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

The annual Winter Solstice Festival was the grandest celebration in the northern territories. For three days, Winterborn Keep opened its gates to nobles, merchants, and pack leaders from across the continent, filling the grand courtyards with music, roasted feasts, and flowing wine.

It was also the perfect time to strike.

Disguised beneath heavy gray traveling cloaks with our scents masked by special Ashfallen herbs, Gideon, Vance, and I slipped through the lower servant gates of Winterborn Keep just as the evening snow began to fall.

The castle was draped in white silk and glittering crystal lights. Laughter and orchestral music drifted down the stone corridors. In the grand ballroom, nobles danced in opulent gowns and tailored suits, completely unaware that death had just walked through their front door.

I walked through the familiar halls with a cold, dead calm in my chest. Every corner held a memory—here was where Tristan had promised me forever; there was where we had shared our first laugh.

Now, those memories were just kindling.

“The royal guards are concentrated around the grand staircase,” Vance whispered into our comm-stones as he monitored the perimeter from the kitchens. “Tristan is holding court in the throne room, receiving tribute from the eastern lords.”

“Good,” Gideon murmured beside me, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his broadsword beneath his cloak. His gold eyes scanned the corridor with lethal efficiency. “Let’s go crash the party.”

We didn't use stealth anymore. As we reached the archway leading into the grand throne room, Gideon kicked the massive oak doors open with a thunderous BANG.

The heavy doors splintered against the stone walls.

Music stopped instantly. Giggles and chatter died in throats. Hundreds of nobles turned in horror as smoke billowed into the grand hall, carrying with it the unmistakable, suffocating aura of an enraged Alpha.

And stepping through the smoke at Gideon’s side was me.

I had thrown back my gray cloak. Beneath it, I wore form-fitting combat leathers etched with the silver crest of Ethelgard, my silver hair braided back into a lethal war-tail, the bone-handled dagger strapped proudly to my thigh.

At the center of the dais, sitting upon the sapphire-encrusted throne, King Tristan froze.

His goblet slipped from his hand, shattering against the marble floor, spilling dark red wine like blood. Color drained entirely from his face.

“Adelaide…” Tristan breathed, stumbling backward out of his throne, his eyes wide with utter disbelief and a sickening rush of desperate hope. “You’re… you’re alive. I searched everywhere—”

“Save your breath, traitor,” my voice rang out across the silent, terrified hall, carrying the weight of a true queen.

Tristan rushed down the steps, ignoring the gasps of his nobles, his arms outstretched. “Adelaide, please! You don't understand! Rowena meant nothing! It was political pressure, a mistake! You belong to me! The mate bond—”

“—was shattered the moment you traded me for a crown,” I interrupted, stepping forward, my hand resting firmly on the hilt of my blade.

Tristan’s face twisted with panic, his Alpha authority flaring as he tried to command me. “Adelaide, stop this foolishness! Come back to me, and as my queen—”

“She’s not coming back to you, dog,” a deep, gravelly voice echoed through the hall.

Step by heavy step, Alpha Gideon strode forward into the light of the chandeliers. The moment the nobles recognized the scarred face and the black armor of Ashfallen, absolute pandemonium broke out. Women screamed. Guards drew their swords.

Tristan stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes darting from Gideon to me, a sudden, blinding fury twisting his handsome features into a mask of pure rage.

“Gideon!” Tristan roared, his wolf surging to the surface, his eyes flashing dangerous ice-blue. “You dare step foot in my castle? And you… you traitorous bitch, you’re siding with a savage?”

“He’s more of a king than you’ll ever be,” I replied coldly.

Tristan bared his fangs, drawing his royal broadsword, ice crackling along the steel. “I marked her first! She is mine! Kill them all!”

Dozens of Winterborn elite guards surged forward, brandishing their weapons.