Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 272

Chapter 272: Hallelujah, It’s Raining Gwen

In Lunaris, the universe had stopped making sense around domino forty, hit the FUCK-IT button, and was now just showing off.

But the Greyhall side of the chain still made sense if you squinted at it like you’d just taken a shot to the balls.

Betas in closets. Breeding hymns. Busted walls. Blade bull-fuckery.

Standard shit.

That is, right up until this diabolical dumpster fire of a domino: factory-stamped, notarized, and declared a Guinevere Lunaris special by the Gods.

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DOMINO 57: THE GODS SAY CATCH

ONE HOUR FROM GREYHALL CROSSING — 4:45 AM

Every king on this continent had been chasing Guinevere Lunaris for days and missing her by minutes, by miles, and by the width of one particularly dickish pillow.

Maddox Drakencrest was finally done chasing. He was about to have his wife back in his arms because she was safe and Nicholas Shadowfell was one of the only bastards he actually trusted not to fuck it up.

That trust was based on the fact that he had watched Nicholas Shadowfell operate with the kind of precision that made other kings look like they were running their kingdoms with a blindfold and a stick.

The man was competent as hell. Trustworthy. He had defended Drakencrest Keep like it was his own and traveled an ocean to protect Guinevere. And this was in his summit, so she would be inside his fortress, surrounded by his wolves who didn’t know the meaning of ’almost.’

She was safe.

Because of that, he was doing this trip differently. He was airborne with his Master Mage and two anchor stops already in the rearview, after learning the hard way. Traveling without portals on this continent was less journey and more slow-motion fuck-you from the universe and was worth the extra fifteen minutes.

One hour from Greyhall Crossing, flying low over the coastline, the cliff face below him triggered déjà vu.

He knew this cliff.

He had seen it during a dream hours ago from this exact angle. The memory was wrapped in that thick, dream-drugged haze that felt less like remembering and more like waking up from something he wasn’t supposed to survive.

Most people would shrug and say coincidence or imagination running its mouth. The subconscious glues landscapes together from broken pieces of real places. This continent was wall-to-wall cliffs, and the odds of flying over the exact one his sleep-deprived brain had cooked up was zero.

But his gut said otherwise. He had learned early on that when it came to Guinevere Lunaris, trusting his instincts was always the correct answer.

And right now, his gut said something was off.

The memories that had been stolen from him had been filtering back in fragments over the last few days, each piece clicking into place like a traumatized jigsaw that refused to hurry the fuck up.

One of those memories was what he had dreamed weeks ago that led him to Nyros in the first place. That dream was how he knew exactly where to find her and in which forest.

Maddox banked hard, then landed.

Maddox: Anchor point here. There’s something I need to check.

Jaxon: Copy.

CRACK.

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