h4Chapter 305: The Day Before Forever/h4

    strongZane~/strong

    After the chaos that was The Parade of Eternal Insanityplete with fire-breathing doves, fortune-telling grannies, floating heart-shaped raindrops, and someone literally proposing to his mate in the crowd—I finally made it to our room. Our sanctuary. A little slice of calm in the middle of a world that had clearly lost its collective mind.

    Natalie was already under the covers, her hair a soft halo against the pillows, her smile still carrying the aftershocks of the day’s madness. Between us, snuggled like a victorious puppy who’d just conquered bedtime, was our son—Alexander. Out cold. One arm flung across my chest like he owned me. He’d fallen asleep halfway through an enthusiastic speech about turning into a dragon at the next parade. Because apparently we do those now.

    I nced over at Natalie, that little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth making my heart lurch in that familiar, hopelessly-in-love way.

    "We survived that, right?" I whispered. "Like... we’re not dead and trapped in some kind of glittery wolf-themed afterlife?"

    She snorted. "If this was the afterlife, Sebastian would’ve been yeeted out the second he leapt onto our carriage yelling ’I OBJECT!’ "

    Iughed. "Don’t give him ideas. He’s probably already drafting tomorrow’s chaos. Something with confetti cannons and interpretive dance."

    Natalie rolled her eyes and scooted closer, her forehead resting gently against mine. "Honestly? I wouldn’t even be mad. The man’s too dramatic to stay mad at. It’s like getting mad at a mboyant tornado."

    I grinned. "I prefer your kind of drama."

    "Oh yeah?" she teased.

    "Yeah," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering a little too long. "The kind where you flirt with your mate until he forgets how to form sentences."

    Sheughed under her breath, eyes sparkling. "Zane..."

    "Mm?"

    "You’re doing it again."

    "Doing what?"

    "The swoony prince thing."

    I gave the most non-apologetic shrug ever. "Can’t help it. You make me want to write painfully bad poetry. Like—iroses are red, violets are blue, if anyone flirts with you next tomorrow, I will personally w out their—"/i

    "ZANE!" she whisper-yelled, trying not to wake Alexander, but giggling way too hard to be effective.

    From the bundle of nkets between us came a sleepy groan. One eye cracked open.

    "Are you kissing again?" Alexander mumbled, clearly offended by the injustice of not being included.

    I blinked. Natalie bit her lip.

    "Maybe..." she cooed innocently.

    Still half-asleep, he grinned. "I want kisses too."

    Cue heart explosion.

    We both dove in without hesitation, smothering him with kiss attacks from either side.

    "One for every freckle," I said, peppering his cheeks.

    "And one for every heroic deed today," Natalie added, dramatic as ever.

    "Which was like... twelve," I said,pletely making it up.

    "Stop!" Alexander squealed, trying to burrow deeper under the covers. "Too many!"

    Natalie gasped. "Never!" She struck a gant pose. "For honor! For justice! For bedtime snuggles!"

    We all copsed into a fit ofughter, tangled up in sheets, arms, legs, and pure joy. It was messy and real and ridiculously perfect.

    Eventually, the giggles faded. Alex drifted off again, one tiny arm curled around Natalie’s waist like he never wanted to let go.

    I shifted closer and gently rested my palm on Natalie’s stomach, right over the spot where our tiniest miracle was growing—quiet, hidden, and full of potential.

    "Hey there, little one," I whispered, voice barely audible. "You awake in there?"

    Natalie smiled, eyes soft, and ced her hand over mine. "I think they’re listening."

    Alexander, somehow not fully asleep, peeked open one eye again. "Do you think it’s a girl or a boy?"

    Natalie tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... I think it’s a baby who won’t steal cookies before dinner."

    He gasped like she’d betrayed the veryws of childhoodi. "Traitor!"/i

    I smirked. "You are the cookie thief, bud."

    "Am not!"

    "Are too."

    "AM NOT!"

    I tickled him in retaliation. "Confess!"

    Laughter exploded again as he squirmed and iled beneath the covers. Finally, he conked out for real this time, his breath evening out into soft, steady rhythms.

    I wrapped them both in my arms—my wildflower-scented wife, my dragon-in-training son, and the heartbeat we couldn’t yet see but already loved more than life.

    No press. No screaming fans. No thrones or wars or inherited empires.

    Just us. Tucked into this messy little bubble of magic we’d built together.

    I buried my nose in Natalie’s hair, inhaling that familiar mix of moonlight and mischief, and whispered against her skin, "You know something?"

    "Hm?"

    "I’ve never felt richer."

    Not with the billions in mypany.

    Not with the kingdom I was born to.

    This right here? iThis/i was everything.

    And I wasn’t giving it up for the world.

    strong*******/strong

    The next morning was a battlefield. I swear, I’ve never been hunted so viciously, not even during a rogue attack.

    And the enemy?

    iWedding nners./i

    I woke up alone in my bed, my arms instinctively reaching for Natalie and Alex—only to find empty sheets.

    Then the door banged open, and in marched at least six people, all dressed in crisp royal uniforms and each more determined than thest.

    "Your Highness," snapped a woman holding a clipboard like it was a weapon. "Today is rehearsal and preparation. The bride and groom must not see each other until the ceremony."

    I blinked. "Wait—what?"

    I sat up, instantly alert. "Where’s Natalie and Alexander?"

    She didn’t even look up. "Prince Alexander has gone to school while Princess Natalie was escorted to her chambers an hour ago. You’ll reunite at sunset tomorrow."

    Tomorrow?

    strongTOMORROW?!/strong

    I shot up like I’d been struck by lightning. "No. Nope. I demand a retrial. Or a pardon. Or whatever royal loophole gets me out of this nonsense."

    "Sir," she said with the weariness of someone who’d dealt with too many royal tantrums before breakfast.

    "This is medieval." I yelled.

    She didn’t miss a beat. "You are a werewolf prince, sir. This iis/i medieval."

    I groaned and dragged both hands down my face. "Can I at least text her?"

    "No."

    "Mind-link?"

    "No."

    "Yell her name dramatically into the wind like a tragic romantic hero?"

    There was a pause.

    "...Technically yes, but please don’t."

    Before I could argue the logistics of balcony acoustics, the door swung open and in glided Sebastian—wearing a silk robe, blood in a wine ss, sunsses indoors, and an expression that screamed ’I’m here to start trouble and look fabulous doing it.’

    "Morning, sunshine," he purred. "Ready to be tortured in the name of eternal love?"

    I squinted at him. "I will personally burn this kingdom to the ground."

    Sebastian sipped loudly from his ridiculous straw. "Ah, there it is. That pre-wedding homicidal glow."

    He copsed onto my couch like a royal cat, limbs draped everywhere, ignoring the instructor’s scandalized re like she was background furniture.

    "Now," she said sharply, straightening her clipboard, "we begin with royal posture."

    Sebastian leaned toward me, voice low and gleeful. "This’ll be good. Zane has the posture of a bored viin waiting for the hero to monologue."

    I shot him a withering look. "I am the bored viin. And you’re making me monologue."

    "Tragic," he said, lifting his cup like a toast. "Now stand up, lover boy. Time to learn how not to facent on your own royal cape."

    And thus began three soul-sucking hours of being prodded, twirled, measured, and emotionally dismantled like some overgrown royal action figure.

    Every time I turned the wrong way, tripped over a boot, or tried to rebel by slouching, Sebastian was there. Pretending to be useless. Secretly being helpful.

    "Left foot, Your Majesty," he muttered behind a yawn before the instructor could snap.

    "Fix your cor," he whispered while pretending to sip from his now-empty cup.

    And when my thoughts drifted—when I slipped out of the moment and into the ache of missing her—he noticed. He always noticed.

    "She’s okay," he murmured quietly, cing a hand on my shoulder. "Probably biting her own stylists."

    I snorted. "That tracks. She did promise violence if anyone tried to tame her curls."

    "She’s your mate. Wild is part of the package."

    Our eyes met for a moment—no snark, no sarcasm. Just the kind of look that onlyes from surviving hell together.

    "Thanks," I muttered.

    He shrugged. "Always."

    What followed was a parade of torture disguised as wedding prep: hair stylists arguing about my "natural texture" (I said I liked it messy—one fainted), ten different boot fittings, two full rounds of cape twirl training, and an utterly humiliating mock ring handoff where I dropped the ring.

    Twice.

    "Smooth," Sebastian said dryly, not even pretending to hide his smirk. "You proposing to the floor now?"

    "I’m rehearsing humility."

    "Very convincing."

    The day dragged. Every hour without Natalie stretched like taffy—too slow, too long, and a little painful.

    At one point, I passed a hallway and paused—because I swore I heard herugh. Just faintly. Muffled. From behind a closed door.

    I stopped. Pressed my palm against the wood.

    Didn’t say anything.

    Didn’t knock.

    Just stood there, quietly aching.

    By the time I was finally released from the Royal School of Emotional Torture, the sun had dipped toward the horizon. My chambers were quiet. Too quiet.

    The space beside me on the bed? Empty.

    The warmth I’d gotten used to, the chaotic energy that Natalie brought into every room—gone.

    My chest thudded with a hollow kind of rhythm. I know it hadn’t even been a full day yet but I missed herugh.

    I missed her eyes.

    I missed the way she whispered scandalous things in my ear when she knew the guards were pretending not to listen.

    I missed Alexander curling against her, all limbs and mischief and safety.

    I missed home.

    Because that’s what she was.

    Not this bed. Not this crown. Not the ornate ceilings or bloodlines etched into marble.

    Her.

    A knock pulled me from my thoughts.

    "Come in," I said, half-hoping it was her, barefoot and rebellious, here to throw the rules out the window.

    Instead, it was Sebastian.

    Holding a small, velvet box.

    "Your medallion," he said, voice low and steady. "Natalie asked me to give it to you. I think she re-enchanted it—it lights up when you’re near your true mate."

    I stared.

    There it was—gold and silent, its glow pulsing like a heartbeat in the dark, as if it recognized me.

    My fingers reached for it before I even noticed they were shaking.

    This... this was the same medallion that had guided her to me.

    The very thing that whispered across fate to bring us together.

    The glow lit up my palm like a heartbeat.

    "She’s it," I whispered.

    Sebastian nodded, a rare, honest smile on his face. "She always was."

    I held it to my chest, right where the ache lived. Right where she’d carved herself into me like ink in stone.

    Outside, the stars had begun to gather—silent, silver witnesses to whatever tomorrow would bring.

    And I knew.

    No matter what came—no kingdom, no ancient curse, no outdated tradition or cosmic chaos could stop what I was going to say.

    Not now.

    Not ever.

    I looked out into the night, my voice soft but certain.

    "I choose you," I whispered. "Every single day."

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