Page 23

O zzy and Zelda were married on the grasslands outside the castle, as it was the only place spacious enough to accommodate the throngs of guests.

The field was transformed into a grand celebration space, filled with the laughter and chatter of friends, family, and allies from far and wide.

Brightly colored banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, and the scent of fresh flowers mixed with the lingering aroma of earth and grass.

Gargoyles perched on the battlements watched over the proceedings with interest, while the living castle itself seemed to hum with quiet contentment. Games had been set out to amuse the guests, and the party went well into the night.

Uncle Tank would have approved.

Zelda, radiant in a green gown that shimmered like dragon scales, stood beside Ozzy, who looked equally regal in his battle armor.

Their hands clasped together, they exchanged vows under a canopy of wildflowers, the sunlight dappling their faces through the leaves above.

Their voices, strong and unwavering, echoed across the grasslands as they pleaded their loyalty and love.

The officiant, Ozzy’s grandmother, pronounced them husband and wife to the cheers and applause of the assembled guests. The celebration that followed was filled with music, dancing, and feasting.

As night fell, the skies lit up with a dazzling display of fireworks, casting colorful reflections on the castle walls and illuminating the faces of the revelers. Ozzy and Zelda, standing hand in hand, watched the spectacle with smiles, enjoying the moment before they quietly slipped away.

Yarbo was one of the guests, but not a happy one. He brooded as he watched until the wedding finally concluded. She would never be his.

“Good evening, Chief Yarbo,” Olathe said boldly.

She’d also lost her first pick for a mate, but unlike him, she was practical.

She had approved when he took over the weakling’s tribe (the one he’d punched at the meeting for disrespecting Zelda).

The fool had gotten himself killed in battle, though Yarbo had been thinking of challenging him before that.

After all, a man needed something to do, and running a tribe suited him.

Olathe waved a hand, inviting him to walk with her. He decided to oblige.

They walked a little ways away from the crowd. “You rarely lose. That’s admirable.”

He slanted her a look. If she started speculating on his feelings, he would leave her talking to air.

“You don’t love me, but you admire me,” she observed.

That surprised him. It was true, of course. She was an amazing woman, both beautiful and lethal. She’d been incredible in battle.

“I think I would make you a good wife, and I want you.” She looked him over boldly. “My tribe would back you.”

He frowned. He didn’t care about her tribe’s opinion. He didn’t need their support.

She shrugged. “It’s easier for me if I don’t have to fight my brothers off.”

He smirked. He’d like to see that. She could do it, too.

“There’s no hurry. I would enjoy finding out if...” she trailed off.

He raised a brow. “If? Don’t stop now. You were doing so well.”

She looked aside, embarrassed for the first time. “I’m terrible at tactfulness and games.” She sounded truly disgusted.

He liked that feminine blush. It was intriguing. “You think you could handle me? I’m not an easy man.” It was the truth. He was blunt and inflexible.

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not so easy myself.” She walked off.

Yarbo studied her retreating form and smiled. This could be interesting.

He didn’t glance back as he left the party. It never paid to look back. After all, he wasn’t going that way.