All Chapters of The Alpha Who Rejected Me: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

ELENA’S POV The heavy, leather-bound book Kaelen pressed into my open palm felt cold, its edges metallic and heavily rimed with the ancient, sulfurous frost of the tomb. "I don't need a dead queen's memories to tell me who my executioner is, Kaelen," I rasped, my voice a low shiver that cut through the ink-black stillness of the collapsed vault. My right hand remained buried deep in my jacket pocket, my fingers clutched around the pouch of Starlight Quicksilver, its liquid heat the only thing keeping the air inside this stone tomb from freezing my blood completely. "Read the seal, Elena," Kaelen’s voice rose from the dark dust beside my boots, a dry wheeze that throbbed with a synchronized twist against my ribs. "Just... read the script before the oxygen runs out." The front cover was etched with the distinct, glowing gold runes of the old Solar court, but beneath the royal wax, a network of jagged, dark containment lines spider-webbed across the leather. It was the true diar

ELENA’S POV​I swept my left arm outward in one smooth arc, my palm pointing directly toward the western ridge where Alpha Nikolai was bleeding in the snow.​"Dissolve," I commanded, my voice layering into a double-toned sovereign authority that reached every corner of the plateau.​The wave slammed into King Richard’s personal demonic guard like a tidal wave of solid starlight. The reaction was instantaneous and devastating. The massive shadow beasts—creatures of ash and rotted bone unleashed by his forbidden dark possession—didn't get the chance to clash against my daggers. The moment the uncorrupted lunar magic touched their smoky flesh, their red containment runes violently short-circuited.​With a chorus of metallic shrieks, a dozen demonic beasts were systematically vaporized into thin air, their corrupted essences snuffed out into an absolute void.​The pressure wave blasted the remaining Western infantrymen back a full ten steps, their bronze shields clattering loudly against

ELENA’S POV The stifling odor of old lard, burnt pinewood, and stagnant ditch water hit my senses the very instant my leather boots cleared the back threshold. I deliberately chose not to march through the grand royal corridors of the Bloodmoon palace where the tapestries bore the golden sun crest. Instead, I took the path I had walked every single morning for nineteen miserable years—the narrow, damp, mold-slicked stone steps of the subterranean scullery kitchen. The heavy copper pots I used to scrub until my fingernails bled lay scattered across the stone floors, abandoned in a chaotic hurry by the servants who had fled into the blizzard to throw open the capital gates. "The inner perimeter is secure, High Queen," Alpha Nikolai murmured at my right shoulder, his massive frame a solid, imposing wall of muscle-bound ferocity. He moved with a predator's caution, his fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of his half-broken claymore as we cleared the dark kitchen archway and entere

NIKOLAI’S POV ​The clash of steel inside the ash-choked perimeter didn’t just sound like a duel; it felt like tectonic plates fracturing. ​My half-broken claymore slammed into King Richard’s gold-gilded broadsword, sending a blinding shower of sparks into the dark air of the throne room. The vibration shot straight up my arms, rattling through my wrists and tearing at the old scar tissue across my shoulders. My wolf spirit was an empty cup, leaving my internal channels dry, but my six-foot-seven frame held hundreds of pounds of raw, muscle-bound ferocity. I threw my entire weight forward, forcing the tyrant back two steps into the obsidian dais. ​"You are nothing but an empty vessel, barbarian!" Richard shrieked, his voice splitting into that monstrous, double-toned frequency as the spirit of the primordial demon wolf surged through him. ​The magma-veined lines beneath his skin flared into a volatile orange glare, leaking molten ash that hissed violently against the white marbl

ELENA’S POV The microscopic tremor in King Richard’s gold-gilded hilt was the only invitation my starlight needed. I didn't wait for the territorial alchemical barrier to fade naturally, and I didn't look back at the global alliance warlords shouting behind the scullery doors. BOOM. The translucent magical perimeter shattered into a thousand pieces of worthless gray dust, a concussive kinetic shockwave blasting outward to vaporize the remaining smoke in the grand throne room. I didn't run down the center aisle—I flew, my leather boots clearing the marble floor in a flat, blinding blur that tracked a straight line toward the raised obsidian dais. King Richard stood completely frozen over Kaelen's bleeding torso, his eyes wide with the frantic, terrified shock of an old man who had just realized his own blade had slaughtered his last remaining heir. His chest plate was completely wide open, his posture locked in a fatal fraction of a second of human hesitation. I vaulted ov