The Betrayed Princess Rising Chapter 170

Lylah's POV

Isaac’s slap had left a faint reddish imprint along my cheekbone. So before heading home, I stopped by a small store to buy foundation and applied it in the restroom, carefully layering it over my cheek.

My wolf’s healing was already working beneath my skin, but the mark hadn’t faded quickly enough for my liking.

By morning, it should be gone.

At least, that was what I was counting on.

“Luna,” Damon greeted the moment I stepped through the door.

I offered him a smile. It wasn’t like him to be here this late.

Before I could ask why, a different scent reached me.

Oil paint and fresh canvas.

My gaze drifted past Damon to the stranger seated behind a large, blank canvas propped on a wooden easel.

“Damon, who is that?” I asked, gesturing toward the man.

“Luna, meet Jace,” Damon said. “The best painter in Lunaris. Alpha Ezra personally called for him.”

The painter stood and dipped into a respectful bow.

“And he’s here to paint you, Luna.”

I blinked. “Me?”

Surely I had misheard.

But before Damon could explain further, a deep, familiar voice cut through the room.

“To paint us together.”

My head turned instantly toward the sound.

Ezra stepped into view—and for a moment, my heart forgot how to beat.

I had never seen him like this before.

He wore his Alpha’s formal attire, dark and commanding, with the ceremonial cloak of his Pack draped over his broad shoulders. The silver embroidery caught the light like moonbeams woven into fabric. The raw authority of an Alpha clung to him, heavy enough to press against my wolf’s instincts.

Warmth crept into my cheeks as he approached.

“Go change,” he said calmly. “Your Luna cloak and gown are waiting in your room. Jace will paint us wearing them.”

“Ezra…” I frowned slightly. “What is all this for?”

Not that I minded. I simply wanted to understand.

His expression softened just a fraction.

“It’s a tradition in Moonclaw,” he explained. “Every Alpha who rules has a portrait with his Luna. It must be a painting done by hand. And the painting will be hung in my family estate and in the Pack’s central hall.”

A quiet breath left me as I absorbed that.

“My ancestors have kept that tradition for generations,” he added, his voice steady. “Sorry, I didn’t mention it sooner. Vargan suddenly demanded ours. Seems my council is getting impatient.”

A laugh slipped out of me.

“Alright,” I said. “Give me a moment. I’ll change.”

I didn’t want to keep Ezra’s grandfather—or the council—waiting. I slipped into my room and dressed quickly.

The gown waiting for me was breathtaking.

White silk draped over my body in elegant lines, the fabric trimmed with delicate embroidery that shimmered softly with every movement.

My Luna cloak was midnight black, the same shade as Ezra’s. The inside was lined with pale silver fur that brushed against my skin like moonlight.

I gathered my hair half-up, leaving the rest to fall freely down my back.

When I stepped out again, Ezra was already seated before the canvas, composed and powerful in a way that seemed entirely natural to him.

Jace adjusted the brushes in his hand, studying us with a thoughtful eye. “Alpha, Luna, please choose a comfortable position so I may begin.”

Ezra lifted a hand, beckoning me closer.

I walked toward him, the soft fur lining of my cloak whispering against the floor.

“Wait,” I started. “I’ll grab a chair—”

My words never finished.

His arm slid around my waist.

Before I could react, he pulled me down in one smooth, effortless motion.

A startled breath escaped me as I landed squarely on his thigh—his lap, to be precise. His arm tightened around my waist instantly, keeping me there before I could even think of standing again.

My entire body went rigid, every nerve alight, a mix of shock, heat, and something dangerously close to something else I wasn’t ready to name.

“Ezra… what are you doing?" My voice trembled, caught somewhere between indignation and a strange, thrilling tension that made my heart hammer in my chest.

“Sshh. Your seat is already here.

Heat surged through me like wildfire, burning my cheeks and neck. “What?” I stammered, my pulse thundering. “But you said this portrait will be hung in the Pack’s Central Hall! That means… everyone will see it!”

“Yes,” Ezra said easily.

Which only made it worse.

My fingers instinctively grabbed his sleeve. “And I’m sitting on your lap?”

“Yes."

Then he glanced toward the painter.

“Jace,” Ezra said. "You may begin.”