Chapter 31 Cake and Consequences
My stomach growls at the worst possible moment. It’s quiet at first, but then it does it again—louder like an angry walrus. I glance at the counters and, right there in front of me, sits the cake. The towering, multi-tiered, absurdly perfect cake that no one ever got to eat. White frosting, gold trim, little sugared roses, it looks like a dream sculpted out of sugar and sadness.
“So,” I say after a moment, trying for lighthearted and probably landing somewhere between curious and mildly deranged. “What are you going to do with all this cake?”
He blinks, clearly not expecting the question. “...Throw it away, I suppose.”
I gasp. Loudly and dramatically. “You absolutely can not do that.”
His brow furrows, a flicker of amusement tugging at his mouth. “And what,” he asks slowly, “do you suggest I do with a mountain of cake from a wedding where the bride didn’t show up?”
“Eat it,” I say immediately.
Before he can respond, I walk right up to the counter, shove my hand into it, grab a fistful of the immaculate cake, and shove it in my mouth. It’s soft and sweet and perfect, and it tastes like heaven. His composure cracks completely. His eyes widen, his jaw tightens, and for a second he looks genuinely scandalised. The Beast King, ruler of dragons, bringer of terror, absolutely flabbergasted because I just manhandled his royal cake.
I grin around a mouthful of frosting. “It’s really good,” I tell him through half-chewed sponge.
He stares at me, lips parting like he’s going to say something, then thinks better of it. I can see him struggling not to laugh, or maybe not to combust, it’s hard to tell.
“Are you… enjoying yourself?” he asks carefully.
“Yes,” I say, far too cheerfully. “You should too.”
Before he can protest, I hold out the half-mangled handful of cake to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Here.”
He looks at it. Then at me. Then back at it again.
“I—don’t usually eat with my hands,” he manages, voice low and hesitant.
“Then today’s your big character growth moment,” I say, waving the cake slightly in front of him. “Go on. Try it. It’s not poisoned, unless your ego counts.”
There’s a long pause where I can practically see him having an internal meltdown. His dragon, though—I swear I feel the shift in the air, the faint ripple of amusement that doesn’t belong to the man. His golden eyes flicker for half a second, as if the dragon’s trying to peek through to watch this unfold. I really need to ask him about this whole split personality thing and how it works. Finally, with a soft sigh that sounds almost resigned, Damien reaches out, very slowly. He takes the cake from my hand. His fingers brush mine again—why is that happening so often?—and then he does the unthinkable. He takes a bite. And his face, gods, he looks genuinely startled by the taste, like it never occurred to him that something so small and frivolous could actually be good.
I smirk. “Told you.”
He chews, swallows, and for the briefest moment, he smiles. And that’s when it hits me—how long it’s probably been since this man has smiled like that. Since anyone’s given him a reason to. My chest tightens a little more for him. Everyone deserves to have a reason to smile.
“You’re strange,” he says softly, eyes still on me.
“So I’ve been told,” I reply, licking frosting off my finger.
Then curiosity wins. “So,” I say, “how does this whole dragon thing work?”
He straightens slightly. “Define ‘thing.’”
“The being part dragon, part man thing. The giant creature who can breathe fire and apparently ‘imprint’ on strangers 'thing.'”
He hesitates, then sighs. “It’s not something I control. The dragon’s instincts are… old. When he decides, it’s done. A bond forms and it's powerful and... permanent.”
“Permanent?” I echo. “Like… eternal-curse permanent, or clingy-ex permanent?”
That earns the smallest smirk. “Closer to eternal curse.”
“Lovely.” I fold my arms. “And this ‘bond’ means what, exactly? That if I leave, you lose your mind?”
“Not immediately,” he says, which somehow makes it worse. “But yes. The farther you go, the harder it becomes. The bond feeds on proximity.”
“Well, that’s horrifying,” I mutter.
He sighs again, shoulders heavy. “I didn’t choose this.”
“I know,” I say. “Neither did I. And for the record, I’m still processing the whole ‘soul-bonded to a dragon king’ thing. So if I freeze a window later out of stress, don’t take it personally.”
That earns me another flicker of gold in his eyes. A breath of laughter. “Understood.”
Before I can answer, a small head pokes out from under my hair. Gilfred climbs onto my shoulder, chirping suspiciously, his little frost-blue tail flicking like a whip.
Damien blinks. “What… is that?”
I lift a brow. “That is Gilfred. My companion and my best friend.”
He squints. “It’s a lizard.”
I gasp, scandalised. “Excuse me? He’s a gecko.”
Gilfred squeaks loudly, puffing himself up like a miniature dragon in solidarity.
Damien’s mouth twitches. “He’s fierce for something that could fit in my palm.”
“He’s got a mean bite,” I warn. “Ask anyone who’s called him a lizard.”
Gilfred chirps sharply, tail flicking like punctuation.
For a second, I think Damien’s actually going to laugh. Like, really laugh. “Duly noted,” he says, bowing slightly toward Gilfred. “My apologies, Sir Gecko.”
Gilfred puffs up even more, clearly pleased with his new title.
I grin, picking at what’s left of the cake. “You’re forgiven. For now.”
Damien shakes his head, the faintest smile still ghosting his lips. “You’re strange,” he says again.
“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “But it's growing on you.”
He meets my eyes, and for the first time, doesn’t look away. “Maybe it is.”
Something hot and dangerous hums in the air between us. His dragon stirs with a deep, low rumble that vibrates through the room, and maybe even through my soul.
I shiver unintentionally and blink, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Did—did he just—?”
Damien groans quietly. “He doesn’t usually…purr like that.”
“Sure he doesn’t,” I mutter, pretending not to blush.
The silence that follows is thick, a mix of awkwardness and something else entirely.
“Well,” I say after a beat, trying to sound casual. “If I’m now the unwilling soulmate of a royal dragon with attachment issues, I at least deserve another slice of cake.”
He chuckles quietly, warm and low. “Take as much as you like. It’s yours.”
“Careful,” I warn, cutting another piece. “Say things like that, and your dragon might think you’re flirting.”
He hesitates, gold flickering again. “And what if I am?”
My knife stills. I glance up, caught between laughter and the very real possibility that I’ve wandered into something I’m not ready for. “Then you’d better hope I don’t freeze your cake.”
He grins, slow and soft, the kind that melts faster than my ice. He’s supposed to be a fire-breathing monster, but gods help me… I think I might like the way he burns.