Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 152: Sugar, Spice, and Secret Threats

The Little Whiskers Daycare wasn’t just loud; it was vibrating.

Between Vali roaring like a monster, Clover thumping her foot on the floorboards, and the magical mixer in the kitchen spinning at top speed, the entire building felt like it was about to take flight.

In the living room, the Council of Cubs was in session. The game was Siege the Castle.

Vali was the Siege Engine. He was wearing a wooden crate on his head and holding a pillow shield.

"Smash the gates!" Vali howled, charging at a fortress made of sofa cushions.

"Hold the line!" Arjun roared back. He was the Commander of the Fort, standing on top of the cushions with a wooden sword.

Silas wasn’t fighting. He was clinging to the ceiling chandelier, dropping shadow bombs (balls of black yarn) onto Vali’s head with silent precision.

In the corner, sitting on a velvet armchair like a tiny king, was Jasper.

The Snake Cub adjusted his silk robes. On his lap, Pickles—the baby Imugi—was fast asleep, curled into a glowing green donut.

"This strategy is messy," Jasper observed calmly, watching Vali face-plant into a cushion. He looked at Orion. "Why does he always announce his attacks? It ruins the element of surprise."

Orion, the Merman Prince, looked up from his book (Diplomacy for Beginners). He didn’t wear glasses—his sea-blue eyes were sharp enough to read fine print in the dark.

"It is Vali," Orion said simply, turning a page. "He believes that if he is loud enough, the enemy will surrender out of annoyance. It is a valid tactic."

"Inefficient," Jasper sighed. He looked down at the baby snake. "We would just bite their ankles in the dark, right Pickles?"

Pickles let out a tiny puff of mint-scented smoke.

"Attack!" Clover suddenly popped out from under a blanket, throwing a handful of glitter she had stolen from the craft drawer.

"Retreat!" Vali coughed, blinded by sparkles. "Magic attack! My eyes! I’m blind!"

It was chaotic. It was messy. And for Jasper... it was the best thing he had ever seen.

While the kids destroyed the living room, Primrose was fighting for her life in the kitchen.

"Flour! I need more flour!" Primrose spun around, her tails acting like extra hands.

Her white tail held a mixing bowl. Her silver tail was wiping the counter. Her gold tail was fanning a tray of hot lemon sponges.

And her new Green Tail... well, it was being a problem.

Every time Primrose got stressed, the green tail would twitch and sprout a random flower. The kitchen floor looked like a meadow had exploded. There were daisies in the sink, dandelions on the floor tiles, and a small vine trying to strangle the toaster.

"Stupid photosynthesis," Primrose grumbled, kicking a pile of petals aside. "Stop growing! I need to focus!"

She was covered in lemon zest and powdered sugar. Leonora’s wedding cake was a beast—five tiers of lemon-elderflower sponge with blackberry filling. It had to be perfect. No poisons. No traps. Just joy.

"You look..." a deep, smooth voice came from the shadows near the pantry. "...deliciously busy."

Primrose jumped, nearly dropping a bag of sugar.

She turned to see Lucien.

The Shadow Lord was leaning against the doorframe. As always, he was dressed in immaculate black robes that seemed to swallow the light. He looked completely out of place in the bright, sunny, flour-dusted kitchen.

"Lucien!" Primrose blew a stray hair out of her face. "Don’t sneak up on a woman armed with a spatula! What do you want? Did Vali break a window? Is the house on fire?"

"The house is intact," Lucien said, pushing off the wall. He glided toward her. He moved so silently it was unnerving. "I came to see if you required assistance."

Primrose laughed, a frantic, stressed sound. "Unless you know how to whip meringue without making it weep, I doubt it. This is precision work, Lucien. It’s chemistry."

"I am good with my hands," Lucien interrupted softly.

He stopped right in front of her. He was close. Too close.

Primrose froze. She looked up at him. Lucien wasn’t smiling—he rarely smiled—but his dark panther eyes were intense. They were fixed on a smudge of white flour on her cheek.

He reached out. His gloved thumb brushed the flour away. His touch was incredibly gentle for a man known as the most dangerous assassin in the underworld.

"You are working too hard," Lucien murmured. "Let the royal bakers do this."

"I promised Leo," Primrose said, her voice sounding a little breathless. "It has to be safe. I can’t let the Boss poison the wedding."

"I would never let anything poison you," Lucien said. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop, the shadows stretching toward him like loyal dogs. "I would burn the entire world before I let a single drop of malice touch your plate, Primrose."

Primrose blinked. Okay, that was intense. Classic Lucien.

She remembered Caspian’s constant distance. His polite nobility. Lucien was the opposite—he was right there, in her space, offering to burn the world over a cupcake.

"Right," Primrose laughed nervously, stepping back. "Well, we don’t need to burn the world, just the butter. Can you... hand me that whisk?"

Lucien’s hand lingered in the air for a second before he dropped it.

"Of course," he said.

He grabbed the whisk. But instead of just handing it to her, he walked around the island to stand next to her.

"Show me," Lucien commanded. "How to... frost."

"You want to decorate?" Primrose raised an eyebrow.

"I want to be near you," Lucien corrected simply.

For the next hour, the scariest man in the criminal underworld learned how to pipe buttercream roses. He was surprisingly good at it. His movements were surgical and precise.

But every time Primrose leaned over to check the icing, she could feel his eyes on her. Heavy. Hungry. Waiting.

"The Fish King said in the library," Lucien murmured as he placed a sugar pearl on a cupcake.

Primrose paused, wiping her hands on her apron. "Caspian? What did he say?"

Lucien smirked, dipping his finger in the bowl of frosting. He looked at her, his eyes dark.

"He told the others that he has a ring for you. But he won’t ask you yet. He wants to wait until the war is over. Until the world is safe."

Primrose felt her heart skip a beat. He has a ring? Her face flushed hot. "Oh. That’s... that’s very noble of him."

"Noble," Lucien scoffed softly. He stepped closer, trapping her against the counter. "It is foolish. There is no such thing as a safe world, Primrose. We could die tomorrow."

He leaned down, his voice a velvet whisper against her ear.

"If it were me... I wouldn’t wait for the war to end. I would make you mine in the middle of the battlefield. I would claim you while the world burned, just to make sure the gods knew who you belonged to."

Primrose’s face went as red as a strawberry. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak.

Before she could respond, the door creaked open.

Luna stood in the hallway, clutching the fabric of her dress.

Inside her pocket, the black box felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The dried Blue Coast Lily. The note.

I’ll save a dance for you.

She felt sick. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run into the kitchen and throw the box on the table and tell Primrose everything.

He’s coming. He’s going to ruin it. He’s going to hurt us.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen doorway.

"Prim?" Luna called out, her voice shaky.

"Not now, Luna!" Primrose shouted. She was flushed red, looking flustered, while Lucien stood next to her looking smug. "I mean—yes, Luna? What is it?"

Luna looked at them. Primrose looked... alive. Flustered, happy, overwhelmed with life.

And tomorrow was Leonora’s wedding. The Lioness had been waiting years for this day.

If Luna told them about the note now, the happiness would die. The panic would start. Rurik would flood the place with guards. The wedding would turn into a military operation. Primrose wouldn’t finish the cake; she would be sharpening her daggers.

He wants us to be scared, Luna realized. He sent it to me because he knows I’m the weak link. He wants me to make them miserable.

Luna’s hand tightened on the box in her pocket. She couldn’t be the one to ruin this. Not yet.

"Luna?" Primrose asked, concerned now. "Are you okay? You look pale."

Luna forced a smile. It felt brittle, like dried leaves.

"No," Luna lied. "Just... checking if you needed help. But it looks like you have a sous-chef."

Primrose rolled her eyes at Lucien, though her cheeks were still pink. "I have a hindrance. He keeps trying to dye the frosting black."

"Black is elegant," Lucien defended.

"It’s a wedding, not a funeral!"

Luna backed away. "I’ll... I’ll tell you later. After the cake is done."

She turned and walked away, leaving the warmth of the kitchen behind. She would let them have one more night of peace.