Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

”It is unseemly for a man of your girth. Simply accept that the North is inherently superior, halt your excavation immediately, and send me a thank-you note carved in solid gold.”

”I hate you!” Leonidas muffled into the silk. ”I hope she draws a mustache on you while you sleep!”

”She already has,” Kaelus replied smoothly, not missing a beat. ”And I wore it with pride.”

As the two Archdukes bickered, Seraphina shook her head, abandoning the ridiculous display of masculine insecurity. She turned her attention to Duchess Lysandra, fully intending to ask for another fruit tart.

But as Seraphina’s dark eyes locked onto the beautiful, smiling Duchess, her Spirit Sight, which was still actively humming in the background, caught a ripple in the ambient mana.

Seraphina stopped chewing. The warm, sunlit beauty of the solarium seemed to dim slightly around the edges.

Clinging to the back of Duchess Lysandra’s elegant neck, previously hidden by the cascading waves of her auburn hair, was a ghost.

But it wasn’t a handsome, monocle-wearing grandpa ghost.

It was a baby.

Seraphina’s stomach executed a slow, uncomfortable flip. A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck.

In the complex hierarchy of the spiritual plane, not all ghosts were created equal.

Adult spirits, like the Valen ancestors, were generally tethered to the mortal realm by duty, regret, or boredom.

They retained their personalities, their intellect, and their ability to reason. You could talk to them or even bargain with them.

But there were two types of ghosts that Seraphina knew, from every piece of horror media she had ever consumed, were unmitigated nightmares.

Water ghosts, and baby ghosts.

Baby ghosts did not possess rationality. They were entities born of pure, unfulfilled biological potential and tragic, abrupt severance from life.

They were driven entirely by instinct, a desperate, blind, suffocating need for a mother’s warmth, for vitality, for life.

They were parasitic creatures that did not mean to cause harm, which made them infinitely more dangerous. They clung to their hosts, slowly, silently draining their life force, feeding on their ambient mana just to sustain their own existence.

The spirit clinging to Lysandra was small, pale, and bloated, emitting a faint, sickly bluish aura. Its tiny, spectral arms were wrapped tightly around the Duchess’s collarbone, its face buried in her neck, suckling silently on her spiritual energy.

Seraphina looked closer at Lysandra’s face.

Beneath the flawless makeup, beneath the warm, maternal smile, Seraphina could see the subtle signs of the drain.

The Duchess’s skin was slightly too pale, along with a faint shadow of chronic exhaustion beneath her beautiful amber eyes.

’How long has that thing been attached to her?’ Seraphina panicked internally. ’If it stays there, it’s going to drain her core dry. It’s going to kill her.’

But Seraphina couldn’t just reach out and blast it with dark mana like she had the gremlins on Drusilla. The gremlins were low-level curses feeding on negative emotion.

A baby ghost was tethered by a bond of profound tragedy. If she attacked it violently, the metaphysical backlash could rip Lysandra’s soul apart. She needed to know the origin of the bond.

She needed to know why it was there.

Was it a child Lysandra had lost? Or was it a curse sent by an enemy?

Seraphina’s mind engaged.

She couldn’t act like a Supreme Archmage right now. If she announced there was a baby ghost sucking on the Duchess’s neck, Leonidas would likely burn the entire room down in a panic, and Kaelus would draw his sword.

So... she had to go undercover!

She had to deploy the ultimate, undisputed weapon in her arsenal: Toddler Innocence!

Seraphina slipped off her chair, the pink ember-puppy tumbling softly to the floor, waddled around the table, completely ignoring Kaelus and the weeping Leonidas, and approached Lysandra.

”Auntie Lysa?” Seraphina piped up, pitching her voice a full octave higher, widening her dark eyes until they looked like two massive, glittering saucers of pure vulnerability.

Lysandra immediately looked down, her maternal instincts completely hijacking her attention.

She gently pushed her sobbing husband’s head aside, leaning down to meet Seraphina’s gaze.

”Yes, my sweet little bird?” Lysandra smiled, her voice a warm, melodic caress. ”Do you need more milk?”

”No, thank you,” Seraphina chirped, clasping her hands behind her back, swaying slightly from side to side in a textbook display of childish bashfulness. She scooted closer, casually resting her small hands on Lysandra’s silk-covered knee. ”I was just wondering... you and Uncle Leo are so pretty. And Uncle Leo cries a lot, like a big baby.”

Leonidas paused his sobbing, lifting his head to glare indignantly. ”I am not some baby, I’m just expressing my grief!”

”Hush, Leonidas,” Lysandra swatted his arm lightly, turning back to Seraphina with a bright laugh. ”He does cry a lot, sweetheart. But he has a very good heart beneath all that noise.”

”How did you meet him?” Seraphina asked, tilting her head, projecting her maximum, wide-eyed curiosity. ”Did he have to slay a dragon to marry you? Or did he just cry until you said yes?”

Lysandra burst into a beautiful, ringing laugh, while Kaelus let out a sharp snort of amusement from his chair.

”It was almost exactly that, actually,” Lysandra smiled, her amber eyes growing distant with fond nostalgia. ”We met at an Imperial Gala when we were very young. I was the daughter of a minor Marquess. Leonidas was already the Heir to the Flame. He was trying to impress everyone, so he attempted to juggle three flaming swords while reciting poetry.”

”Did it work?” Seraphina gasped, acting utterly enthralled.

”He dropped one of the swords and accidentally set the punch bowl on fire,” Lysandra chuckled. ”It exploded. The entire banquet was ruined. But when he looked at me, completely covered in fruit punch and soot, looking terrified that I would hate him... I knew I was going to marry him.”

”Wowww... That is so romantic!” Seraphina clapped her hands, slowly, closing the distance, invading Lysandra’s personal space.