Chapter 310: The Day the World Stood Still

Words : 1904 Updated : Oct 3rd, 2025

Chapter 310: The Day the World Stood Still Third Person’s POV~ Sunlight tore through the curtains, bold and uninvited. It crashed into the room like a guest who didn’t knock, spilling across velvet cushions and polished floors, yanking everyone from their dreams. The palace was already alive—buzzing, stomping, shouting. The air pulsed with excitement and a kind of beautiful panic that only came around once in a generation. Today was the day. Not just any day. The day. The royal wedding. Heavy boots thudded down marble hallways, the click of claws against stone barely muffled by hurried footsteps and shouted instructions. Servants zipped past like streaks of wind, carrying towering stacks of linens, platters of food, baskets of flowers, and enough fabric to drape the whole kingdom in lace and silk. Everywhere you turned, something was happening—someone yelling, someone laughing, someone losing their mind over centerpieces. In the main dressing quarters, a dozen seamstresses worked in synchronized chaos. Gowns shimmered on racks, each more extravagant than the last, but nothing floated or moved on its own. It was all hands on deck—hands that moved fast, with practiced precision, pinning hems and stitching with lightning speed while shouting for someone to "find the bride’s shoes, for the love of the moon!" Makeup artists leaned in close, brushing bronzer onto high cheekbones and dabbing color on lips, while hair stylists wrestled with wild curls, trying to tame them into elegant waves or intricate braids. Some worked with soft hums and calm smiles, others growled under their breath when a strand refused to stay put. It was war. Glamorous, glittering war. In the banquet hall, tension brewed between two decorators over where the flower arches should stand. "Left side catches better light," one barked. "Right side matches the color scheme!" the other snarled back. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, a tablecloth was yanked clean off a table in frustration, sending silverware clattering to the floor. A young servant yelped, dived, caught a goblet mid-air—and was immediately cheered by two other savants passing who’d been placing name cards. Music echoed through the halls—real music. A band of werewolves tuned their instruments in the courtyard, their deep howls blending with the rhythms of string and drum. Someone played the violin on a balcony, high and fast and full of joy, while down below, a pair of pups chased each other through a maze of folding chairs, narrowly avoiding a furious wedding planner who was counting rows out loud. Even the royal guards had traded their usual stoicism for a little swagger, their crisp uniforms polished and sharp. One of them practiced a dance move near the gates, thinking no one was watching—he was wrong. Two maids nearby snorted into their palms, whispering and giggling like teenagers. The kitchens? Mayhem. Steam billowed from giant pots, flames licked beneath roasting meats, and the scent of herbs, garlic, and fresh bread wrapped around every breath. Chefs shouted orders, assistants scrambled to keep up, and someone was desperately trying to ice a seven-tier cake while another was arguing about whether it should be fruit-filled or not. A child—no one knew whose child—ran out of the kitchen with a stolen pastry and vanished into the crowd. The palace itself felt like it was vibrating, alive in its bones. Laughter spilled through open windows, mixed with the occasional howl of excitement and the ever-growing hum of hundreds of feet moving with purpose. It was controlled chaos. Beautiful, messy, unforgettable chaos. In one of the side wings, older werewolves and relatives of the king gathered, already sipping from flasks tucked into coat pockets, loudly debating whether the groom’s great-grandfather had proposed during a storm or during a duel. Nobody agreed, but everyone talked at once. And in the center of it all—the throne room, stripped of its usual gravity—there were flowers. So many flowers. Reds, golds, ivory whites. Petals rained from garlands above, caught in the hair of passing guests, stuck to polished boots, and melted into the moment like snow. It was breathtaking, if not a little overwhelming. This wasn’t just a celebration. It was a declaration. A union that meant something—something ancient, sacred, and roaring with pride. Every stone in the palace seemed to remember that. Today was the day the werewolf kingdom would howl in joy. And the whole world would hear it. ******** Zane~ I stood in my chambers, half-dressed, frowning at my reflection while Sebastian hovered behind me like a hawk with a fashion obsession. He was smoothing my collar for the third—no, fourth—time. "This collar has to sit perfectly," he said, tugging at the fabric with maddening precision. "You’re not just getting married. You’re rewriting the fairytale. The Lycan Prince. The celestial bride. It’s history, Zane. And if you’re going down in history, at least let your neck look presentable." I groaned, batting his hand away. "If you touch me again, I’m going to bite you." He arched a single brow, expression utterly unimpressed. "Oh no, please don’t," he deadpanned. "How will I ever go on with two tiny fang holes in my neck and a designer suit soaked in lycan drool?" I shot him a glare. "Sebastian." He grinned. "Zane." "Hands off. Now." "Say please." Red growled from deep inside. I clenched my jaw. He was getting restless, and so was I. Sebastian stepped back, hands raised in surrender, though the smirk never left his face. "Alright, alright. You’re grumpy. Must be nerves." "I’m not nervous." He tilted his head. "You’re marrying the most powerful, beautiful, sharp-tongued celestial in existence. That’s not nerves? That’s straight-up bravery." "I’m ready," I said quietly. It was the truth. I wasn’t afraid. My heart felt too full, too steady for fear. Sebastian nodded, his grin softening into something real. "Yeah. You are." The door creaked open without a knock, and in strode the storm that was Natalie’s brothers. First came Tiger—quiet, focused, his gaze steady like always. He moved with the quiet strength of a soldier, nodding at me as he entered. Behind him was Bubble. He didn’t explode into sparkles or start flinging water confetti like usual. No, today Bubble wore a refined navy-blue coat, his silver-blue hair pulled back neatly. Still, his eyes sparkled with mischief. Controlled chaos. He was older than he looked, wiser than he acted, and he held himself with a quiet confidence. I could feel the power radiating off him like moonlight on still water. Eagle arrived next, silent as a breeze, his long coat fluttering behind him as if the air around him couldn’t decide whether to obey gravity or not. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence was grounding, like a watchful guardian in the clouds. And finally—Fox. He strode in like he owned the room, hands in his pockets, his auburn curls tousled just right. His sharp eyes scanned the space, landing on me with that ever-present glint of mischief. He wasn’t carrying food, thank the gods, but he still looked like trouble dressed in elegance. "No breakfast tray?" I asked. Fox smirked. "Thought about it. But I figured you’d survive without spilling gravy on your royal whites." He gave me a wink. "Today’s too important to risk that." Bubble leaned on the wall beside me, folding his arms. "You’ve barely blinked in ten minutes," he noted, voice calm but amused. "Don’t tell me you’re nervous." "I’m not," I said again, but even I knew it sounded forced now. "You sure?" Fox chimed in. "Because your aura is practically vibrating." "You’re all so helpful." "Comes with the family package," Bubble said lightly. "We annoy, we judge, we uplift." Tiger stepped forward, resting a strong hand against my chest. The room quieted instantly. His gaze was solid. Ancient. "You carry the weight well," he said. "And you do not carry it alone." I met his eyes and nodded, a swell of emotion tightening in my chest. That simple touch—those words—they anchored me more than any crown or robe ever could. The palace... felt alive. Magic pulsed through its ancient bones like a living heartbeat. Every corridor we passed came to life beneath our feet—flowers blooming in our wake, vines curling along the walls whispering old blessings. Silver lilies. Golden thorns. Petals that shimmered like stardust. The air smelled of cedarwood, lavender, and something older. Rain on stone. Lightning before a storm. We reached the ceremonial hall. Gasps echoed from the crowd. The chandeliers had transformed into clusters of floating stars, suspended in the air like galaxies trapped in glass. Gentle wind brushed past us, carrying the faint music of distant flutes and whispers in a language only the oldest among us remembered. The people had come. More than I expected. Nobles and rebels alike. Leaders of packs. Supernaturals, creatures of legend—some I’d only heard of in ancient scrolls—stood shoulder to shoulder. I saw tears, smiles, awe. They weren’t just here to witness a union. They were here because they believed in it. In us. At the altar stood my father, King Anderson Moor. My anchor before I ever learned to stand tall. He wore ceremonial robes of deep gray and silver, embroidered with ancient symbols passed through our bloodline. His beard was neatly trimmed, his crown shining just enough to catch the light, but his eyes... Gods, his eyes. They were filled with things he didn’t say. Pride that burned in his chest. Love that tried to mask its edges. And grief—for my mother, who should have been here beside him. But mostly, they held certainty. He believed in this moment. In what it meant. To my left, standing just a little too straight in his tiny suit, was Alex—my son, my heart, my little warrior. He tugged at my sleeve and whispered, "You look cool, Daddy." I grinned and brushed his hair back gently. "So do you, soldier. Ready for duty?" He nodded with a toothy smile, then stood taller, pretending to be stoic even though his feet bounced slightly in excitement. Behind me, Sebastian leaned in. "You’re going to cry, aren’t you?" "No." "Yes." "Shut up." "Do it. A single tear. Let it fall dramatically. You’ll be a legend." Before I could reply—or hurl something heavy—the music shifted. It was subtle at first. A single note. Then a swell of strings. Harps. Violins. A gentle wind passed through the hall like the whisper of fate. And the doors opened. The world... stilled. Time itself bent around her. Natalie. She didn’t enter the room. She arrived. Like prophecy made flesh. She wore a gown that didn’t just shimmer—it sang. Woven from the sky, it cascaded around her like a dream, streaked with glints of silver and violet, each thread whispering ancient magic. Her veil was soft mist, clinging to her like the dawn. Her red hair flowed in a celestial braid, decorated with feathers, pearls, and strands of glimmering stardust that pulsed faintly like living constellations. Her eyes locked with mine. Fierce. Certain. Unshakably hers. I forgot how to breathe. I wasn’t standing in a palace anymore. I was lost in her. Red surged to the surface of my soul, howling like wildfire. Mate. Ours. Ours. I could barely feel my body anymore. Only her. Only this moment. She walked—no, glided—down the aisle like gravity didn’t dare touch her. With every step she took, the world bent a little more toward magic. And beside her, holding her hand was Jacob.

Chapter 310: The Day the World Stood Still

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