บททั้งหมดของ The Alpha Prince’s Unwanted Plus-Size Mate: บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 37

The icy wind blowing off the Frost-Ridge peaks carried the heavy, metallic scent of incoming storm clouds.I stood atop the eastern watchtower of Border Post Four, my heavy fur mantle pinned tightly against my shoulders as I peered through a bronze surveying glass. Two miles down the winding mountain pass, a column of dark smoke rose into the overcast sky."Rogue pack activity?" Julian asked, his voice low and deep as he stepped up beside me on the wooden rampart.He kept a respectful distance of two feet—a boundary he had strictly maintained since our return from the capital three days ago. He wore his dark iron plate armor, his broadsword strapped to his back, looking every bit the feared Sovereign Alpha of the North. But whenever he looked at me, his silver eyes held an intense, quiet attentiveness that made my chest tighten with unresolved emotion."Not rogues," I replied, handing him the surveying glass. "Look at the burn pattern on that supply wagon. The flames are concentrated a

The iron-bound carriage rattled violently as its heavy wooden wheels groaned over the rutted ice of the Frost-Ridge pass.Outside the frosted glass window, the howling mountain blizzard had finally begun to ease, revealing a vast, blinding expanse of white peaks beneath a slate-grey sky. But inside the tight quarters of the carriage, the temperature felt stifling, thick with an unspoken intensity that had hung between Julian and me since we departed Border Post Four at dawn.I sat with my back against the padded leather bench, my hands rested over my father's dark journal. Across from me sat Julian.He was leaning forward, his massive forearms resting on his knees, his broadsword laid across his lap in its black leather scabbard. His black linen shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, giving me a glimpse of the hard, corded muscles of his collarbone. He had been staring out the window into the snowdrifts for nearly an hour, but every few minutes, his silver eyes would shift toward me—sear

The stench of wet iron and damp granite hung heavy in the air, but the victory at the Devil’s Throat had altered the atmosphere of the vanguard.Where there had once been cautious skepticism from the Frost-Ridge war council, there was now a quiet, fierce deference. When I rode back toward the central command tent pitched at the mouth of the Sanguine Pass, the mountain soldiers bowed their heads as I passed—not out of mere court etiquette, but out of genuine respect earned on a blood-slicked battlefield.Inside the command tent, a single brass lantern cast flickering shadows against the heavy canvas walls. A large wooden map table occupied the center of the space, littered with slate tablets, troop registries, and the dark leather journal of my late father.Julian stood over the table, his heavy iron pauldrons removed and his dark linen shirt unbuttoned at the neck. Blood—both his own from a shallow graze along his forearm and that of the mercenaries—stained his cuffs. He was reviewing