The Abandoned Luna's Journey to Power Chapter 276: She's My Destiny

God's-eye POV:

The Royal Court's central plaza was the unavoidable gateway to the Grand Cathedral of the Moon Goddess Temple.

It was a massive circular square where four main roads converged.

Just as Prince Adam's wedding procession rolled into the plaza in full force, a noisy burst of gongs and drums erupted from the street opposite.

It was James's wedding procession.

They'd set out earlier, but a few mercenaries had slowed everything down, scrambling to scoop up the tossed reward money, and without the royal guard clearing the way, they'd been swallowed by the same bottleneck.

And just like that, the two processions met head-on in the heart of the plaza.

On one side stood the Royal Guard—steel, warhorses, and silver armor like fresh snow—circling a wedding carriage so lavish it looked like a palace on wheels. Behind it came the academy's mage corps and the leaders of the great guilds, every one of them radiating the presence of power.

On the other side was a mercenary mob in mismatched gear with sagging banners, and at its center, a carriage plastered in gold foil that gleamed garishly in the sun—like a parvenu straining to look noble.

The difference was humiliatingly obvious.

James sat astride his horse, staring at the grand procession that nearly blotted out the sky, at the carriage wrapped in flowers and glory, while bitterness churned in his chest with a hundred conflicting flavors.

He thought of three years ago.

He'd once ridden like this, too—full of swagger—going to claim the woman waiting inside the bridal sedan.

Back then, he'd thought he owned the world.

And now, he'd shoved that treasure away with his own hands—straight into another man's arms—while he himself had to play the clown and marry a widow he didn't love at all.

The whiplash of that drop, the shame of feeling toyed with by fate, snapped the last strand of his reason clean in two.

As the two processions edged past each other, both of them slowed.

Prince Adam, riding the tall warhorse Lightning, ended up directly alongside James.

James stared at Prince Adam's handsome, bright, celebratory face—and at the golden wolf-head crest on his chest, a badge only the heir could wear—and jealousy sank its fangs into his heart like a viper.

Like something possessed him, he opened his mouth.

"Congratulations, Your Highness."

His voice wasn't loud, but in the still silence between the two sides, it rang out razor-clear.

A malicious cold smile hooked at his mouth as his eyes slid, dark and venomous, toward the carriage behind Prince Adam.

"Congratulations, Your Highness, on taking in a female the Duskfang Pack threw away. How does it feel—picking up something another man already used?"

He'd used one of the filthiest slurs in the werewolf tongue.

In werewolf culture, calling a female "discarded" branded her as unclean—flawed—trash rejected by her original mate.

It was the sharpest insult to a male Alpha and the cruelest stomp on a female's reputation.

The air went still.

Every royal knight tightened a grip on their sword hilts, fury flaring in their eyes.

The academy's teachers and students bared their fangs.

Viola's whip was already sliding like a living snake, and Forrest simply drew his massive battle axe from his back.

One word from Prince Adam, and James's pathetic little procession would be torn to shreds in an instant.

But Prince Adam didn't explode.

He reined in his warhorse and looked down at James from above.

In those golden eyes, there was no anger—only the detached indifference you'd give an ant ... and something worse. Pity.

"James."

Prince Adam's voice was steady and powerful, and it carried across the entire plaza. "Is that your last word—your final speech as a former Alpha?"

He leaned forward slightly, and the full force of a king's aura pressed down without restraint, forcing the horse beneath James to whine and backstep several paces.

"Since you brought up 'discarded,' then I have a sentence for you as well."

A mocking curve lifted at Prince Adam's mouth.

"Thank you for being blind as a bat. For throwing away a diamond and clutching a rock. For mistaking garbage for gold.

"It was your stupidity and your betrayal that gave me the chance to bring her back—"

Prince Adam's voice shot up, carrying the kind of pride meant for the whole world to hear.

"My destined mate!"

Boom—!

The moment the words "destined mate" hit the air, the entire plaza erupted.

In werewolf legend, it was the highest bond—the red thread tied by the Moon Goddess herself, the other half of a soul.

James took it like a lightning strike. He went rigid in the saddle, his face draining to paper-white.

He knew it was a lie.

Because the Moon Goddess Temple had once certified Cindy as his destined mate.

But he knew something else, too—Prince Adam's "destined" wasn't just a claim—it was a proclamation: Even if Cindy once belonged to you, the Moon Goddess corrected the mistake. She belongs to me now.

This wasn't a retort. It was a blade.

It told James, "You weren't just blind—you defied the will of the Goddess, and this is why you ended up here."

"Move."

Prince Adam didn't spare the broken man another glance. He flicked his riding crop, and the procession surged forward again.

As he passed James, the smile vanished from Prince Adam's face.

He tilted his head and, in a voice only the two of them could hear, let out a low growl.

"You're asking to die."

The procession rolled on, and the cheers rose again behind it.

Chase rode up alongside Prince Adam, eyeing the expression on his face—dark enough to drip—and asked carefully, "Your Highness ... are we just letting that go? Should we find a chance to ... bite him?"

Prince Adam inhaled slowly, pressing down the killing intent churning inside him.

He glanced back at the carriage carrying the person he loved most, then at Dross watching from not far away.

"Today's a wedding day. No blood. And I don't feel like taking Dross's stick."

Prince Adam ground his back teeth, a sly, vicious glint flashing in his eyes.

"But this doesn't mean the debt is cleared.

"Tomorrow. Sack over the head. Group beating."