Chapter 152: Party
Chapter 151
Jack
I would have loved to postpone this for as long as possible.
But the whole royal family will be there. And so will the nobility.
In the palace for the king’s birthday, that means those bastards will also be there.
I worry about Ciel.
Nolan is currently hugging him—arms wrapped tight, face pressed into his hair, like he’s trying to absorb him into his own body where it’s safe. Ciel’s fingers clutch the back of Nolan’s shirt, knuckles pale.
I watch them for a moment. Something in my chest aches and swells at the same time.
Then I look away. Straighten my cuffs. Place my hand in my pocket so I don’t reach for them both and cancel the entire event.
"Your Highness, it’s time."
Peter’s voice is quiet, but it cuts through the moment like a blade.
I exhale.
"Sunshine, let’s go."
Ciel pulls reluctantly from Nolan’s arms. His eyes are bright, nervous, but his jaw is set. He’s trying.
I walk toward them and pull Ciel into my side, one arm around his waist. But I don’t move toward the door yet. Instead, I lean in and press a kiss to Nolan’s mouth. Quick. Firm. A promise.
"Leaving Lanny in your arms. There are too many people in the palace today. I’ll have security but—"
He cuts me off by kissing me back.When he pulls away, his eyes are sharp.
"I understand." His voice is low, steady. "And if anything happens to Ciel, I will rip out your balls, chop them up, and shove them up your ass."
I blink.
"Yes, sir," I say, chuckling nervously.
The look in his eyes tells me he’s very serious.
I like my balls. I’d like to keep them attached to my body, preferably in their original location.
"Understood," I add. "Balls will remain in my possession. Ciel will remain in one piece. Everyone wins."
Nolan doesn’t smile. He looks at Ciel, and something soft passes between them—something I’m not part of, something I don’t need to be a part of. Then he presses a kiss to Ciel’s forehead, so gentle it makes my chest hurt.
"Go," he says. "I’ve got Lanny."
Ciel nods. Swallows. Takes my hand.
I lead him out the door.
*
A king’s birthday party is exactly how one would expect it to look.
Chandeliers dripping light. Tables heavy with food no one will eat. Music that swells and softens on cue, orchestrated to make everything feel elegant and effortless. The nobility move in their designated circles, laughing at the appropriate volume, wearing the appropriate faces.
It’s a performance.
And everyone in this room has been rehearsing their whole lives.
I lead Ciel by the waist as we walk further in, my hand settled on the curve of his hip, fingers pressing just enough to remind him I’m here. His spine is straight, his expression composed, but I can feel the slight tremor under my palm.
They’re pretending not to look. But they are looking. Very badly.
Nobles who were mid-conversation pause to track our progress across the floor. Heads turn in lazy, calculated arcs. Eyes linger on Ciel’s face, on his collar—the mark hidden beneath silk scarf, my eye twitches at that.
Some of those gazes are appreciative. Some are envious. Some are hungry in a way that makes my jaw tighten.
I resist the urge to poke certain alphas’ eyes out.
Barely.
Ciel’s pheromones are barely noticeable steady, controlled—the suppressants are working. But I can still smell him underneath. Roses and wine. Warm. Familiar. Mine.
Luckily the party is in full swing. Conversations hum, glasses clink, and the sheer mass of people gives us cover. I steer Ciel toward the far side of the room, where Grace and Harriet are standing near one of the tall windows, champagne flutes in hand, a small island of relative calm.
Grace catches my eye immediately, her expression brightening. Harriet offers a simple nod, elegant and composed, that’s the crown princess all right.
It would be more eye-catching if I was stuck to Ciel by the hip. Better to let him breathe. Better to let him stand on his own.
I guide him to a stop beside Grace and press a kiss to his temple.
"Brother," Grace says, her voice warm. Then her attention shifts, and her smile softens. "Ciel, you look amazing."
He does. I’m looking forward to unwrapping the fancy outfit later on tonight.
"Thank you," Ciel says, and there’s something in his voice I haven’t heard before. Not shy. Not deferential. Just... steady. "You look beautiful as well."
Grace does a mini twirl, laughing, the skirts of her gown flaring out. Harriet watches with an expression that’s fond.
Ciel’s hand finds mine for a moment. Brief. Squeezing.
"I’m still around, sunshine." I kiss his temple again, letting my lips linger for half a second longer than necessary. "I’ll be right over there."
He nods. I let go.
"Oh my goodness," Grace chimes in, pressing a hand to her chest. "And I thought Russell was bad. You two are insufferable."
"At least it’s an example of what type of alpha to look for when you marry," Harriet says dryly, taking a slow sip of champagne.
Grace’s face goes pink. "I’m not—I don’t—Harriet."
I take that as my cue to escape.
I turn, scanning the room, already planning my route—find the king, make an appearance, circle back to Ciel, survive the next few hours.
Then I make eye contact with one of the council members.
Councilor Vane. The one who always wants to discuss trade agreements. The one who never takes a hint.
He’s already walking my way.
I contemplate escaping. The terrace doors are to my left. The crowd is thick enough to lose myself in. I could just... disappear for a few minutes. Regroup. Breathe.
Too late. He’s already raising a hand in greeting.
I’m already exhausted.
I prepare my Prince Jackson persona and greet him.
"Councilor." I say, and he bows slightly.
"Your Highness."