Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

Kaelus leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. ”And when Alistair finds the discrepancies, because he always finds them, and I will personally oversee your trial for grand treason against the Crown.”

The High Priest stared at the Archduke.

He looked at the pathetic, flickering blue crystal on the pillow.

He weighed the academic curiosity of a slightly heavy magic reading against the complete financial ruin of the Holy Church.

It was the easiest decision he had ever made in his life.

”A flawless Water Core!” the High Priest declared loudly, his voice practically cracking with frantic enthusiasm.

He yanked the pillow back. ”Absolutely textbook! A beautiful, pristine, completely harmless Tier-1 Water affinity! The reading is concluded! The paperwork will be stamped immediately, Your Grace! Please, do not trouble yourself with an audit! We are very transparent!”

”I am delighted to hear it,” Kaelus sneered, standing up and lifting Seraphina into his arms. ”Have the registration certificate delivered to my estate by nightfall. If it is late, the accountants march.”

”Before sunset, Your Grace! I swear it on the Light!”

Kaelus turned on his heel, his dark cape swirling as he marched toward the grand doors of the Spire, leaving the terrified, sweating High Priest and the shattered holy water fonts behind him.

***

Outside, the bright afternoon sunlight spilled across the cathedral steps.

As they stepped out of the cathedral and back into the sunlight, Seraphina buried her face in Kaelus’s neck.

”I was so scared, Papa,” she whispered, ensuring her voice was still slightly wobbly, playing the role to the very end to ensure he never doubted her innocence.

She had learned that frightened children were supposed to recover gradually.

Kaelus, however, needed no convincing.

His arms tightened around her, his hand gently stroking her dark hair. ”You are safe, Mushroom. The monster is gone. He will never, ever come near you again. You did perfectly. You are so brave.”

Seraphina peeked up at him.

”You promise?”

”I promise.”

Kaelus’s violet eyes hardened.

”Anyone who attempts to harm you will answer to me.”

Seraphina immediately hid her face against his chest again.

”Okay, Papa.”

Seraphina’s lips curved upward.

That part hadn’t been necessary for the act.

She simply liked hearing it.

He lifted her into the carriage, stepping in after her and sealing the doors, shutting out the stares of the Capital citizens.

For the first time that afternoon, Seraphina relaxed completely.

The carriage began moving.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

As the carriage rolled back toward the Nacht Estate, Seraphina leaned her head against Kaelus’s chest.

She closed her eyes, letting out a soft, contented sigh.

’Phase One of the Capital Conquest is complete,’ her mind celebrated, a smug, victorious smirk hidden against the dark velvet of his coat. ’I am officially registered as a pathetic, harmless water mage. The Church is terrified. The creep is getting whipped. Sister Elara is safe. And the grumpy hedgehog thinks I am a fragile angel who needs his constant protection.’

She nearly giggled.

Perfect.

Seraphina opened one eye.

Kaelus was staring out the carriage window, apparently deep in thought.

She quietly closed her eye again.

It was a flawless deception.

The nobles of the Capital would look at the Spire’s registration logs and laugh.

They would see a Tier-1 Water Mage and dismiss her as a useless, non-threatening political prop.

They would let their guard down and scheme in the shadows, unaware that the harmless little girl with the water core was currently running a ghost-powered intelligence syndicate out of her bedroom, holding the Archduke of the North firmly wrapped around her tiny, strawberry-glazed finger.

The game was set.

The board was arranged.

And Seraphina von Nacht was ready to play.

***

The private study of Duke Kaelus von Nacht was, historically, a sanctuary of terrifying silence.

It was a room where the temperature naturally hovered a few degrees below comfortable, where the scent of old parchment, cold iron, and expensive ink permeated the air.

The walls were lined with the dark, blood-soaked history of the Northern Vanguard, and the massive obsidian globe in the corner served as a constant reminder of the Archduke’s geopolitical dominion.

It was an environment designed to intimidate, to oppress, and to facilitate the cold, calculating machinations of the Empire’s most lethal warlord.

Today, however, the study had been conquered, colonized, and aggressively redecorated by a six-year-old girl wielding an arsenal of pastel-colored, magically adhesive stickers.

And the primary casualty of this brutal, hostile takeover was none other than Alistair, the Chief Administrative Aide.

Alistair was a man whose entire existence was predicated on flawless, aristocratic perfection.

He was a scholar of unparalleled genius, possessing a mind that could calculate the grain yields of the entire continent in seconds.

He was also breathtakingly, ethereally beautiful, with cascading, sun-kissed blonde hair, luminous emerald eyes, and skin like polished porcelain.

He usually moved through the world with an air of untouchable, fastidious superiority.

Currently, however, Alistair was sitting rigidly on a plush velvet floor-cushion, his long legs crossed awkwardly beneath his scholar’s robes, looking like a man who had died and been banished to a particularly humiliating circle of hell.

”Hold still, Auntie Alistair,” Seraphina chirped, her small tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in absolute, adorable concentration. ”If you wiggle too much, the glitter will get in your eye, and then I will have to wipe it, and it will smear the base layer of your makeover.”

Alistair did not breathe.

He stared blankly ahead, his emerald eyes locked onto the far wall, radiating an aura of soul-shattering despair.

His face, his beautiful, flawless face, was currently a chaotic, sparkling canvas of art.

A large, shimmering sticker of a pink unicorn with a holographic horn was plastered directly onto his left cheekbone.

A cluster of sparkly, neon-yellow stars formed a faux-constellation across the bridge of his nose.

His lips had been painted with a highly questionable, sticky substance that smelled aggressively of artificial strawberries, giving him the appearance of a very angry, very glamorous clown.