost unnervingly still form of Walther in the front passenger seat. He was not just sitting there, he was auditing. Every word spoken here would be recorded, filed, and potentially leveraged. “Anna, I want you to know with absolute certainty that I am not, nor have I ever been, opposed to the relationship between you and my s

The air in the private dining salon was rich with the scent of the meal. I had intentionally ordered a poussin au vin jaune, a light but extravagantly rich French dish, recognizing that I needed every ounce of concentration and energy for the strategic shopping ordeal ahead. Every planned movement, from the precise selection of a gown to the subtle verbal power plays, demanded a physiological reserve. The meal was not mere nourishment, it was fuel for the impending fight. Ethan, the warrior assigned to the detail, had not uttered a single word to me since my arrival at the Palace. He now performed his duties with a silent precision, merely handing me a menu card. Soon, a spectacular array of dishes was laid out before us, a masterpiece of culinary artistry and the stress that had suppressed my appetite lately abruptly cleared, replaced by a surprising hunger. An hour later, I patted my stom