Transmigrated as the Crown Prince's Mate-Chapter 112: Pretty Occupied...

One Hour Ago

Damian woke before the first light of dawn. His senses instantly adjusted to the warmth pressing against his chest.

Evelina.

She lay curled up against him, her body warm and soft, breathing evenly as she slept deeply. A few strands of her brown hair fell across her face, and Damian instinctively reached out to tuck them behind her ear, surprised by how gentle his touch was.

His mate.

The reality of it settled deeper in his chest. She wasn’t just some fleeting pleasure, wasn’t just a woman he desired. She was his bonded mate now. His.

Storm stirred in his mind, a deep rumble of satisfaction vibrating through Damian’s chest. "She’s perfect," his wolf murmured. "Ours."

Damian exhaled, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of Evelina’s shoulder. "Yeah," he whispered. "She is."

Storm huffed. "So what now? We have her, but the world still sees her as a traitor. And your father—"

Damian clenched his jaw. "I know."

"So?" Storm’s tone turned impatient. "Do you think convincing him will be easy?"

No. Damian knew it wouldn’t be.

His father wasn’t the kind of man to change his mind easily. And right now, every shred of evidence still pointed to Evelina as a danger to the pack.

But Damian also knew one thing for certain—he wouldn’t let her face this alone.

"We have to clear her name," he murmured.

Storm scoffed. "Do you think the old man will just listen?"

Damian’s silver eyes darkened. "I don’t care. I will make him listen."

Storm was silent for a moment before finally giving a low, approving growl. "Good. Because I’m not losing our mate."

Neither was Damian.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, making sure not to disturb Evelina as she slept. She needed rest. After last night—after everything—she deserved a moment of peace.

He took his bath and dressed quickly, his mind already working through the best way to approach his father.

Damian quickly walked through the halls, trying to stay focused, even though he could still smell Evelina’s fragrance on his skin.

The sun had just started to rise, but the palace was already bustling with activity. Guards and attendants hurried about quietly, their whispers drifting through the air.

He had barely turned the corner leading to the throne room when a familiar figure emerged from within, straightening his robes with some level of seriousness.

Lord Luther.

His sharp, calculating gaze landed on Damian immediately. No smirk, no raised brow—just quiet, careful scrutiny.

"Your Highness," Luther greeted evenly, maintaining his usual formality. But after a brief pause, he added, "I see you’ve finally decided to make an appearance."

Damian came to a stop and straightened. "Was there something urgent?"

Luther exhaled through his nose, folding his hands behind his back. "Your father has been looking for you since yesterday evening." His voice held no exaggeration, no amusement—just a plain statement of fact. "Though, given your priorities, I refrained from disturbing you."

"Oops... I think he knows."

Damian’s jaw tightened a bit. Although the words seemed neutral, the hidden meaning was obvious. Luther understood exactly where Damian was and why he had been absent.

Damian kept his expression neutral, though he understood the implication behind the words. Luther knew exactly where he had been.

A moment of silence stretched between them before Luther spoke again, his voice taking on a slightly lighter tone. "I trust Lady Evelina is well?"

Damian nodded once. "She’s fine."

Luther studied him carefully before inclining his head. "Good." Then, as if the moment of levity had passed, his tone turned serious again.

"Tell me, Damian, what do you intend to do about Lady Selene?"

Damian’s shoulders stiffened slightly, but he didn’t look away.

Since Damian didn’t respond, Luther continued. "Your father won’t be pleased with the situation of things now. You know this."

"I do," Damian answered evenly. "And I don’t care what he likes."

Luther arched a brow. "Oh, but you should care. Because, like it or not, your father still holds the throne. And Selene?" He scoffed. "She isn’t the type to simply accept defeat. She’s too ambitious, too dangerous."

"You think I don’t know that?"

"Yet, you went through with it anyway."

"I did."

Luther clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You know, I always figured you’d be the responsible type, the honourable prince, the one who wouldn’t get distracted in the middle of a crisis." He smirked. "And yet, here you are, walking around like a man who’s just lost a battle with his instincts."

After Luther’s remark about Damian losing a battle with his instincts, Damian held his gaze, refusing to react.

"I did what was necessary," Damian said evenly.

Luther studied him for a long moment before exhaling through his nose. "Necessary," he repeated. "Interesting choice of words."

Damian didn’t flinch.

Luther’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a weight behind his next words. "You understand what this means, don’t you?"

Damian’s fists clenched at his sides. "That I’ve made my position clear."

Luther nodded slightly. "To yourself, perhaps. But to your father? To the council? To Selene?" His voice lowered. "Do you truly believe they will accept this?"

Damian’s jaw tightened. "I don’t need their acceptance."

Luther let out a quiet sigh, rubbing his temple briefly before regarding Damian again. "That’s the problem with youth," he murmured, not unkindly. "You think conviction alone is enough." He paused before adding, "But tell me, Damian, when they come for her—when they challenge your claim—are you ready to fight for her?"

Damian’s silver eyes darkened, flashing with a dangerous intensity. "Yes."

Luther held his gaze, measuring his resolve. And whatever he saw there must have satisfied him because, at last, he nodded.

"Then I trust you have a plan."

"I will come up with one."

Luther gave a slow nod. "You’d better. And I suggest you prepare yourself. Your father isn’t in a forgiving mood today."

He stepped aside, allowing Damian a clear path to the throne room.

Damian didn’t move immediately. Instead, he inclined his head slightly in respect. "Thank you, Lord Luther."

Luther clasped his hands behind his back. "I hope your conviction is strong enough to see this through, Your Highness. Because from here on out, there is no turning back."

Damian’s expression remained firm.

"I never intended to turn back."

And with that, he stepped past Luther, pushing open the doors to face his father.