Chapter 162 Ovaries

Chapter 162 Ovaries
Ashlyn

Oh my lordy. I think I’ve been dragged into a completely different fairytale today. Not that I’m mad about it. This wedding is obscene, the good kind. The clearing looks like someone took a dream and nailed it to the mountain. Bella and Damien stand together now, hands joined, the legal things finished at last. Thank the gods. I nearly fell asleep during that part, and I would never forgive myself. Then he kissed her, properly kissed her, like the whole mountain could just shut up and deal with it. I swear something in my chest cracked open and started clapping. The dress. Oh. The dress and the tiara? She's radiant, she's happy, she looks like she could level this mountain if someone tried her today. And Damien. Don’t even get me started. No crown, no armour, just him, standing there like the world finally clicked into place and he doesn’t have to hold it together with his teeth anymore. He’s looking at her like he’s been bracing his whole life for this moment, and now that it’s here, he’s not moving an inch. I clock the way his hand tightens around hers, then loosens again, like he’s checking himself, like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to touch her and keep touching her. If this is the standard, we’re all doomed.
I sneak a look to my right because apparently today is about other people too, and there’s Paul, all tall and dragon and trying very hard to look like a man who is not deeply affected by romance. He is failing. Spectacularly. His eyes are still on Bella and Damien, and his jaw is set in that way it does when his emotions start vibrating under his skin. I am a menace, I know that full well as I reach down and slip my hand into his. Just like that. No warning. Just fingers sliding into warmth. His head snaps toward me. Then his eyes drop to our hands. He lifts them slowly, bringing them up between us as if proximity will help him understand what’s happening. Shock hits first, then awe, then his chest pulls in on a breath that never quite comes back out. And then he purrs. The kind of sound that goes straight to places you cannot talk about in polite company.
I grin at him, unapologetic. “You good there, dragon?”
He nods once, sharp and obedient, still staring at our hands. I squeeze his fingers just to watch him swallow.

Behind us, the crowd cheers; laughter spills through the clearing, hands clap, people call out blessings and congratulations. Bella laughs, breathless, and Damien leans down to murmur something in her ear that makes her smile soften. They turn together, still holding hands, and start back down the aisle as one unit, and I feel it then, properly. That tug in the chest. That stupid, inconvenient warmth. If I ever have a wedding. One that isn’t arranged, or political, or forced at swordpoint. If I ever choose it. I want it to look like this.
“Now we get to the fun stuff,” I whisper to Paul.
He nods like I’ve given him a command he’s been waiting for all day. Red lifts her chin from the front, eyes scanning the crowd, and when she gives a short, decisive nod, the tension breaks. People start moving, and the mountain exhales. We follow the flow down from the clearing, lantern light trailing behind us, voices rising and overlapping as everyone starts talking at once. The walk toward the overlook is a blur of colour and sound. Music starts up somewhere ahead, and the air opens wide as the trees thin and the view stretches out. The valley spreads below us, roofs catching the light, smoke curling in lazy lines, and people slow without being told, drawn to the edge as if it’s part of the ceremony, too. Bella and Damien pause there, letting everyone gather. He leans in close to her, his hand settling at her back, and I catch the way her shoulders drop when he does, like her body finally believes it’s safe to rest. Paul stays close to me without crowding. His hand never leaves mine. Every now and then, his thumb brushes over my knuckles, like he’s checking that I’m still there. I don’t comment on it. I just let it happen.

At the hearth hall, it turns properly chaotic. Tables stretch the length of the space, already groaning under the weight of food. Lanterns line the walls, throwing warm light over stone and timber, and someone has already started dancing in the open space near the fire with absolutely no music and even less shame. Bella gets mobbed immediately. She's been hugged, congratulated, and touched gently on the arm and shoulder, as if people need proof she’s real. Damien hovers close, stepping in smoothly when she needs a second, stepping back when she doesn’t. He's a good dragon to her. I snag a drink from a passing tray and drag Paul with me toward the edge of the room, where I can see everything without being in the middle of it. He leans back against the wall, all solid warmth and quiet attention, watching the room like he’s mapping exits and counting threats even now.
“You can relax,” I tell him. “No one’s attacking the wedding.”
He huffs softly. “Habit.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “You okay?”
His gaze flicks to Bella and Damien, then back to me. “I am,” he says, and this time it’s simple. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know it could look like this.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s annoying.”
He smiles at that, slow and genuine, and for a second the noise fades, and it’s just us standing there, oh, and the future doing that thing where it taps politely at the door. Bella catches my eye from across the hall. She lifts her glass slightly in my direction, a silent thank you wrapped in gold and joy. I lift mine back, heart doing something stupid and soft. This is what it looks like when someone makes it out. The music swells properly then, fiddles and drums finding each other at last, and the dancing starts. Bella lets herself be pulled into it, skirt flashing gold as she moves, Damien laughing openly now, no restraint left in him at all. The crowd closes in around them, celebration thick and loud and alive. I drain my drink and set it aside, then tug Paul forward by the hand.
“Come on,” I say. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly.”
He raises a brow. “Dancing?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
He lets me pull him into the open space, awkward at first, then loosening as the rhythm catches him. His hands find my waist, careful, checking in, and I lean into it. Around us, the feast roars. Above us, the lanterns glow. Somewhere behind it all, the mountain stands solid and quiet, holding the weight of a promise kept. This wedding is beautiful, the dress is perfect, and my ovaries are screaming like they’ve spotted a life goal.