# My Alpha King Slept With Another She-Wolf On Our Wedding Morning—So I Vanished… 🐺💔

The Great Hall of Ashfallen was not a palace; it was a fortress carved directly into the living rock of an extinct volcano.

Torches fueled by black pitch cast sickly, flickering light across walls adorned with the pelts of dire beasts and ancient weapons that had tasted more blood than wine. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, cheap ale, and the raw, untamed musk of hundreds of warriors who had spent their lives at war.

Every eye turned toward us as Vance led me down the center aisle. Whispers hissed through the cavernous room like escaping steam.

“Isn’t that the Winterborn bride?” “The king’s mate…” “Why is she bleeding?” “She smells like betrayal.”

I kept my spine straight, Ghost pacing silently at my right shoulder, her hackles raised, warning any wolf who dared step too close.

At the far end of the hall, elevated on a dais of black basalt, sat Alpha Gideon.

He didn't look like the mindless monster the stories described. He looked like an apocalypse given human form. Broad-shouldered, clad in heavy obsidian plate armor that left his chest bare to reveal a web of horrific, glowing silver scars, he leaned back in a throne made of twisted iron and bone. His hair was black as a raven's wing, falling over a face chiseled from granite, but it was his eyes that locked me in place.

They weren't brown or blue or amber. They were a brilliant, terrifying molten gold, burning with an intelligence so ancient and piercing it felt like he was flaying the skin right off my soul.

“Vance,” Gideon’s voice was like grinding stones, deep enough to vibrate in the floorboards beneath my boots. “You brought a stray into my fortress. I hope she’s carrying gold, because my executioners charge by the hour.”

“She’s not a stray, Alpha,” Vance said, dropping to one knee and kicking the bag of Winterborn signet rings toward the base of the throne. “She’s Adelaide of Ethelgard. And she brought gifts.”

Gideon didn't look at the rings. His gaze remained locked on me, burning into my skin like acid. He stood up slowly, towering over the room at well over six feet five inches. As he descended the steps, the sheer weight of his Alpha aura pressed down on the hall, forcing lesser wolves to dip their heads in submission.

I felt the pressure wash over me—a heavy, suffocating wave designed to break foreign intruders. My knees trembled, but I dug my boots into the stone, forcing my wolf to sit tall, refusing to bow.

Gideon stopped two paces away from me. Up close, his scent was overwhelming—scorched pine, mountain mint, and deep, dark earth.

“You smell like my enemy,” Gideon murmured, tilting his head as he inhaled deeply. “You smell like Tristan’s bedsheets. And yet… there is no bond hum. You severed it.”

“It was rotting,” I replied, my voice steady, though my heart hammered like a war drum against my ribs. “I cut it out before it poisoned me.”

A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Gideon’s fierce face. A corner of his mouth twitched upward into a grim, dangerous smile. “Severing a mate bond drives most she-wolves mad within forty-eight hours. You stand here looking like you’re ready to slaughter an army. Why, Adelaide?”

“Because Tristan wants Ethelgard, and he thinks he can use me to get it,” I said, stepping closer, meeting his blazing gold eyes without a single flinch. “He thinks I’m a broken little toy who will hide in a corner and weep. I want to prove him wrong. I want to tear his kingdom down brick by brick, and I want you to give me the army to do it.”

The hall went dead silent. You could hear the crackle of the pitch torches.

Gideon stared down at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, a low rumble started deep in his chest—a sound that grew into a dark, echoing laugh that shook the dust from the rafters.

“You think you can waltz into my stronghold, ask for an army, and I’ll just hand it to you because your fiancé cheated on you?” Gideon leaned down, his voice dropping to a harsh, lethal whisper near my ear. “What makes you think I won’t just hand you over to Tristan as a wedding gift to secure an alliance?”

“Because,” I whispered back, my hand resting lightly on the hilt of my dagger, “if you wanted an alliance with Winterborn, you would have sent an envoy months ago. Instead, you’ve been massing your troops along the border. You want war, Gideon. And I am the match that will burn Tristan’s empire to ash.”

Gideon went completely still. The gold in his eyes flared so brightly it looked like actual fire.

He reached out, his massive, calloused hand gripping my chin, tilting my face upward. His fingers were searingly hot against my skin.

“If I help you, little wolf, there is no turning back,” Gideon growled softly. “You will drown in blood. You will lose what little humanity you have left. Are you ready to become a monster?”