Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 74: The Almost-Kiss and the Glue Trap

When I finally unlocked the door to my apartment, I felt like I had gone ten rounds with Rurik. My hair was escaping its bun, my dress had an ink stain on the hem (Ellia’s doing), and my soul felt heavy.

I walked into the living room, expecting chaos.

Instead, I found peace.

Prince Orion was sitting on the floor, surrounded by blocks. He was building a structure that looked suspiciously like the Royal Palace of the Deep.

Caspian was sitting on the loveseat, watching him. He had found one of my old books—Architectural Digest: 100 Best Castles—and was reading it with intense focus. He looked ridiculously domestic in his black trousers and a loose white shirt I had borrowed from Rurik (which was still tight on his shoulders).

"Angle of support is insufficient," Caspian murmured, pointing at Orion’s tower. "The load-bearing wall needs reinforcement."

"But Papa," Orion argued, placing a red block. "Triangles are the strongest shape!"

"Triangles do not account for currents, Orion. Use the square blocks for the base."

I leaned against the doorframe, smiling despite my exhaustion. "Is this Advanced Architecture for Toddlers?"

They both looked up.

"Primrose!" Orion cheered, knocking over his tower in his haste to stand up. He wobbled over on his new legs and hugged my knees. "You are back! Did the Lion eat you?"

"Almost," I laughed, ruffling his hair. "But I’m tougher than I look."

I looked at Caspian. He closed the book and stood up. The movement was fluid, graceful. The corruption on his neck was faint today, barely a grey shadow under his collar.

"Welcome home, Neighbor," Caspian said. His voice was warm, like a low tide coming in. "You look... battle-worn."

"Lady Ellia is a menace," I admitted, flopping onto the couch he had just vacated. "She throws books. She bites. And she has absolutely no respect for porcelain. But," I cracked my knuckles, "I’m not quitting. I need that Treaty."

Caspian sat down next to me. Close. Not touching, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him.

"Orion," Caspian said without looking away from me. "Go wash your hands. It is almost dinner time."

"Yes, Papa!" Orion saluted and waddled off to the bathroom.

We were alone. The room felt suddenly smaller.

"How is the shoulder?" I asked, looking at his collarbone. "Is the soup working?"

"It is... stable," Caspian said. He shifted slightly, turning to face me. "The pain is manageable. But I find myself distracted by other things."

"Like what?" I asked, genuinely curious. "The wobbly table leg? The leak in the faucet?"

"No," Caspian murmured. He reached out. His hand, cool and large, brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face. "Like the fact that you are fighting a war for my kingdom, while I sit on your floral couch."

My breath hitched. His fingers lingered on my cheek. His touch was gentle, reverent.

"I’m not fighting for your kingdom," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I’m fighting for my friends. And... and for you."

Caspian’s eyes darkened. The teal shifted to a deep, stormy blue.

He leaned in.

The air between us crackled with static—a mix of his water magic and my own frantic heartbeat. I saw his gaze drop to my lips. I saw the intent.

He’s going to kiss me.

Panic flared in my chest. Not because I didn’t want it—oh, I wanted it—but because it was too much. Too fast. Too real. I was just a transmigrator. A fake fox. He was a King.

I looked away. I turned my head toward the kitchen, my eyes fixing on the toaster.

Caspian paused. I felt him hesitate.

But he didn’t pull back.

Instead, I felt soft, warm lips press against my cheek, right near the corner of my mouth.

It wasn’t a demand. It was a promise.

He pulled back slowly, his thumb brushing my jaw one last time.

"Thank you, Primrose," he whispered, his voice husky. "For everything."

I stood up so fast I almost knocked over the coffee table. My face was burning hot.

"Right!" I squeaked. "Dinner! Food! Sustenance! I’m going to make... pasta! Yes. Pasta is good."

I fled to the kitchen. Behind me, I heard the King of the Deep chuckle softly.

---

The Royal Palace (The Next Morning)

I walked into the West Wing feeling refreshed, determined, and still slightly flustered from the cheek-kiss incident.

Focus, Primrose, I told myself. Luna is handling the daycare. Caspian is handling the apartment. You just need to handle the demon child.

I unlocked the heavy ironwood doors.

"Good morning, Lady Ellia!" I called out cheerfully, stepping inside. "I hope you’re ready for—"

SQUELCH.

My right foot landed on the rug. And stayed there.

I tried to lift my left foot.

SQUELCH.

Stuck.

I looked down. The entire Persian rug was coated in a thick, translucent, sticky substance.

"Glue," I sighed. "Really? That’s a classic."

"It’s not just glue!" a voice crowed from the chandelier.

I looked up. Ellia was swinging from the crystal fixture like a monkey.

"It’s Tree-Sap from the Whispering Woods!" Ellia shouted gleefully. "It doesn’t come off for a week! You’re trapped, Nanny! Trapped forever!"

She pulled a lever on the wall (which I hadn’t noticed before).

Click.

A bucket rigged above the door tipped over.

I saw it coming. Feathers. Thousands of white goose feathers.

POOF.

I was buried in a blizzard of down.

I stood there, glued to the floor, covered in sap and feathers, looking like a giant, angry chicken.

Ellia laughed so hard she almost fell off the chandelier.

"You look ridiculous!" she howled. "Like a plucked Gryphon! Go home, Feather-Face! You lose!"

I wiped a feather from my eyelashes. I looked up at the cackling Lion Cub.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry.

I smiled. And it was the smile of a woman who had raised a Tiger, a Wolf, and a Snake.

"Okay," I said calmly, ripping my foot off the rug with a loud RIP. "You want to play ’Sticky Traps’?"

I reached into my satchel (which was thankfully feather-free). I pulled out a jar.

"I brought Homemade Caramel," I announced. "I was going to teach you how to make candy apples. But since you like sticky things so much..."

I opened the jar. The smell of burnt sugar and vanilla filled the room.

Ellia stopped laughing. She sniffed.

"Caramel?" she whispered.

I took a spoon. I dipped it into the jar. I let the golden, gooey ribbon drip slowly back into the jar.

"It’s so sticky," I mused. "And so sweet. But since you glued me to the floor... I guess I’ll just have to eat it all myself while I wait for the solvent crew."

I put the spoon in my mouth. "Mmm. Chewy."

Ellia stared. She looked at the sap on the floor. She looked at the caramel.

She let go of the chandelier and dropped to the floor (avoiding the rug).

"That’s not fair!" she shouted, stomping her foot. "You’re cheating!"

"All is fair in love and war, kid," I said, offering her a clean spoon. "Now. Help me scrape this sap off my shoes, and I’ll give you a scoop."

Ellia hesitated. Greed battled with pride.

Greed won.

She grabbed a scraper. "Fine. But I still hate you."

"I know," I said, handing her the spoon. "Now scrape faster. I have feathers in my teeth."