All Chapters of Rescuing His Enslaved Luna Queen: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Spencer's POVBy the time the dinner finally ends, I’ve more than had enough. Sylvia and Alpha Quentin are talking rapturously, clearly taken with one another, while my mother watches the two of them intently. Beta Wilson is also watching, but with a scrutinizing, reluctant eye. I know him–I’m certain he’s already coming up with reasons as to why Sylvia and Alpha Quentin wouldn’t work, trying to undermine the situation rather than actually talk to Sylvia. My father seems more than ready to leave the dinner, as does Delilah. And Colin has been watching me the entire evening, though he hasn’t spoken a word. Lovely. As soon as my father sets down his fork, announcing the official end of dinner, I’m out of my seat and walking swiftly towards the exit. “And just where do you think you’re going?” My mother scolds. “Please forgive my haste,” I reply, trying to figure out the sarcasm. “I have important military matters to attend to.” Delilah stands up and quickly follows behind me. I h

Ivy's POVAs soon as the words pass my lips, I find myself bursting into tears. “Oh!” Sylvia exclaims suddenly as I bury my face in my hands, the hot tears running down my face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I–I didn’t mean to make you cry…” Sylvia wraps her arms around me and pulls me close to her chest, stroking my hair soothingly as she does her best to calm me down. I don’t know why the full force of my loss and heartbreak has chosen this moment to manifest itself into a wave of desolation that makes me want to do nothing but cry, but I feel unspeakably awful right now. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at crying, but as my cries morph into twisting, heavy sobs, I realize this is the first time I’ve actually just let myself cry over this entire situation–a real, proper cry, not just a few shed tears that I’ve quickly swiped away. The sort of cry that’s cathartic, after all the misery. “It–it’s not your fault,” I sniffle, trying to reign in the overwhelming surge of hopelessness that’s cr

Ivy's POV“Sylvia?” Both Beta Wilson and Alpha Quentin say her name in unison. Sylvia breathes out an exasperated sigh, marching towards Beta Wilson. Her heels clack on the marble floor as she approaches. She jabs an accusatory finger into his chest, eyes blazing in anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sylvia snaps at him angrily. “Sylvia, I can’t let you marry a man who’s–” “That’s Princess Sylvia to you,” Sylvia cuts in sharply. I suck in a breath. I don’t think she knows how to come back from this. Beta Wilson blinks, and for a moment, I can see the hurt etched into his features. But he refuses to back down, glowering at Sylvia. “I know what I saw!” “I can take care of myself, Wilson!” Sylvia snaps at him. “I don’t care what you saw–why would you be getting involved with royal matters to begin with? My marriage is none of your concern. Don’t you dare tell me what you can and can’t let me do.” Sylvia and Beta Wilson glare at each other, raw emotion crackling be

Ivy's POVAs soon as Sylvia leaves the foyer, distraught after the whole affair, I approach Beta Wilson. Or–I suppose he’s just Wilson, now. “Ivy!” Wilson says, eyes widening as he sees me. “Moon Goddess, that was horrible. I mean–can you even believe everything that happened? They’re liars, Alpha Quentin and that maid both, and it’s only because of this sham of an engagement that the Lycan Royal Family won’t listen to me. Not to mention, Sylvia was completely, utterly unreasonable–” “I’m not going to sympathize with you, Wilson,” I snap sharply. Wilson falls silent, looking down at me. “What are you here for, then?” He asks dryly. “I used to think you and Sylvia were destined to be together,” I tell Wilson. “I thought, even after all the bullshit you dragged her through, somehow, somehow, the mate bond you share would be enough to make it all worth it.” “And I swear I want what’s best for her–” Wilson begins. “You’re not thinking about what’s best for her!” I counter. “Thanks

Ivy's POVAs I weave my way through the guest wing of the palace, searching eagerly for Alpha Quentin’s bedchambers, my heart feels like it’s about to pound out of my chest with anticipation.I’ve dressed up nicely for the occasion that’s to come–my hair is half-up, half-down, so my auburn curls cascade tantalizingly down my shoulders, and my makeup is shadowed and sultry. I’m dressed in a close-fitting black slip that hugs every slender curve of my body. I’ve dabbed rose perfume on my wrists and neck. My tall heels clack on the floor as I search for the one occupied guest bedroom, and the sensation of red lipstick painted over my lips is heavy and noxious. To anyone who may see me, it’s painfully obvious what my intentions are. Good. That’s what I want. When I see light shining from underneath a heavy door, a smug smile crosses my face. I look around the hallway quickly–there’s no one in sight. That’s fine. I can always put on a show later, when I really sell the act. I approach