CHAPTER 177: BOBBY MCFERRIN - DON’T WORRY, BE HAPPY

Gabriel gave a breathy chuckle and spread his arms wide as if Damien had just accused him of kicking puppies. "Don’t worry," he said, his tone dripping with artificial innocence. "I admit defeat, Your Highness. The day is yours." He paused dramatically, then added, "But I would like you to meet some of the guests. I did invite them all this way from far away. It would be dreadfully rude not to."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "I still don’t know what you’re up to. And if you think for one second that I believe that bullshit, you must think me naïve."

"Oh, Damien, I’ve never thought you naïve. Impulsive, maybe. Reckless? Absolutely. But never naïve."

As they moved deeper into the crowd, the music playing behind them shifted to something more upbeat. The crowd was high on joy, on wine, and on gossip.

Gabriel, meanwhile, was on a mission. One Damien had failed to sniff out until it was almost too late. With the grace of a seasoned puppeteer, Gabriel steered Damien through clusters of guests, introducing him to dignitaries, royals, and aristocrats. Each introduction took no more than a few minutes—just enough for a handshake, a chuckle, and some vague pleasantries.

"Your Highness, may I present Lady Virella of the Crimson Lakes."

Damien shook her hand and forced a smile, already pulling away as Gabriel dragged him toward the next guest.

And the next.

And the next.

It wasn’t until about twenty minutes into this charade that Damien’s brain caught up to what his instincts had been screaming all along: every single person Gabriel had introduced him to was a woman. Not just women—eligible, powerful women. And every single time, Gabriel ensured they shook hands. Flesh to flesh. Palm to palm.

What the hell was he trying to do?

Damien’s hackles rose, but his face remained impassive, charming even. He was a prince. A royal. And royals didn’t pick fights at their own weddings.

Still, his thoughts raced.

Was Gabriel parading these women in front of him to see if something clicked? To see if one of them was his true mate. How could Gabriel have found out then?

Damien turned slightly, just enough to catch Talon’s eye across the square

"Tell me, Lord Gabriel," Damien said as they paused by a fountain. "Why did you invite so many people from far away to my wedding? If you wanted to see them, you could have thrown a party of your own."

Gabriel gave him a sly grin. "Well, I thought it best to help give you a political push using your wedding. You will be king soon. You need allies, you need powerful friends. Not ones loyal to your father, but ones loyal to you."

Damien was still smiling as he leaned in close enough that only Gabriel could hear. "If I find out, Lord Gabriel that you are concocting something sinister, I will personally rearrange your bones."

After more endless handshakes that left his fake smile bordering on serial-killer wide, Damien turned toward his uncle with a smile so plastic it could’ve been carved from a Barbie doll’s face. "I think we should cut the cake now, uncle."

He didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment in Gabriel’s eyes. That slight twitch at the corner of his lips, the barely perceptible narrowing of his pupils.

"Of course," Gabriel replied smoothly. "We will continue later."

Damien gave a tight nod and turned on his heel, spotting Talon lurking two steps behind.

He exhaled as he returned to Luna’s side, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly.

The master of ceremony raised his hands and announced with great flourish, "Ladies and Lords, citizens of Blood City and beyond... it is time for the cutting of the cake!"

Luna was already standing near the table. She caught Damien’s eye and immediately frowned.

"You okay?" she whispered, touching his arm lightly. Her thumb grazed his wrist in that way she knew calmed him.

"Of course," he lied like a well-trained prince, his voice warm but distant. He didn’t want to spoil their moment. Not when she looked this radiant.

Her eyes lingered on his face, reading it. She didn’t believe him, not for a second. But she smiled anyway. "Liar," she mouthed before leaning in and kissing his cheek.

As the crowd counted down—ten, nine, eight—Damien inhaled deeply. If Gabriel had been trying to rattle him with whatever matchmaking scheme he’d cooked up, it had almost worked. But Luna was here now. His wife. His anchor.

"Three... two... one!"

Cheers exploded around them. With fingers intertwined around the ceremonial knife, they sliced through the bottom tier in unison as fireworks shot into the sky and the crowd erupted in applause.

They fed each other small pieces, a bit messy, with Luna smearing a dab on his lip on purpose.

"Oh, it’s war now," Damien said with mock solemnity, licking frosting off his upper lip. "You’ve committed a crime against the crown."

"I’ve got immunity." She winked and grabbed the knife again, slicing off a generous wedge. Damien raised an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?" he asked, already amused.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up a ziplock bag and carefully tucked the slice inside.

"Who is that for?" Damien asked, still watching her like a man who just discovered his bride had secret cake-smuggling habits.

She sealed the bag with a snap.

"A friend," Luna said with a wink, sealing the ziplock bag.

Damien cocked an eyebrow, warily amused. "A friend?"

Luna leaned in, brushing a kiss on his cheek, and whispered, "A friend who wasn’t able to be at my wedding."

Damien’s eyes narrowed. "You’re going to Morvakar, aren’t you?"

She gave a sheepish smile. "I have to go. Will you stay and mingle for a bit more? I’ll see you back at home."

"Luna..."

Her eyes softened. "Just cover for me, please. Tell them the baby tires me out easily." She flashed him a wink.

Damien looked like he wanted to argue—like he should argue—but instead, he sighed dramatically, giving in.

(Let’s take a poll guys. Who do you want to expose Lord Gabriel’s schemes first? Luna, Damien, Kyllian, Morvakar)