Chapter 151 Honey Cakes Aren't Dinner
Bella
Damien finally comes back, hopefully to rescue me from more planning. Red doesn’t look up from her notepad. Ashlyn does, because Ashlyn is physically incapable of missing anything dramatic.
“You’re back,” Ashlyn says. Damien’s gaze flicks to the table with the fabric, charcoal dust and the crumbs. Then it lands on the half-honey cake in my hand. His mouth does something small, almost amused, almost resigned.
“You’ve eaten?” he says.
“I’ve survived,” I answer.
Red taps her charcoal. “We were in the middle of—”
“Lunch,” Damien cuts in, calm enough that it isn’t rude, but firm enough that it might as well be a door closing. “Which you’ve already missed.”
Red finally looks up. Her eyes narrow.
“She has honey cakes,” Ashlyn says, as if that solves everything.
Damien’s jaw tightens a fraction. I know that look now. It’s the one that appears when the dragon in his ribs shifts restlessly, impatient with the human pace of things.
“That isn’t lunch,” he says.
“It’s sugar,” I point out. “Sugar is a food group.”
Damien’s eyes stay on mine, and he doesn’t blink.
“We will also miss dinner if we keep sitting here,” he says, voice low. “My dragon would like you back at home. Before you forget meals exist entirely.”
Red snorts, and I glare at her.
Red’s charcoal hovers over the page. “Five more minutes.”
Damien rests one hand on the back of my chair again, “You have one moon.”
Red pauses, and her gaze flicks down to her notepad where she’s written it in thick charcoal, underlined hard.
Damien nods toward it. “You wrote it. I’m enforcing it.”
Ashlyn covers her mouth like she’s delighted. Red’s eyes narrow, but there’s a spark in them too, something like approval disguised as irritation.
“I was about to begin the seating chart,” she says, dangerously.
Damien’s expression doesn’t change. “We will still be alive for the seating chart tomorrow.”
Then his hand slides down to mine, closing over my fingers gently. He lifts my hand off the table, honey cake and all.
“Come,” he says.
Red’s charcoal taps once, sharp. “Bring her back.”
Damien inclines his head toward her. “I will.”
Ashlyn points at him. “Don’t do anything romantic without me.”
“I will do it out of spite now,” I tell her.
Ashlyn beams. “That’s the spirit.”
Damien guides me away from the table and back into the open air. A woman near the steps lifts a hand when she sees us.
“My king,” she calls. “We’ve got a cart.”
Damien turns his head. “A cart?”
She nods, already gesturing to where it waits, hitched to a patient mule.
“For the gifts,” she adds, and her eyes flick to me, kind. “We didn’t think you’d want to carry it all.”
“That’s… thank you,” I manage.
Damien gives her a short, respectful nod. “Thank you. We’ll return it.”
His hand tightens around mine slightly, and he starts leading me up the slope instead of down.
“What are we doing?” I ask because I feel like I’ve misunderstood the plan.
Damien glances at me. “I chose the third venue.”
I blink. “Already?”
“I didn’t leave you with Red for no reason,” he says, and there’s the faintest edge of humour in it.
I huff a laugh that fogs the air.
“Where is it?” I ask.
Damien doesn’t answer right away. He just guides me off the main path, away from the village noise, into a narrower trail where the trees press in close. We walk in silence for a few minutes until the trees part, and I stop without meaning to. The view is... breathtaking. Truly, breathtaking. Damien watches me instead of the view, like the only thing he cares about is what happens on my face.
“This is your secret place,” I say.
“It was mine,” he answers, simply. “Now it’s ours. If you want it.”
I take a few steps forward, leaves crunching under my boots. I look around, imagining it without trying. Lanterns between branches. Firelight. People gathered in rows, watching. And Damien at the front, waiting for me. I swallow, throat tight.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, and my voice comes out so much softer than I expect.
Damien’s hand slips into mine again.
“Bella,” he says, low. “If this is too much or not right… We can choose something else.”
I turn my head toward him. He’s standing close enough that the warmth of him cuts through the wind, eyes steady, jaw firm. He’s offering me the choice even when he already wants this place for us. I look back out at the valley, the sky, the peacefulness of it. Then I nod once, small and certain.
“Here,” I say. “This is it.”
Damien’s shoulders loosen, his mouth softens, and he steps closer, pressing his forehead to mine for a beat.
“Good,” he murmurs.
I laugh softly because, of course, this is where he would want it. Of course, his secret place is a wide open view and a protected hollow, and the kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re the only two people left in the world.
“We’re really doing this,” I whisper.
Damien’s thumb strokes my knuckles again. “We’re doing it.”
I stand there for a moment longer, letting the place settle into my bones and memory. Then Damien draws back, and the practical part of him returns, as if he can’t stay in softness too long without feeling the need to protect it.
“Come,” he says. “Before you miss dinner too.”
I pull a face. “I ate honey cake.”
“That is not dinner.”
“It could be.”
“It will not be,” he says, and I can hear the dragon in it, annoyed and possessive and entirely correct.
We walk back through the trees together, hand in hand, the village noise growing louder as we descend. When we reach the edge of the path again, the cart is waiting, and villagers are already loading gifts into it with careful hands, stacking boxes and blankets and bottles like they’re building something sacred. Damien thanks them again. I try to do the same without my voice catching.
Then we start down the mountain, the cart creaking softly behind us, the mule steady, and the plans already coming together. I glance back once, toward the line of trees that hides the secret place from view. Damien catches me looking.
“One moon,” he says quietly, like he’s reminding me and promising me at the same time.
I swallow, tighten my grip on his hand, and let him lead me home.