All Chapters of Too Late, Prince! I’m No Longer Your Chubby Luna: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

ALORA POVThe morning light filtering through the high arched window was thin, pale, and cold as a blade. Outside, the blizzard had settled into a quiet, heavy drift, burying the jagged stone gargoyles of Silverfang keep beneath three feet of pristine white powder.Inside my chamber, the air was warm only near the small stone hearth, but I did not stand by the fire. I stood at the center of the room, my simple white tunic draped loosely over my shoulders, my silver suppression cuffs hanging heavily around my wrists.Through the heavy oak door, I felt the shift in Alexander’s presence before I heard a single footstep.Patrick’s midnight paranoia had borne its first dark fruit. By promoting "Kael" to First Sentinel of the Royal Guard, the usurper had unknowingly cleared the hallway of secondary guards. There were no longer four vanguards shuffling their boots on the landing. There was only my twin brother standing sentinel outside my door—a lethal, double-supreme High Alpha holding abso

ALORA POVThe sky above Stormfang keep turned the color of bruised iron. A strange, thick frost coated the high lancet windows of my tower chamber, forming sharp, crystalline webs that caught the fading orange light of a dying sun.Down in the outer courtyard, the heavy gates groaned on their iron hinges, opening every hour to admit another caravan of regional Beta nobility. Through the high arched window, I watched the long, dismal processions filing into the plaza. Crimson banners, gold-embroidered pennants, and iron-studded carriages slithered through the snow like dark serpents seeking shelter from an impending storm.The lords had arrived for the pre-wedding council—the final gathering before the Blood Moon.The bronze deadbolts on my chamber door slid back with a crisp, fluid motion. There was no hesitation in the lock now; Alexander’s violet-binder catalyst had thoroughly dissolved the internal silver suppression dust inside the iron tumblers, turning the heavy barrier into a m

ALEXANDER POVThe freezing winds off the northern peaks of Stormfang screamed across the high crenellations, carrying with them a fine, stinging blizzard of needle-ice.It was seventeen days before the Blood Moon. High above the central courtyard, on the grand observation balcony that jutted out from the High private quarters, the night was pitch-black save for the erratic, flickering glow of the iron braziers lined along the stone parapets.I stood six paces behind Patrick, my broad, iron-clad frame silhouetted against the dark granite wall like a monument of carved basalt.My heavy leather mantle whipped around my shoulders in the gale, but my posture remained absolute—flat, unyielding, and completely devoid of warmth. Under the deep shadow of my wool cowl, my eyes burned with an icy, double-supreme focus, watching every breath the usurper took, every twitch of his ringed fingers against the frozen stone balustrade.Patrick leaned over the stone railing, his dark crimson velvet cloa

ALORA POVFifteen days before the Blood Moon, a dead, breathless quiet settled over the high eastern tower.Outside, the northern sky had bled from iron-grey into a heavy, twilight plum, casting long, bruised shadows across the stone floorboards of my chamber. No wind screamed through the high mountain crags today; the cold had grown so dense, so absolute, that even the air felt frozen in place.I stood before the tall, gilded mirror Seraphina’s maidservants had left by the window.I was no longer wearing the heavy, gold-encrusted wedding gown. I had stripped the silk away, leaving it draped over the wooden form like discarded armor, and dressed once more in a plain, unadorned tunic of pale wool.My silver-bound wrists rested lightly against the dark wood of the vanity table. Through the stone beneath my bare soles, I felt the microscopic vibration of the keystone Ley-line—a low, rhythmic thrumming, like the deep, subterranean breathing of a sleeping dragon.Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. T

LYDIA POVThe echoes of Elder Corvus’s desperate declaration hung in the air of the Great Hall like a suspended blade."Under the First Unwritten Code, an unranked omega cannot be crowned High Luna without the unanimous consent of the twelve regional lords—and six of us refuse!"A tense murmur rippled through the noble tables. Lady Lyra took a slow step back toward her father, a small, triumphant smirk returning to her lips as she smoothed her ice-blue gown. The six conservative lords who backed Corvus stood up straighter, their postures stiffening with sudden political bravado.Adrian didn't yell. He didn't draw his broadsword.Instead, he let out a low, cold laugh—a sound so full of quiet, lethal amusement that the murmuring in the hall died instantly."The First Unwritten Code, Corvus?" Adrian asked smoothly, resting his hand flat on my waist, his thumb gently caressing my hip through the midnight-blue velvet of my gown. "You dig up a three-hundred-year-old local custom to question