All Chapters of Too Late, Prince! I’m No Longer Your Chubby Luna: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

PATRICK POVThe autumn wind carried the heavy scent of roasted meat, spiced wine, and the metallic tang of sweat and iron across the grand training court of Silverfang.I sat back in my carved obsidian throne on the high marble balcony overlooking the yard, nursing a silver goblet of aged spiced wine. Below, dozens of elite warriors clashed broadswords and iron-studded shields, their harsh grunts and the loud ringing of steel echoing against the granite walls of the inner keep. Lord Sterling stood at my shoulder, clutching a thick parchment ledger containing the names of fresh mercenaries and border recruits brought in from the northern ridges.None of them impressed me. They fought like clumsy bears—heavy, predictable, and devoid of true lethality."My Prince," Sterling murmured, leaning down slightly. "The guard rotations for the eastern wing have been doubled as you ordered. However, the guard commander remains uneasy. The girl’s presence in the high tower is causing quiet unrest a

PATRICK POVDawn broke over the craggy peaks of the Silverfang mountain range, painting the overcast sky in bruised shades of violet, crimson, and pale ash.I stood on the high marble balcony of the central keep, wrapped in my heavy velvet mantle, watching the early morning fog roll through the courtyard below. Maidservants scurried like ants across the lower flagstones, sweeping away the fallen leaves and carrying long bolts of crimson and silver silk toward the grand banquet hall. The entire fortress was coming alive with frantic, disciplined energy.In thirty days, the Blood Moon would reach its absolute length. In thirty days, the royal crown would sit upon Alora’s head, binding her to my throne, my lineage, and my kingdom forever.Behind me, the heavy oak doors of the balcony chamber clicked open. I didn't need to turn around to recognize the quiet, precise footfalls of Lord Sterling."Report," I commanded smoothly, taking a deep breath of the freezing mountain air."My Prince,"

PATRICK POVThe high stone stairwell of the eastern tower was perpetually freezing, the cold draft whistling through the iron-grated arrow slits like the quiet hum of a dying beast.I climbed the spiraling granite steps with slow, measured strides, the heavy velvet of my mantle brushing against the damp walls. Two paces behind me, Kael followed in absolute silence. The giant mercenary moved like a phantom—heavy, lethal, and entirely soundless, his plain broadsword resting against his back. Having him at my side gave me a profound sense of absolute control. He was an unyielding wall of iron, completely detached from the politics and ghosts of this castle.As we reached the top landing outside the outer iron grate, my eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.Standing right outside Alora’s heavy chamber door was Seraphina.She was slipping out of the door frame, pulling her dark silk shawl tightly around her bare, bruised shoulders. Her matted dark hair tumbled over her face, but as she click

ALEXANDER POVMy back was pressed flat against the cold, iron-studded oak of Alora’s tower chamber door. My fingers rested lightly on the leather-wrapped hilt of my broadsword, every muscle in my broad frame locked into the stoic posture of Patrick’s silent vanguard.Outside, the mountain wind howled through the high stone archways, but beneath my boots, the whole castle felt alive with the subtle, microscopic hum of iron and stone.Then came the soft, deliberate taps on the other side of the heavy timber.Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.Eight precise, careful taps.My heart hit my ribs like a sledgehammer. A wave of raw, kinetic electricity flared beneath my skin, but I instantly clamped down on it, pulling the storm deep into my marrow just as my mother had taught me in the dark of her cell. I leaned my head closer to the seam of the door frame, dropping my voice into a razor-thin, gravelly whisper."Oakridge," I rasped softly through the wood.A sharp, breathless hitch echo

ALEXANDER POVThe grey light of dawn bled slowly through the narrow stone archways of the eastern tower, turning the icy frost on the granite walls into dull, wet silver.I stood at my post outside Alora’s door, an unyielding monument of dark leather and cold iron. My hand rested motionless on the hilt of my broadsword, my chin dipped low to keep my face shadowed by my heavy mantle. Beneath my boots, the castle was beginning to wake. The distant clatter of iron pots from the lower kitchens, the sharp barking of patrol commands in the courtyard, and the rhythmic scraping of broomsticks across the grand promenade echoed faintly through the stone.Inside the chamber, Alora was awake. I could hear her light, deliberate footsteps pacing the floorboards near the window sill. She moved with quiet grace, her silver suppression cuffs clinking together with a soft, rhythmic chime. Through the thick oak, our twin bond thrummed like a warm, hidden pulse—a silent, shared understanding that kept bo