Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

”You look like a princess from a fairy tale. A very angry princess.”

’A... a Princess?!’

”I AM NOT A PRINCESS!” Alistair snapped, abandoning all aristocratic decorum, scrambling to his feet, clutching the pastry boxes as if they were weapons. He glared down at the tiny, dark-haired child with venomous indignation. ”I am a nobleman of the Empire! My hair is a symbol of my scholarly devotion! And I am entirely, completely masculine, you uncultured, feral little provincial gremlin!”

”Alistair,” Kaelus warned, his voice instantly dropping the amusement, shifting into a cold, lethal rumble. ”Watch your tone when addressing the Sovereign.”

Alistair flinched, remembering exactly who he was talking to.

He took a deep breath, smoothing down his ruined scholar robes, forcing his beautiful, furious face into a mask of cold, haughty disdain.

”My apologies, Your Grace,” Alistair sniffed, turning his nose up in the air, glaring at Seraphina out of the corner of his emerald eye. ”It appears the... child... simply lacks the refined aesthetic palate necessary to appreciate high-society grooming standards.”

Seraphina didn’t cower.

She didn’t hide behind Kaelus.

Her soul had immediately recognized Alistair’s personality type.

He was the fussy, arrogant, highly organized neat-freak!

He was the perfect, natural enemy to a chaotic, intelligent, slightly messy six-year-old.

’Oh, he wants to play,’ Seraphina thought, a wicked, brilliant smirk spreading across her face. ’He called me a feral gremlin. Challenge accepted, Rapunzel!’

Seraphina hopped out of Kaelus’s arms.

She waddled directly up to Alistair, stopping right in front of the tall, beautiful aide.

She looked up at him, crossing her small arms over her chest, projecting maximum defiance of a six years old.

”I have a very refined palate,” Seraphina declared loudly. ”Papa bought me those pastries. Give them to me, Princess Alistair.”

Alistair’s eye twitched violently.

A visible vein throbbed in his flawless, pale forehead.

”I am not a princess!” Alistair hissed, his aristocratic composure cracking again.

He held the pink boxes slightly higher, out of her reach, acting incredibly petty for a grown man. ”And these pastries are delicate! If you handle them with your sticky, untrained hands, you will ruin the structural integrity of the glaze!”

”They are my cakes!” Seraphina argued, stepping forward and kicking him lightly in the shin with her soft leather boot. ”Give them back!”

”Cease your physical assault!” Alistair gasped, offended, stepping back. ”Your Grace, control your ward! She is attempting to mug me for baked goods!”

Kaelus stood up, dusting off his knee.

He looked at his beautiful, frantic aide, and his tiny, fierce, highly combative daughter.

He didn’t intervene.

He didn’t scold her.

In fact, Kaelus looked incredibly entertained.

”The pastries belong to the little Sovereign, Alistair,” Kaelus drawled smoothly, a dark, arrogant smirk touching his lips as he picked up the giant plush bunny from the cobblestones. ”I suggest you surrender the cargo before she does something with advanced interrogation techniques. She recently crushed an Archdemon, you see. I imagine she could easily dismantle a scholar.”

Alistair stared at his Liege Lord, absolute betrayal written across his beautiful features.

’He is encouraging her,’ Alistair realized, his soul plunging into despair. ’He is actively nurturing this feral monster. I am surrounded by barbarians.’

With a heavy, dramatic sigh of pure suffering, Alistair lowered the boxes.

Seraphina immediately snatched the top box from his grasp.

She didn’t walk away.

She stood right in front of him, popped the lid open, and pulled out a massive, gooey, strawberry-glazed tart.

She didn’t use a napkin.

She took a huge, messy bite.

Strawberry glaze smeared across her cheek.

She looked up at the impeccably clean, fastidious Alistair, chewing loudly, deliberately blowing a tiny, sticky puff of powdered sugar in his general direction.

”It’s very good,” Seraphina mumbled around her mouthful, her dark eyes flashing with pure, unadulterated mischief. ”Do you want a bite, Princess? It might sweeten your sour face.”

Alistair looked at the messy, sticky, chaotic child. He looked at the powdered sugar drifting toward his pristine robes.

He let out a sound that resembled a dying teakettle.

”I abhor sugar,” Alistair stated, his voice a tight, high-pitched squeak of contained rage.

He turned on his heel, his blonde ponytail whipping through the air. ”I shall be in the archives! Attempting to salvage the diplomatic paperwork His Grace so casually abandoned! Do not disturb me!”

He marched toward the manor doors, radiating an aura of pure, offended dignity.

”Bye, Auntie Alistair!” Seraphina waved happily, calling after him. ”Don’t get your hair caught in a book!”

Alistair’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn around, slamming the heavy oak doors shut behind him.

Sir Boris and Sir Lucas could no longer contain themselves.

They burst into loud, roaring laughter, leaning against each other for support in the courtyard. Even Sebastian was shaking his head, a genuine, wide smile on his scarred face.

Kaelus walked over, holding the giant plush bunny under one arm, and gently used his black-gloved thumb to wipe the strawberry glaze from Seraphina’s cheek.

”You have made a powerful enemy today, Mushroom,” Kaelus murmured fondly, his violet eyes dancing with amusement. ”Alistair holds grudges for decades.”

”He’s fussy,” Seraphina grinned, swallowing her bite of tart. ”But he’s fun to poket a. Like a very pretty, very angry balloon.”

Kaelus chuckled, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward the entrance of the estate.

The political warfare of the Capital awaited them.

The Emperor was plotting, the nobles were whispering, and the shadows were filled with spies.

But as Seraphina walked into the manor, eating her pastry, surrounded by her laughing knights and her terrifying, devoted father, she knew she was ready.

She had her ghost network.

She had her duck army.

And now, she had a fussy, beautiful aide to torment.

The Capital was her playground, and the game had only just begun.

***

The private study of Duke Kaelus von Nacht within the Capital Estate was designed to be an impenetrable fortress of geopolitical administration.

It was a cavernous, imposing room constructed of dark mahogany, lined with ceiling-high bookshelves containing the accumulated, blood-soaked military history of the Northern Vanguard.

The heavy velvet drapes blocked out the cheerful, frivolous sunlight of the southern capital, and the air was perpetually chilled by the Archduke’s ambient, terrifying dark mana.

It was a room where death warrants were signed, where continental wars were plotted, and where the fates of millions were decided with the stroke of a silver quill.

It was also, currently, the headquarters of the most aggressive, sugar-fueled, highly classified espionage operation in the history of the Empire.

Seraphina von Nacht had successfully commandeered the absolute best real estate in the room.

In the corner of the imposing study, nestled between a rack of antique mythril broadswords and a globe carved from solid obsidian, a plush sanctuary had been established.

It consisted of three massive, fur-lined cushions, a mountain of velvet blankets, and a low, silver-plated table that was currently groaning under the weight of world-class pastries.

The Capital Estate’s head chef, utterly terrified of Kaelus but entirely enchanted by the tiny Sovereign, had been working overtime.

Arrayed before Seraphina were glistening, golden-crusted fruit tarts topped with exotic, imported berries; fluffy, cloud-like cream puffs dusted with powdered sugar; and delicate, bite-sized eclairs filled with rich, dark chocolate ganache.

Seraphina sat cross-legged in the center of her pastry-fortress, chewing happily on a strawberry tart, her cheeks bulging into their trademark, adorable hamster-pouches.

But she was not merely snacking.

The Sovereign of the North was working.

Scattered around her on the luxurious rugs was an ever-expanding, incredibly complex army of origami animals.

There were the classic, silver-threaded paper ducks of the D.S.S. (Duck Service Squad), but her repertoire had vastly expanded. There were paper sparrows, paper frogs, and a highly ambitious, somewhat lopsided paper badger.

The heavy oak doors of the study unlatched with a smooth, oiled click.

Walking into the room with the crisp, hurried stride of a man perpetually on the verge of a bureaucratic aneurysm was Alistair.

The Archduke’s Chief Administrative Aide was, as always, an ethereal vision of perfection.

His long, brilliant blonde hair was tied back with a velvet ribbon, his emerald eyes sharp, his pristine scholar’s robes flowing elegantly around his ankles.

He carried a towering stack of leather-bound files, his beautiful face set in an expression of pinched, exhausted professionalism.

”Your Grace,” Alistair began, striding toward Kaelus’s massive desk.