Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 158: The Court of Vipers

Back in the Nursery, Caspian was regretting his life choices.

He was currently sitting in a plush armchair, trying to read a book titled Advanced Void Theory, while five children caused chaos around him.

Vali, the Wolf Cub, was currently in the middle of a very important mission.

He was in love.

Well, as much in love as a six-year-old wolf could be. He thought Clover was the best thing since sliced ham. She was soft, she smelled like flowers, and she had big ears.

Vali smoothed down his messy hair. He puffed out his chest. He marched over to where Clover was unpacking her bag.

"Hey," Vali said, leaning against the bedpost and trying to look cool. (He looked like a puppy trying to pose for a photo).

Clover looked up, blinking her big brown eyes. "Hi, Vali!"

"That bag looks heavy," Vali grunted, pointing at her giant carrot-shaped backpack. "Too heavy for a... uh... rabbit."

"It’s okay!" Clover chirped. "It’s mostly stuffed animals. And emergency snacks."

"I can carry it," Vali offered intensely. "I am very strong. I lifted a rock yesterday. A big one."

He grabbed the backpack straps.

"Oh, thank you!" Clover beamed. She patted Vali on the head, right between his wolf ears. "You are such a good boy, Vali! You’re like a little pack mule!"

Vali froze.

Good boy? Pack mule?

He didn’t want to be a good boy. He wanted to be a Warrior King protecting his Queen. He wanted her to swoon at his muscles, not scratch behind his ears like he was a pet!

But... her hand was soft. And the ear scratches felt really nice.

Vali’s leg started to thump involuntarily.

"I am not a mule," Vali muttered, blushing bright red as he leaned into the hand scratch. "I am a fearsome predator."

"Who’s a fluffy predator? You are!" Clover cooed, completely oblivious to his internal crisis. "Do you want a carrot stick?"

Vali sighed, defeated. "Yes. I want a carrot stick."

Across the room, Jasper watched them with dead, golden eyes.

"Pathetic," Jasper whispered to his pet snake. "The Wolf has been domesticated in under thirty seconds. Disgraceful."

Deep in the West Wing, the atmosphere was much colder.

Lucien stood at the end of a long table made of black obsidian. He was alone.

Sitting opposite him were the Regent Council.

There were five of them, but two held the real power. They were Panther-kin, just like him.

Lord Malachi, Lucien’s younger cousin, lounged in his chair. He was handsome in a sharp, cruel way, with slicked-back black hair and panther ears pierced with silver rings. He was cleaning his claws with a silk handkerchief.

Lady Verna, his aunt, sat stiffly. She was an older panther with grey streaks in her hair and a scar running down her nose. She looked like she ate happiness for breakfast and spat out misery.

"So," Malachi drawled, his tail flicking lazily behind his chair. "The Prodigal Duke returns. And look at him. He smells of... dog."

He wrinkled his nose.

"Wolf," Lucien corrected coldly. "And Tiger. And Fox. It is called alliances, Malachi. You should try making some."

"We do not need alliances with loud, dirty beasts," Lady Verna snapped. She slammed a hand on the table. "You abandoned your post, Lucien! You took the Heir—our sacred Silas—and ran off to play nanny in the Capital!"

"I took him to save his life," Lucien said, his voice dropping. "Or have you forgotten why he went silent?"

The room went quiet. Malachi stopped cleaning his claws.

"Old history," Malachi dismissed, waving a hand. "The point is, you are back. And you brought intruders into our sanctuary."

He stood up, walking around the table.

"You are unfit to rule, cousin. You are soft. You let outsiders walk on our rugs. You let a fox with no magic sleep in the East Wing."

Malachi leaned in, his yellow eyes glowing.

"Abdicate, Lucien. Give us the boy. We will raise Silas properly. We will teach him to be a weapon, not a broken doll. And you can go back to your little daycare."

Lucien’s fists clenched. Shadows began to boil up from the floor, spikes forming in the darkness.

"Touch my nephew," Lucien whispered, "and I will flay the skin from your—"

CREAK.

The heavy iron doors of the War Room groaned.

They didn’t just open. They were pushed open with casual, terrifying force.

"Am I interrupting?" a voice asked.

Primrose stepped into the room.

She looked like a disaster. Her expensive wedding reception dress was torn at the hem, stained with soot, and smelled of smoke. Her hair was wild.

But she didn’t look weak.

Behind her, Four Tails (White, Silver, Gold, and Green) fanned out like a peacock’s display, glowing brightly in the dark room.

The Panthers hissed. Malachi jumped back. Lady Verna’s ears flattened.

Primrose walked into the room like she owned the building. She didn’t look at the floor; she looked Malachi dead in the eye.

"Who is this?" Lady Verna demanded, standing up. "How dare you enter the War Room, outsider!"

"I’m the Outsider you were just talking about," Primrose said pleasantly.

She walked up to Lucien and linked her arm through his. It was a possessive gesture. A statement. He is with me.

"I’m Primrose," she introduced herself. "I’m the Spirit Fox. I’m the fiancée of the Sea King. I’m the best friend of the Tiger General, the princess of the empire. And..."

She looked at Malachi, her eyes flashing gold.

"...I’m the Nanny."

Malachi scoffed, though he looked uneasy at the sight of her tails. "A nanny? You expect us to fear a babysitter?"

"You should," Primrose smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was a smile full of teeth.

"Because I heard you mention Silas."

She let go of Lucien and took a step toward Malachi. The shadows in the room reacted to her presence, warping around her fox-fire.

"Silas isn’t a weapon," Primrose said softly. "He’s a five-year-old boy who likes marshmallows and is afraid of the dark. And if you try to re-educate him..."

She summoned a vine from her Green Tail. It shot out faster than a cobra, wrapping around Malachi’s wine glass and crushing it to dust in his hand.

CRUNCH.

Malachi yelped, dropping the glass shards.

"If you touch him," Primrose finished, her voice sweet and deadly, "I won’t just flay you. I will plant a cactus in your lungs and water it every day."

Silence. Absolute silence.

Even Lucien looked a little impressed (and terrified).

"Now," Primrose clapped her hands, the scary aura vanishing instantly. "We are tired. We are hungry. And the children need a bedtime story. So, if you’re done posturing, we’ll be taking dinner in the main hall."

She turned to Lucien.

"Coming, Your Grace?"

Lucien looked at his shocked cousin. He looked at his furious aunt.

Then, a slow, smug smirk spread across his face.

"Yes," Lucien said. "I believe I am."

He offered Primrose his arm.

As they walked out, leaving the stunned Panthers behind, Lucien leaned down.

"A cactus?" he whispered. "That is... creative."

"I was improvising," Primrose whispered back. "My knees are shaking. Did it work?"

"Malachi is currently checking his chest for seeds," Lucien noted. "It worked perfectly."

While Primrose was threatening the Council, the Crepusci Estate’s elite security force—the Night Watch—was having a very bad day.

The Night Watch consisted of twenty highly trained panther assassins. They were invisible in the dark. They were silent. They were deadly.

Currently, they were being lectured.

General Rajah was walking down the line of trembling assassins like a drill sergeant. His orange tiger stripes were glowing in the twilight, making him a terrifying beacon of fire in the gloomy courtyard.

"Call this a perimeter?" Rajah barked, stopping in front of a Shadow Guard. "I could breach this wall with a spoon! Stand up straight, soldier! Your slouch is disgracing your ancestors!"

The assassin, a terrifying killer named shade-walker, whimpered and straightened his spine. "Yes, sir!"

"And you!" Rurik roared, pointing his massive axe at the Captain of the Guard.

Rurik was currently sitting on top of a priceless gargoyle statue. He kicked the stone wing.

CRACK.

The gargoyle’s wing snapped off.

"Your stone is brittle," Rurik critiqued, tossing the debris aside. "If a Void Beast attacks, this gargoyle becomes shrapnel. I am doing you a favor by destroying it."

"That... that was a 500-year-old sculpture of the First Duke," the Captain whispered, horrified.

"It was ugly," Rurik shrugged. "Now it’s gravel. You’re welcome."

Leonora sat on a bench nearby, polishing her dagger. She looked at the terrified assassins.

"Don’t mind them," Leonora said casually. "The Tiger just likes order, and the Wolf likes... breaking things. If you want them to stop, just tell us where the armory is. We need to upgrade your defenses before the Boss arrives."

The Captain looked at the Tiger General (who was currently correcting a guard’s grip on a spear) and the Wolf Lord (who was now trying to pull a tree out of the ground just to see if he could).

"The armory is in the cellar," the Captain surrendered immediately. "Please don’t break the tree."

Deep inside the estate, Archduke Cassian had ditched the group immediately.

He didn’t care about bedrooms. He didn’t care about food.

He stood in front of the Great Library of the Night.

The doors were sealed with heavy shadow magic. A sign carved in obsidian read: FORBIDDEN. ONLY THE BLOOD OF CREPUSCI MAY ENTER.

Cassian adjusted his glasses. He smiled. It was the smile of a man who viewed Forbidden as a suggestion.

"Blood ward," Cassian muttered, analyzing the purple runes pulsating on the door. "Tied to a genetic marker. Clever. But..."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial.

It contained a single drop of blood he had collected from Silas earlier (when the boy scraped his knee getting out of the carriage. Cassian was a healer; he never wasted a sample).

"Science," Cassian whispered, "always beats tradition."

He poured the drop of blood onto the lock.

CLICK.

The massive doors groaned open.

Cassian stepped inside. The library was magnificent. Endless rows of black bookshelves spiraled up into the darkness. Scrolls of forbidden shadow magic, history books on the Void, and ancient bestiaries filled the shelves.

"Jackpot," Cassian hissed in delight.

He didn’t notice the shadow-spirit floating behind him, raising a spectral dagger.

Without looking back, Cassian snapped his fingers.

A rune of Green Light flashed. The spirit shrieked and dissolved into smoke.

"I am trying to read," Cassian said coldly, pulling a book titled The History of the Void Wars off the shelf. "Do not disturb the scholar."

He sat down at a desk, surrounded by darkness, and began to read. He had to find out what killed Silas’s parents. And he had to find out what the Boss really was.

In the kitchens, the staff of silent, grey-robed servants were frozen in terror.

Jax was standing at the stove. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He was chopping onions with military precision.

Luna was stirring a massive pot of stew.

"Um," the Head Chef whispered, peeking out from behind a pantry door. "Guests... are not allowed... to cook."

"Listen, buddy," Jax said, pointing the knife at him (politely). "We have a Wolf Cub who eats every two hours, a Tiger who needs 5,000 calories a day, and a Fish Prince who demands algae-free hydration. If we wait for your fancy 7-course shadow banquet, they will eat the furniture."

Luna smiled sweetly, sprinkling basil into the pot. "Besides, your kitchen is lovely! But you need more carrots. Everyone needs more carrots."

The Head Chef looked at the soldier chopping onions and the bunny humming a tune. They were the most terrifying people in the castle, purely because they were acting normal in a house of horrors.

"I... I will fetch the carrots," the Chef whispered, retreating into the shadows.