Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband

Chapter 212: The Warlords Go Shopping

The biggest problem with sudden, magical adoptions is the severe lack of preparation. Specifically, the lack of pants.

Three days after Pip transformed from a noisy yellow duckling into a noisy, yellow-haired toddler, he had officially run out of temporary clothes. The tiny blue overalls Luna had sent over were in the wash, leaving the newest Warlord-cub waddling around the kitchen wearing a very expensive linen tea towel held together by one of Cassian’s silver cravat pins.

"Honk!" Pip chirped, flapping his downy yellow wings as he chased a rogue grape across the marble floor.

"Do not eat floor-grapes, recruit," Arjun sighed, expertly sweeping the grape up with a dustpan before Pip could reach it.

I leaned against the kitchen island, sipping my morning coffee. "We have to go to the market. He can’t live in a tea towel, and winter is only a few months away. He needs sweaters. And shoes. Do ducks need shoes?"

"He is a Warlord-cub. He does not need sweaters; he needs armor!"

Rurik kicked the kitchen door open, looking incredibly pleased with himself. The Wolf Warlord strode into the room, holding up a tiny, incredibly heavy-looking vest made entirely of thick bear fur and boiled leather.

"I had the blacksmith rush-order this!" Rurik boomed, holding it up proudly. "It is chew-proof, bite-proof, and will keep him warm during a blizzard! Put it on him!"

Before I could even object, Cassian glided into the kitchen. The Serpent Warlord looked absolutely horrified as his slitted eyes locked onto the tiny, barbaric fur vest.

"You are not putting that feral rug on my adopted nephew," Cassian hissed, snatching the vest out of Rurik’s hands and tossing it onto the counter. "The structural weight would crush his developing spine. Furthermore, the coarse fur will chafe his wings. It is an aerodynamic nightmare."

"It builds character!" Rurik argued. "A wolf does not care about aerodynamics!"

"He is a duck, you flea-bitten brute."

"Enough," a dark, quiet voice rumbled from the corner of the kitchen.

Lucien materialized from the shadows, instantly silencing the argument. The Panther Assassin knelt down on the marble floor. He didn’t say a word, simply holding out his arms.

Pip immediately stopped chasing Arjun’s broom, let out a happy squeal, and waddled as fast as his chubby legs could carry him right into Lucien’s chest.

Lucien scooped the toddler up, his violet eyes softening into a look of absolute, terrifying devotion. He gently adjusted the tea towel so Pip’s wings had more room. Then, Lucien looked up at me.

"We are going to the tailor," Lucien stated, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "He requires the finest garments in the Empire. Money is no object."

"I was planning to just go to the regular market," I started to say, but Cassian was already pulling on his pristine white gloves.

"Nonsense. The Sovereign’s son will not wear mass-produced peasant cloth," Cassian declared, adjusting his cuffs. "We will take him to Madame Vionnet’s boutique in the upper district. I shall oversee the fabric selection personally."

"I am coming too!" Rurik announced. "If you put him in a frilly silk suit, the other predators will laugh at him! I must ensure he looks intimidating!"

I let out a long, exhausted breath. Shopping for a toddler was stressful enough. Taking three heavily armed, highly opinionated Warlords to a high-end boutique was going to be a diplomatic incident.

---

Madame Vionnet’s boutique was a masterpiece of velvet drapes, gilded mirrors, and incredibly expensive fabrics. It was usually a quiet, refined space for the Empire’s nobility.

Then, we walked in.

The bell above the door chimed softly. Madame Vionnet, a tall, elegant Peacock-kin, turned around with a polite retail smile. The smile instantly froze, her colorful tail feathers twitching in pure panic.

Because standing in her delicate shop was the massive Wolf of the North, the deadly Serpent of the East, and the terrifying Lord of Shadows, who was currently holding a chubby toddler wearing a tea towel.

"W-Warlords," Madame Vionnet stammered, bowing so deeply she nearly hit her head on the counter. "Sovereign Primrose. To what do I owe this... incredible honor?"

"The boy requires clothing," Lucien said flatly. "Soft clothing. If it scratches him, I will burn this building to the ground."

Madame Vionnet swallowed hard. "Of course, my Lord. Right away."

"We need practical things," I quickly stepped forward, giving the poor woman a sympathetic smile. "Overalls, soft cotton shirts, and pants that can accommodate a diaper. Oh, and we need slits cut into the back of the shirts for his wings."

"Slits?!" Cassian gasped in horror. "You cannot simply slice holes into a garment! It compromises the structural integrity of the weave! Madame Vionnet, I require three bolts of your finest breathable spider-silk. We must tailor a custom, multi-paneled jacket that drapes seamlessly around the avian appendages."

"Spider-silk is too slippery!" Rurik yelled. "He will slide right off my shoulders! Give me durable canvas! And a tiny belt for his future hunting knife!"

"He is two! He does not need a hunting knife!" I groaned.

While the Warlords bickered over fabrics, Lucien had quietly set Pip down on a plush velvet ottoman in the center of the shop.

Madame Vionnet, moving with the speed of a woman whose life depended on it, scurried over with a soft, measuring tape. Her hands were shaking.

"Hello, little one," she cooed nervously. "I just need to take a quick measurement of your little arms..."

She raised the measuring tape.

Lucien stepped forward. He didn’t draw a weapon, but the sheer, suffocating killing intent that rolled off the Panther Assassin made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.

"If that tape snaps back and strikes his skin," Lucien whispered, his violet eyes glowing in the dimly lit shop, "your bloodline ends today."

Madame Vionnet whimpered, completely frozen in terror.

"Lucien, stop threatening the tailor," I sighed, walking over and gently pushing his shoulder back. "She’s just doing her job. Pip is fine. Look."

Pip wasn’t scared at all. The little Duck-kin had grabbed the end of the yellow measuring tape and was happily chewing on it.

"Ah. He is tasting the inventory," Cassian noted, walking over. "An excellent way to test the dye quality, though highly unsanitary. Madame, fetch a tiny tailored suit. Emerald green, I think. It will compliment his yellow plumage."

Ten minutes later, Pip emerged from the dressing room for his first fashion show.

Cassian’s emerald green silk suit was, admittedly, beautiful. But it was entirely stiff. Pip stood in the center of the room, his arms sticking straight out to the sides like a little scarecrow. His duck wings were trapped inside the jacket, causing a very strange, lumpy bulge on his back.

Pip frowned. He tried to waddle forward, but the stiff silk pants restricted his movement.

He let out a loud, angry *HONK* and forcefully flapped his wings.

*Pop! Pop! Pop!*

The expensive pearl buttons holding the jacket together shot across the room like tiny bullets as his wings burst free, completely shredding the back of Cassian’s carefully designed suit.

Rurik burst into a roaring fit of laughter, slapping his knee. "Ha! The pup rejects your fragile snake-skin! He demands freedom! My turn!"

Rurik’s choice was a miniature leather tunic with tiny fur trim around the collar.

Pip put it on. He looked like a very small, very adorable woodland bandit. Rurik looked incredibly proud.

But as soon as Pip took a breath, the loose fur from the collar tickled his nose.

*Achoo!* Pip sneezed. Then he sneezed again. His little wings flapped wildly with every sneeze. The heavy leather tunic was entirely too hot, and his chubby face was turning bright pink. He looked up at Lucien, his lower lip wobbling.

"Papa," Pip whimpered, rubbing his itchy nose.

Lucien was across the room in a blur of motion. He didn’t even bother unbuttoning the leather tunic; he just grabbed the collar and ripped the heavy garment clean off the toddler with his bare hands, tossing it onto the floor.

Lucien scooped Pip up, glaring daggers at Rurik. "You made him overheat. I should throw you out the window."

"It is a mild allergy!" Rurik defended himself, though he looked genuinely guilty as Pip buried his sniffly face into Lucien’s neck.

"Alright, that’s it," I announced, putting my hands on my hips. "Warlords, sit down. All of you. You are officially banned from dressing the toddler."

Cassian and Rurik grumbled, but they walked over to the velvet sofa and sat down. Lucien didn’t sit, but he held Pip tightly, gently rocking him back and forth until the sneezing stopped.

I turned to the terrified tailor. "Madame Vionnet. I want five pairs of soft, stretchy cotton trousers. I want six loose-fitting linen shirts with reinforced wing-holes, not slits. And I want a pair of sturdy, comfortable walking boots that he can actually run in."

"Right away, Sovereign Primrose," she gasped, rushing into the back room.

While we waited, Pip squirmed out of Lucien’s arms. He waddled around the shop, his downy wings fluttering softly as he inspected the displays.

He bypassed the racks of tiny silk shirts. He ignored the display of tiny leather boots.

Instead, he stopped in front of a low shelf near the window. Sitting on the shelf was a child’s rain-cloak. It was made of soft, waterproof canvas, dyed a bright, cheerful sunshine yellow. But the best part was the hood, which was designed to look like a little frog, complete with two big, stuffed frog eyes on top.

Pip grabbed the yellow frog-cloak with both chubby hands. He pulled it off the shelf and waddled back over to me, holding it up with a massive, gummy smile.

"Frog!" Pip announced.

I couldn’t help but laugh. "You want the frog cloak, sweetheart?"

"Honk!" he agreed enthusiastically.

Cassian stared at the bright yellow garment. "It is aesthetically absurd. He will look like a brightly colored amphibian."

"It’s bright," Rurik agreed, tilting his head. "But... it is highly visible. If he wanders off in the forest, we will be able to spot him instantly. Excellent tactical camouflage for a sunny day."

Lucien just looked at the massive smile on his son’s face. The Panther Warlord reached into his dark suit pocket, pulling out a heavy pouch of solid gold coins. He tossed it onto the counter, the heavy thud making Madame Vionnet jump as she returned with the practical cotton clothes.

"We will take the practical garments," Lucien said, his violet eyes locking onto the tailor. "And the frog."

"Yes, my Lord!" Madame Vionnet squeaked, practically shoving the clothes into a fancy shopping bag.

Ten minutes later, we exited the boutique.

The Warlords walked down the busy capital street, parting the crowd like a heavily armed warship. Cassian looked pristine. Rurik looked terrifying. Lucien looked like a lethal, unapproachable shadow.

And sitting securely on Lucien’s broad shoulders, wearing a bright yellow raincoat with giant stuffed frog eyes on the hood, was Pip.

The little Duck-kin was flapping his wings happily, eating a honey-biscuit I had brought from home, leaving a trail of crumbs perfectly down the back of the Empire’s deadliest assassin’s suit.

Lucien didn’t even care.

"You know," I smiled, linking my arm through Cassian’s as we walked. "I think the frog cloak was actually a great choice."

Cassian let out a long, long sigh, though he didn’t pull his arm away. "It is a crime against fashion, Primrose. But... I suppose the structural integrity of the canvas is acceptable."

"He looks fierce!" Rurik cheered, patting Pip’s tiny booted foot. "The Frog-Duck of the Shadows!"

I just laughed, shaking my head. They were absolute menaces. But looking at the happy little toddler perched on his terrifying father’s shoulders, I knew Pip was going to be just fine.