Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband novel Chapter 234

Chapter 234: A Sovereign’s Celebration

Cooking a standard dinner for the Warlord pack was a tactical military operation. Cooking the feast for a Warlord’s wedding, however, required the kind of divine intervention usually reserved for planetary alignments.

I stood in the center of the manor’s massive kitchen, all nine of my silver fox tails swishing in a synchronized rhythm of absolute focus. The ovens were roaring, the enchanted mixing bowls were spinning on their own, and the air was thick with the scent of roasted garlic, spun sugar, and fresh ocean herbs.

"Keep those berry tarts moving!" I called out, pointing a wooden spoon at a line of scurrying kitchen-golems. "And remember the golden rule of the menu today! If it has feathers, it does not enter this kitchen! We are celebrating an avian bride! We are a strictly anti-poultry household tonight!"

The golems gave synchronized little salutes and hurried back to the workstations.

Tonight was the night. The Warlord mating bond had been sealed on the balcony a week ago, but in the Empire, a union wasn’t official until the entire territory was invited to eat, drink, and be incredibly loud about it.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the newly built avian sanctuary in the eastern gardens had been transformed into a glowing wonderland. Orion had woven massive, floating rings of pale blue water-magic that drifted lazily through the oak branches, reflecting the light of a thousand flickering fairy-lanterns.

Long, heavy wooden tables were completely buried under mountains of food. There were whole roasted boars for the wolves, delicate lemon-butter scallops for the oceanic court, and massive, beautiful spreads of honey-glazed oats, sweet seeded breads, and fresh fruit for the Duck-kin flock.

At the center of it all, sitting at the high table, were the newlyweds.

Juni looked absolutely breathtaking. She wore a flowing gown of pale, iridescent silk that shifted like a sunset when she moved. Her silver-tipped wings were adorned with tiny, woven strings of pearls, and she wore the dark-silver ring on her finger with fierce, undeniable pride.

Beside her, looking like a king of the night, was Lucien. He had abandoned his usual stark black suits for a deep, rich midnight-blue jacket embroidered with delicate silver threads—a silent, beautiful homage to his wife’s wings. He didn’t look like a terrifying assassin tonight. He looked like a man who had conquered the world and placed it entirely at her feet.

The gardens were completely chaotic.

"It is the moon-lilies!" a booming, utterly devastated voice wailed from the edge of the dance floor.

I walked out of the kitchen just in time to see Rurik leaning heavily against a massive oak tree, aggressively blowing his nose into a piece of linen the size of a tablecloth. The Northern Wolf Warlord’s golden eyes were bloodshot, and massive tears were streaming down his scarred face.

"Rurik," Caspian sighed, standing nearby with a crystal glass of wine. "You are blubbering like a newborn pup. Just admit you are crying because the shadow-cat got married."

"I am not crying over the cat!" Rurik roared, his voice cracking horribly. He swiped a massive, trembling hand across his eyes. "It is the coastal flora! The pollen count is mathematically hostile! My sensitive wolf corneas are under siege! Look at them! They are so happy it makes me physically ill!"

He immediately broke down into another fresh wave of loud, rumbling sobs, raising his tankard of ale to the newlyweds before chugging the entire thing to drown his "allergies."

Caspian just shook his head, though a deeply fond smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. The Merman King turned and smoothly pulled me into his arms the second I was within reach, pressing a kiss to my temple. "The feast is a triumph, Little Rose. You have outdone yourself."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I beamed, leaning against his chest. "Though I think Cassian is about to cause a diplomatic incident near the dessert table."

We both looked over.

The Archduke was standing at the edge of the makeshift wooden dance floor, looking completely horrified as the Duck-kin elders and the Warlord guards engaged in a lively, traditional folk dance.

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