Chapter 148 An Acceptable Kidnapping
Bella
Red kidnaps me before I get a moment more of peace. One second, I’m standing in Damien’s arms, and the next, Red has a hand on my elbow, dragging me away. Ashlyn is already walking ahead, talking fast and pointing at a house like she’s marking a target.
“Where are we going?” I ask because I feel like that’s a fair question when someone starts steering you somewhere with purpose.
“Inside,” Red says, like that answers everything. “You can’t plan a wedding in the middle of a crowd.”
“I wasn’t planning anything,” I say.
Ashlyn twists as she walks, eyes wide, a feral grin. “You are now.”
We push through a wooden door, and warmth hits my face immediately. The air inside smells of pine smoke and bread, and of clean wool drying near a hearth. Lantern light glows against timber walls. There’s a long table in the centre with benches on either side, already cleared like someone knew we were coming. Red drops her notepad onto the table with a decisive slap, and Ashlyn kicks off her boots, then reaches into a basket and starts unloading food like we’re about to negotiate peace talks.
“You brought snacks?” I say.
Ashlyn looks offended. “This is planning. Planning requires fuel.”
Red drags a bench out with her boot and points at it.
“Sit.”
I sit, because there are some tones you do not argue with.
“Look at it,” Ashlyn whispers, leaning in to look at the ring once again. “Look at how rude it is.”
“It’s a ring,” I say, and my mouth keeps smiling anyway.
“It’s an entire threat,” she replies, and she points at my finger like she’s about to accuse it of crimes. “That thing is basically screaming, ‘She’s taken.’”
Red clears her throat and pushes a honey cake toward me with two fingers, like she’s offering a bribe, and starts writing at the top of her page.
WEDDING.
Under that, she draws a line. Under that, another. Ashlyn plants herself across from me, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. Red taps the charcoal against the page.
“Venue,” she says.
I blink. “Venue.”
“Pick three,” Red continues. “We’ll narrow it. Castle courtyard. Hearth hall. Mountain overlook. Forest clearing. Lake. Whatever dramatic place Damien disappears to when he’s brooding.”
Ashlyn gasps. “He has a brooding place?”
“Everyone has a brooding place,” I say.
Ashlyn sits up straighter. “No, no, I need to know where it is.”
Red’s eyes flick up. “Pick.”
I look down at my hands. The ring sits there like a tiny weight I’m still getting used to. Through the timber walls, I can hear the village: footsteps crunching, voices calling, that steady hum of people moving, as if the mountain itself has decided to help.
“I don’t want it in the castle,” I say slowly.
Red’s charcoal pauses. She watches me for a beat, then nods once, sharp.
“Good,” she says, and writes: NO CASTLE.
Ashlyn grins. “Iconic.”
“Village hearth hall,” I say, because the warmth in here is real, and it feels like something I can hold. “Mountain overlook. And… whatever secret place Damien is hiding.”
Ashlyn leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Yes. The secret place.”
Red writes them down, then circles the last one like it’s a threat to her schedule.
“Good. Next. Guest list.”
I inhale, then exhale, because this is where things get complicated.
“We don’t have to invite everyone,” I say, voice careful.
Ashlyn waves a hand dramatically. “We are absolutely inviting everyone.”
Red doesn’t even look at her. “We are inviting whom Bella wants.”
Ashlyn’s mouth opens, then closes. She sits back with a huff like she’s been personally attacked by respect. I break the honey cake in half, more for something to do with my hands than hunger.
“Core people,” I say. “The ones who were there. The ones who helped. The ones who are building this place with us. Oh, and Travis.”
"Who's Travis?" Red asks suspiciously.
"Oh, he's a bear shifter. Bella broke into his cabin after she escaped the ice tower." Ashlyn says casually.
Red nods and points at her. "You'll be in charge of finding and inviting Travis."
Red then writes: CORE + TRAVIS.
“Then the rest can come to the feast,” I add, and my voice lifts a little because I can already see it. Tables outside. Lanterns strung between posts. Warm food. People laughing until the cold doesn’t matter.
Red nods and writes: FEAST OPEN.
Ashlyn claps once, delighted. “Yes. Public feast. Everyone gets to celebrate. We’ll have dancing.”
“We’re not doing a formal dance,” I say immediately.
Ashlyn’s grin grows. “Oh, we are.”
“I don’t know how to dance like a proper person.”
Ashlyn points at me like she’s caught a lie. “You do. Gilfred told me he taught you.”
“He's such a traitor,” I grumble.
“Yes,” she says, pleased. “So you will dance.”
Red taps her charcoal again.
“Traditions,” she says. “What’s staying and what’s going.”
I blink. “What traditions do we have?”
Ashlyn sits up straighter. “We can invent them.”
Red looks at me. “Damien’s people have rites. The mountain has rites. The dragons have rites. You choose what touches you.”
My fingers curl around the edge of the table. The room feels smaller for a moment, my breath catching on that old instinct to flinch from anything ceremonial, anything that looks like someone else owns you. So I pick something I can hold.
“I want vows,” I say.
Red nods and writes: VOWS.
“And I want… fire,” I add, because I’ve lived beside Damien’s heat long enough that it feels like part of my language now. “Something simple. We light something together. Candles. A brazier. Something we can touch.”
Ashlyn exhales like she’s already crying. “Stop. That’s perfect.”
Red writes: FIRE RITE.
I take another bite of honey cake and chew slowly, letting the sweetness settle. Red’s charcoal pauses again. She glances up at me for the first time in a while.
“Anything you refuse?” she asks, and her voice is flatter, careful in a way that makes it feel like an honest question. I swallow. I think of lace that bites. Of rooms full of eyes. Of being told to smile for someone else’s comfort.
“No cages,” I say, and my tone comes out sharper than I meant.
Ashlyn goes still. Red nods once and writes it down without comment. Then she taps the page like she’s closing that door.
“Good,” she says. “We’re building a day that belongs to you.”
"And Damien," I add
Ashlyn reaches across the table and nudges my hand.
“We need to talk about the dress,” she says, voice dropping like it’s sacred.
I groan softly. “I’m already stressed.”
“You don’t get to be stressed,” she replies. “You get to be dressed.”
Red looks up from her notepad. “The dressmaker offered. She’ll come when you’re ready.”
As if the mountain is listening, there’s a knock at the door—three quick taps and then silence. Red’s eyes lift to mine like the next step is already arriving.