Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 90: The Mercy of the Lion

Five Days Later. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

The West Wing smelled of lavender, hot iron, and high-stakes anxiety.

Today was the Grand Fitting. The dress—the armor Ellia would wear to face the Empire—had arrived.

To support her through this ordeal, Lady Ellia had exercised her new authority to invite guests. Not stuffy nobles or gossiping duchesses, but her Pack.

Luna sat on a velvet stool, holding a basket of calming muffins.

Clover sat on the floor, clutching her Safety Rock and staring wide-eyed at the chandeliers.

"It is very shiny here," Clover whispered to me. "Is the ceiling made of diamonds?"

"Crystal," I whispered back, adjusting my apron. "But don’t tell Rurik, or he’ll try to eat it."

Grand Duke Bastion stood by the window, looking nervous. He was currently pacing back and forth, muttering about hem lengths and political implications of lace.

"The color must be Imperial Gold," Bastion muttered. "But not too gold, or the Emperor will think we are challenging his authority. But not yellow, or she will look like a canary."

"Bastion, breathe," I said. "It’s a dress, not a siege engine."

"In this court, Primrose," Bastion said gravely, "there is no difference."

The doors opened. The Royal Seamstress, Madame Vane, swept in.

She was a nervous Arachnid Kin (Spider). She was short and round, with six arms that moved in a blur of nervous energy. Her upper pair of hands clasped a clipboard, her middle pair held a pin-cushion, and her lower pair smoothed the fabric of her skirt.

Her eyes were hidden behind thick, multi-lensed spectacles that magnified her four blinking black eyes, darting around the room as if looking for a predator.

Behind her, two assistants carried a mannequin covered in a heavy silk sheet.

"Your Grace," Madame Vane curtsied low—a complicated maneuver involving all six arms and a lot of knees. "I present... the gown."

She whipped the sheet off with her middle arms.

It was breathtaking.

The dress was a masterpiece of gold and ivory silk. The bodice was embroidered with tiny lions made of seed pearls. The skirt flowed like liquid sunlight. It was regal, elegant, and undeniably powerful.

"Oh," Luna gasped, clapping her hands. "It’s beautiful! You’ll look like a princess from a storybook!"

Clover’s ears twitched. "Sparkly."

Ellia walked around the dress. She didn’t smile. She circled it like a predator inspecting a trap. Her training with Giselle—and her own instincts honed by years of isolation—had made her sharp.

"It is... adequate," Ellia said coolly, channeling her inner Countess.

"Adequate?" Madame Vane squeaked, her mandibles clicking nervously. "My Lady, this is the finest silk from the Southern Weavers. It was commissioned specially by the... ah... the House of Viper."

I frowned. The House of Viper? That was the Snake Clan noble family. Rivals to the Lions (and natural predators of Spiders). Since when did they send gifts?

"Try it on, my flower," Bastion encouraged. "We must check the fit."

Ellia stepped onto the podium. The assistants moved to help her into the gown.

As the silk touched her skin, Ellia froze.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t scream. She simply went perfectly still.

Her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared slightly.

She recognized the sensation. It wasn’t just scratchy. It was a subtle, burning tingle. Like the air before a lightning strike. Or like the stinging nettles that grew in the dark corners of the garden.

Itching Silk.

A nasty, alchemical trick. Fabric treated with crushed nettles and fire-ant dust. If she wore this for an hour, her skin would break out in angry red welts. She would be scratching herself like a flea-bitten dog in the middle of the ballroom.

She would be humiliated. The nobles would laugh. The feral child. The monster who can’t stop scratching.

The old Ellia—the one possessed by the Void—would have exploded. She would have set the dress on fire. She would have screamed and thrown the Spider-woman out the window.

But this was the new Ellia.

She looked at me.

I saw the recognition in her eyes. I saw the anger.

Don’t explode, I signaled with my eyes. Use your training.

Ellia took a deep breath. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out her lace fan.

SNAP.

The sound cracked through the room like a whip.

Madame Vane jumped, all six of her arms flailing. "My Lady?"

Ellia didn’t speak. She held the fan over the lower half of her face—the Shield.

Then, she tapped the closed fan against her left wrist, three times.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Code Red. Danger. Guards.

Bastion frowned, confused. But I knew.

I stepped forward. "General Rajah’s men," I called out to the hallway. "Enter."

The doors burst open. Two Lion Guards marched in.

"Secure the room," Ellia said. Her voice wasn’t loud. It was ice cold. She lowered the fan.

"My Lady?" Madame Vane trembled, her multiple eyes widening in terror. "What is the meaning of this?"

"The dress," Ellia said calmly, pointing at the golden silk with her fan. "It is poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Bastion roared, his fatherly panic instantly transforming into Warlord rage. "What?"

"Itching Silk," Ellia diagnosed, stepping off the podium. "Treated with nettles. Who paid you, Madame Vane? Was it the Vipers? Or maybe the Hyenas?"

Madame Vane turned pale. She backed away on skittering legs. "I... I don’t know what you mean! It is the finest quality—"

"Liar," Ellia snapped the fan shut. The Sword.

"I can smell the alchemical fixative," Ellia said. "Do you think I am stupid? Do you think I am a child you can torture for a bag of gold?"

Madame Vane looked at the guards. She looked at the furious Grand Duke. She broke.

"They forced me!" the seamstress wailed, falling to her knees (all of them). "Lady Viper... she said if I didn’t treat the lining, she would ruin my shop! She said she would burn my webs! She said the Wild Cub deserved to be taught a lesson!"

"Take her away!" Bastion thundered, his hands glowing with mana. "Throw her in the dungeon! I will have her head for this treason!"

The guards grabbed the spider seamstress. She sobbed, terrifying Clover, who hid behind Luna’s legs.

"Wait."

The single word stopped everyone.

Ellia walked forward. She stood over the weeping Arachnid.

"Papa," Ellia said, looking at Bastion. "Do not kill her."

Bastion blinked. "Ellia, she tried to hurt you. She tried to humiliate you before the entire Empire."

"She is a pawn," Ellia said, using a term she had learned from Caspian’s chess lessons. "If we kill her, the Vipers will just hire another one. And another. And the floor will get very slippery with blood."

She looked at the seamstress.

"You have twenty-four hours," Ellia said coldly.

"M-my Lady?"

"Take this dress back," Ellia ordered. "Remove the lining. Replace it with the softest, purest silk you can find. Double the embroidery. Make it perfect."

She leaned down, her golden eyes flashing.

"If I feel a single itch... then my father can visit your shop. Do we understand each other?"

Madame Vane nodded frantically, weeping with relief. "Yes! Yes, My Lady! I will work all night! It will be flawless!"

"Go," Ellia dismissed her with a wave of her fan. The Exile.

The guards dragged the seamstress (and the dress) out.

The room fell silent.

Bastion stared at his daughter. He looked like he had just seen a ghost—or a queen.

"You showed mercy," Bastion whispered. "Why?"

Ellia looked at me. She looked at Luna and Clover.

"Because Primrose says that true strength is control," Ellia said simply. "And because... I didn’t want to scare Clover."

Clover peeked out from behind Luna. "I’m not scared! You were like a superhero! Snap! Tap! Go away!"

Ellia smiled. A real, small smile.

"Well," I exhaled, feeling my heart rate return to normal. "That was dramatic. Good catch, Ellia."

"I have good instincts," Ellia shrugged. "The Void made me paranoid. But now... I use it."

She walked over to the window, looking out at the capital city.

"Papa," she said.

"Yes, my Lion?"

"I don’t want to go to the Ball alone," she said. "I mean, I know you will be there. And Primrose. But... it’s going to be full of people like Madame Vane. People who hate me. People who want me to fail."

She turned around.

"I want my Pack."

Bastion frowned. "Your Pack?"

Ellia pointed to Luna and Clover.

"I want to invite Little Whiskers Daycare to the Debutante Ball."

Bastion hesitated. "Ellia... the Ball is a formal event for high nobility. The Daycare is... well, it is a daycare. Full of... rambunctious commoner children."

"They are not commoners!" Ellia stomped her foot. "Arjun is a Tiger Lord! Vali is a Wolf Lord! And Caspian is a King! They outrank half the people in that room!"

She crossed her arms.

"Besides. If anyone tries to poison my soup, Arjun will smell it. And if anyone is mean to me, Vali will bite their ankles. I need them."

She looked at me, pleading.

"Primrose? Can they come? Please?"

I looked at Bastion. He looked conflicted. Bringing a chaotic group of cubs to the stiffest event of the year was political suicide.

But then, he looked at Ellia’s face. The hope. The confidence.

"If the Princess invites them," Bastion sighed, a smile tugging at his lips, "then they shall receive Royal Invitations."

"Yes!" Ellia cheered, high-fiving Clover (who didn’t really understand, but high-fived back anyway).

"Oh dear," Luna laughed nervously. "I need to find a dress. Do bunnies wear ballgowns?"

"We will find you the best dress!" Ellia promised. "But check the lining first."

I watched them, smiling.

The Daycare was going to the Palace.

Arjun in a tuxedo? Vali in a bow tie? Caspian in formal wear? The other cubs as well?

It was going to be a disaster.

But it was going to be our disaster.