Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband

Chapter 224: The Art of the Kill (And By Kill, We Mean Romance)

The Empire’s deadliest assassin was currently being defeated by a piece of paper.

Lucien stood perfectly still in the center of the manor’s armory, surrounded by racks of heavy broadswords, wicked daggers, and polished shields. In his dark, leather-gloved hands, he held a single, pristine piece of expensive stationery and a charcoal pencil.

He had been staring at the blank paper for forty-five minutes.

His violet eyes were narrowed into lethal slits. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He looked exactly like a man calculating the optimal angle to sever a target’s spinal cord, but in reality, he was trying to figure out how to write ’Would you like to take a walk with me?’ without sounding like a serial killer.

"You look like you are plotting a regicide," a smooth, incredibly amused voice echoed from the doorway.

Lucien didn’t flinch, but he quickly crumpled the stationery into a tight ball and shoved it into his pocket. He turned to see Caspian leaning against the heavy wooden doorframe. The Merman King was swirling a glass of amber liquid, looking entirely too relaxed.

A second later, Rurik squeezed past Caspian, carrying a massive battle-axe over his shoulder.

"Who are we killing?!" Rurik boomed eagerly, dropping the axe with a thud that shook the stone floor. "I smell stress! Give me a name, shadow-cat, and the wolf will fetch you their head!"

Lucien let out a long, exhausted sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, the terrifying Lord of Shadows suddenly looking like a very tired, very helpless man.

"There is no target, Rurik," Lucien muttered, leaning back against a weapons rack. "I am merely... assessing my strategic options."

Caspian took a slow sip of his drink, his teal eyes practically dancing with smug realization. "Ah. This is not about a target. This is about the silver-wing."

Lucien’s spine instantly went rigid. "I do not know what you are talking about."

"Please," Caspian chuckled, walking into the armory and gesturing vaguely at Lucien’s completely stiff posture. "You have been hovering around her like a territorial shark for a week. You butter her toast. You carry the toddler. Yesterday, I saw you physically threaten a garden hose because she tripped over it."

"It was a tripping hazard," Lucien defended darkly. "The perimeter was compromised."

"You are in love!" Rurik roared, slamming a heavy hand onto Lucien’s shoulder. The sheer force of the congratulatory slap nearly drove the assassin into the floorboards. "This is glorious! The panther has finally found his mate! But why are you hiding in the armory like a frightened pup? You must claim your territory!"

Lucien scowled, brushing Rurik’s massive hand off his tailored suit. "She is not territory, Rurik. She is a widowed mother who just survived a black-market syndicate. I cannot simply leap out of the shadows and declare my intentions. It requires finesse. It requires a proper courtship protocol."

Lucien paused, looking between the two men. His violet eyes darkened with a sudden, desperate realization. He turned to Caspian first.

"Caspian. You successfully courted the Sovereign. You won the territory dispute and secured a wife." Then, Lucien slowly turned his gaze to the massive Wolf Warlord. "And Rurik... you attempted to. Repeatedly. And you remain entirely confident despite your failure. Tell me the protocol."

"Ha!" Rurik puffed out his massive chest, kicking his battle-axe aside, completely unbothered by the jab. "I did not fail, shadow-cat! Sovereign Primrose simply preferred the beach over the snow! If she liked the cold, my methods would have worked perfectly! The North knows exactly how to woo a woman. It is simple, effective, and guaranteed to secure her affection."

Lucien leaned forward slightly, completely focused. "I am listening."

"First," Rurik instructed loudly, holding up a single finger. "You must disappear into the wilderness for three days. Do not bathe. Let the scent of the hunt cling to your fur. Then, you track down the largest, most dangerous beast in the forest—a dire-bear is preferable, but a massive razor-boar will suffice."

Lucien nodded slowly, processing the logistics.

"You tear the beast apart with your bare hands!" Rurik continued, his golden eyes blazing with romantic passion. "You drag the bloody, massive carcass out of the woods, you throw it directly at her feet, and you roar at the top of your lungs so the entire territory knows you are an excellent provider!"

Silence fell over the armory.

Lucien stared at the Wolf Warlord. He blinked once. Twice.

"Rurik," Lucien said in a deadpan whisper. "She is a Duck-kin. She eats berries, oats, and aquatic plants. If I throw a bloody bear carcass at her feet and scream, she will absolutely summon a hurricane and throw me off the cliff."

"Well, you don’t have to use a bear!" Rurik argued, crossing his arms defensively. "Bring her a very large, dead berry! Or a really intimidating pile of oats! The principle is the same! You must show dominance over the harvest!"

"Ignore the loud dog," Caspian interrupted smoothly, stepping between them. He shot Rurik a pitying look. "This is exactly why Primrose chose me. You cannot just throw raw meat at a woman and expect her to swoon. Romance is like architecture, Lucien. You must construct it perfectly."

Lucien turned his attention to Caspian. "Architecture?"

"Exactly," Caspian nodded sagely, swirling his drink. The Merman King always had a slightly modern, highly calculated edge to his thinking, like a mastermind moving pieces on a board. "You must draft a flawless blueprint for her affection. Build a foundation of inescapable romantic tension. Design a scenario where she is entirely captivated, trapping her in a beautiful, grand labyrinth of your affection..."

Lucien just stared at him.

"Caspian," Lucien said, his voice completely hollow. "I do not want to trap her in a labyrinth. She was just held hostage in a smuggler’s cave."

Caspian frowned, entirely offended that his brilliant advice was being picked apart. "It is a metaphor, Lucien! I am saying you must be calculating. Be the absolute final boss of her affections. Shower her with the pearls of the deep and leave her no choice but to fall into your arms!"

Lucien rubbed his temples. A severe headache was beginning to form right behind his eyes. "Neither of you know how to talk to women naturally, do you?"

"I am universally adored!" Caspian countered smoothly.

"I brought her the best slabs of meat!" Rurik yelled.

"You are both idiots," a cold, clinical voice announced from the hallway.

Cassian glided into the armory, adjusting his round glasses. The Serpent Warlord looked at the three deadliest men in the Empire with absolute disdain. He held a thick leather binder in his gloved hands.

"If you truly wish to initiate a mating bond, Lucien, you must abandon this emotional nonsense and approach it logically," Cassian lectured, stepping up to the weapons rack. "Romance is merely a biological imperative disguised as a social construct. I have prepared a spreadsheet."

Lucien took a slow step backward. "Cassian. No."

"Yes," Cassian insisted, opening the binder. "Step one: You must present Juni with a notarized document detailing your genetic history, your immune system’s resistance to coastal pathogens, and a sworn statement that you do not carry any hereditary diseases."

"I am not handing the woman I love a medical chart," Lucien hissed, his shadow-magic actually starting to flare in sheer annoyance.

"Step two," Cassian continued seamlessly, completely ignoring the lethal threat radiating from his brother. "You must enforce a fourteen-day quarantine period to ensure your micro-biomes are compatible before initiating physical contact. I have already drafted the quarantine schedule. You will be restricted to adjacent, glass-separated rooms."

Lucien looked at Rurik. He looked at Caspian. He looked at Cassian.

"It is a miracle," Lucien whispered in pure, unadulterated horror, "that Primrose has not poisoned all of your food and fled the continent."

"Hey!" Rurik objected loudly.

"I am merely trying to protect your structural integrity!" Cassian snapped, slamming his binder shut.

"Okay, enough," a highly exasperated voice called out.

I stepped into the armory, wiping flour off my apron. I had been listening from the hallway for the last five minutes, and I honestly couldn’t take it anymore. I marched right past Caspian, shoved Rurik’s arm out of the way, and stopped directly in front of Lucien.

"Lucien, listen to me very carefully," I said, pointing a stern finger at the Lord of Shadows. "Do not bring her a dead bear. Do not try to trap her in an architectural love-maze. And if you hand that poor woman a medical spreadsheet, I will personally ban you from my kitchen for a month."

Lucien looked at me like I was a life raft in a stormy sea. "Primrose. Please. How do I court her?"

"You are overthinking it," I laughed softly, my nine fox tails swishing behind me. "Juni doesn’t need grand, terrifying gestures. She spent the last two years running for her life. She doesn’t need you to conquer a kingdom for her. She just needs you."

I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a small, beautifully woven wicker basket. Inside the basket were three perfect, warm honey-biscuits, a tiny jar of sweet strawberry jam, and a single, blooming white moon-lily from the greenhouse.

I held the basket out to Lucien.

"She is currently sitting on the bench in the southern gardens, watching Pip play with Silas," I told him gently. "Go out there. Sit next to her. Hand her the basket, and ask her if she would like to share a biscuit. That’s it. That is the entire courtship protocol."

Lucien stared at the little wicker basket as if it were a highly volatile explosive. He slowly reached out, his dark, leather-clad hands taking the basket with extreme care.

"Just... offer her a biscuit?" Lucien repeated, seeking confirmation.

"Just the biscuit," I promised. "No roaring."

Lucien gave a sharp, definitive nod. His entire demeanor shifted, slipping back into the focused, determined assassin. He turned on his heel and strode out of the armory, the tiny wicker basket clutched securely in his lethal grip.

Once he was gone, I turned around, crossing my arms and glaring at the three massive Warlords behind me.

"A dead bear?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at Rurik.

"It shows excellent provider instincts!" Rurik grumbled, kicking the floor.

"And a romantic labyrinth?" I looked at my husband, crossing my arms.

"It was a metaphor for a stable foundation," Caspian defended, though he had the decency to pull me against his chest and kiss the top of my head to soften my glare.

"You are all banned from giving dating advice ever again," I sighed, shaking my head and leaning into Caspian’s embrace. "Honestly. It’s a good thing you all have pretty faces."

Out in the gardens, I watched from the armory window as Lucien approached the stone bench. He didn’t use the shadows. He walked out in the bright afternoon sun, looking incredibly tall and entirely out of his element.

Juni looked up as he approached. Her golden eyes brightened instantly, a genuine, warm smile spreading across her face.

Lucien stopped. He looked completely frozen for a second. Then, very slowly, the terrifying Lord of Shadows held out the tiny wicker basket.

Juni laughed—a bright, beautiful sound that carried all the way to the manor. She took the basket, sliding over on the stone bench and patting the empty space beside her.

Lucien sat down. He didn’t look terrifying. He didn’t look like an assassin. He just looked like a man who had finally found the exact place he was meant to be.

I smiled, turning back to my husband. Yeah. He didn’t need the bear carcass after all.