I Left The Wolf King Who Loved Me For The Dragon King Chapter 12

I Left The Wolf King Who Loved Me For The Dragon King Chapter 12

When the realization that his legs had completely necrosed finally set in, a brief, chaotic spike of panic had threatened to fracture Ulvarr’s sanity.

But he was a monarch who had forged his throne in a sea of blood and betrayal; he clawed his way back to absolute calculation within a minute. He turned his freezing obsidian eyes toward his primary healer.

“Explain the corruption. If my lower limbs were destined to rot, the decay should have culminated a year ago, when the ambush occurred. My secondary injuries have mended completely—why has the necrosis manifested so violently out of nowhere?”

The high healer looked at the chart, completely bewildered.

“I cannot find a clinical rationale, My King,” the physician admitted, rubbing his temples. “Do you happen to recall the true identity of the rogue healer who pulled you from the trench a year ago? If we can locate her and petition for her intervention, there may still be a fraction of a chance.”

A complex, dark emotion flickered across Ulvarr’s striking features.

“The soul who mended me… was no healer.”

It was Aylin.

Ulvarr shook his head, a hollow laugh caught in his throat. It was ridiculous. He was the one who had methodically orchestrated her disposal, discarding her like cattle.

Yet now that his world was crumbling, his mind refused to stop throwing her ghost into his thoughts—especially the memory of those fierce, devoted eyes that used to look at him as if he were a god.

The vanguard commander stepped forward, breaking his sovereign’s reverie. “My King, your betrothal to Lady Bryony is finalized, and the arrangements for the fated mate rites are nearing completion.”

The warrior hesitated, looking down at the heavy medical brace. “Considering the catastrophic shift in your vitality… should we decree a temporary postponement of the ceremony?”

Thinking of Bryony, the harsh lines of Ulvarr’s jaw softened slightly.

He let out a level, dangerous breath. “No. The rites will proceed precisely as scheduled. But before the altars are raised, I intend to step into the Selwyn manor and reveal my true identity to my bride.”

Ensuring his concealment, the Alpha King permitted two shadow guards disguised as medical attendants to wheel him out of the facility.

The moment his chair crossed the threshold of the Selwyn estate, the soft, melodic cadence of Bryony’s voice drifted down from the cracked doors of the private library.

“Oh, come now, Father… you must intervene on my behalf.”

Ulvarr tilted his head, assuming the pampered creature had merely entangled herself in some petty domestic dispute. He reached for the brass handle, intending to push the door open and surprise her.

But the next utterance froze his hand, pinning him to the floorboards.

“You chose to court the grunt yourself, Bryony,” Grimm’s voice barked back. “And now that his limbs are ruined and he is nothing but a cripple, you suddenly expect me to dissolve the contract?”

A cripple? Ulvarr’s pupils contracted into needlepoints. Were they speaking of him?

Bryony’s pathetic, whiny tone resumed without a beat of hesitation. “Father, don’t be absurd. You knew exactly what he was to me—a piece of passing amusement. The second the Dragon King’s heralds arrived demanding an alliance, didn’t I throw Ulvarr into the dirt without looking back?”

“The man is a common soldier from a destitute vanguard pack. He carries no noble lineage, no inheritance—only a brainless fool like Aylin could look at a stray like that and see a savior.”

She let out a smug, ringing laugh. “The soul who has petitioned for my hand now is the Alpha King himself. Once I wear the Luna crown, House Selwyn will achieve an unprecedented elevation in the high council. Tell me your heart doesn’t crave that power, Father.”

Grimm let out a long, exhausted sigh. “If you always harbored such contempt for his station, why did you spend months systematically stripping him away from her?”

“To take what belonged to Aylin, of course.”

Ulvarr’s head snapped up, his chest heaving as the words scorched his ears.

Inside the study, Grimm sounded entirely incredulous, his voice dropping into a harsh demand. “What do you mean? What do you mean ‘take what belonged to Aylin’?”

“Why look so astonished? I assumed you both understood the math,” Bryony countered, her tone completely flippant.

“Ulvarr was the very last thing Aylin cherished in this world. By severing his affections and claiming his devotion for myself, I ensured Aylin would abandon the territory in despair. She was a stain on our bloodline—now she is gone, and she will never return to embarrass this house again.”

She sighed, a rustle of silk following the sound. “You and Mother loathed her existence just as fiercely as I did. I orchestrated her disposal in a way that spared your sensibilities while ensuring she wouldn’t inherit a single coin of the family trust. Everyone wins, Father.”

When Grimm spoke again, his voice was thick, trembling with a sudden, devastating clarity.

“So… so Aylin never coveted your inheritance.”

“It was you… you were the predator, systematically stripping everything from her from the very beginning.”

Ulvarr closed his eyes, his knuckles splitting as he gripped the armrests of his chair. He fought with every ounce of his apex Alpha aura to contain the lethal, suffocating wave of killing intent threatening to burst from his chest.

He had spent months playing the part of the smitten warrior, deluding himself into thinking he was the mastermind using Aylin as a decoy to force Bryony into compliance.

But the reality was a brutal execution: Bryony had used him as a tool to drive Aylin into the jaws of the dragon.

Of the three of them, the most innocent was Aylin.

The shadow guard at his shoulder leaned down, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper. “My King… shall we breach the chamber and execute them?”

“No,” Ulvarr murmured, forcing his eyelids open. His obsidian eyes were completely hollowed out, carrying the arctic cold of a dead star. “Ensure they discover nothing. The mate rites will proceed exactly as planned.”

“Do you comprehend my strategy?”

…

Twenty-four hours later, news of Ulvarr the vanguard grunt’s sudden disappearance swept through the keep.

Bryony spent the afternoon in high spirits, celebrating the elimination of the final obstruction to her ascension.

Though Grimm’s behavior toward her had grown strangely cold, his gaze lingering on her with a complex, unreadable severity she couldn’t decipher, she simply had no time to waste on his moods.

She was on the cusp of becoming a Queen. The Luna of the northern wolves. The most revered matriarch in the wild.

If she harbored any lingering dread, it was the dark rumors surrounding her betrothed. The whispers declared the Alpha King to be an unhinged, merciless tyrant who ruled through terror.

Anyone who dared to cross his borders or cause him offense vanished from the realms within three suns. Living under the shadow of such a beast would undoubtedly exact a psychological toll.

But the sheer volume of wealth flowing into the estate quickly dissolved her anxieties.

The tributes sent under the King’s seal arrived in endless caravans. Relic vases from the eastern kingdoms, mountains of raw, luxury jewelry—Bryony wrapped herself in the silks, throwing her arms around Grimm to show off her bounty.

But Grimm stared at the gold, his features heavy and entirely devoid of joy.

“What is wrong with you?” Violet snapped, glaring at her husband from across the salon. “Your only legitimate daughter is on the verge of claiming a throne, yet you parade through the halls with a face like a corpse.”

Grimm couldn’t contain the rot inside him any longer. “Enough! Too many atrocities have been committed in this house, and I cannot find the words to balance the account. We are taking a vanguard escort to the volcanic peak to check on Aylin. She carries my blood; she is my daughter.”

The memory of the vow he had sworn to his late wife crushed his chest—he had promised to grant Aylin everything that was her birthright. Instead, he had personally delivered her to a flaming hell.

Sensing the sudden shift in Grimm’s loyalty, Bryony checked the room, then dug her fingernails viciously into the flesh of her own thigh until the pain brought a rush of hot, convincing tears to her eyes.

She collapsed against Violet’s shoulder, her voice cracking right on cue. “Mother… I know Father cannot find peace because of Sister. To both of you, her place in this house will always be irreplaceable.”

“I never intended to contest her birthright,” she wept, looking up at Grimm with wide, trembling eyes.

“In a matter of days, I will be taken to the King’s keep, and I will no longer have the privilege of standing by your side. Please, let me cherish these final suns with you in harmony.”

She smoothed her mother’s velvet sleeve. “The moment the mate rites conclude, I will use my position as Luna to command the royal vanguard. We will go to the peak together and bring Aylin back to her family.”

Violet immediately hauled her into an embrace, weeping over how pure, how wonderfully compliant her darling child was.

But Grimm stood entirely frozen, his eyes widening in unvarnished horror.

Through the space between them, his gaze had caught the movement before the performance began: he had seen Bryony deliberately twist the flesh of her own leg to summon those tears.

Every sob, every bout of weeping that had dictated the choices of this family for ten winters… had it all been nothing but a calculated lie?

And worse—how could they have been so blind to the reality of the dragon lords?

If the Dragon King had truly succumbed to the Lunar curse as rumored, how was a wolf-less hybrid supposed to survive the wrath of a fracturing, vengeful flight? Aylin was stranded in that wasteland with no lineage to shield her, no weapons, and no family to take her side.

A sudden, suffocating chill rushed up from the stone floorboards, freezing Grimm to the bone.