Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

”Okay, Papa,” Seraphina patted his back, highly amused by his extreme melodrama.

”But don’t lose your arms. That would be too messy, I’ll get angry if you do, and you won’t be able to hug me anymore.”

***

The following morning, Kaelus was summoned back to the Palace for the final, tedious rehearsal of the Imperial Banquet seating arrangements.

Which meant Alistair, the Chief Administrative Aide, was once again left alone in the estate with the tiny, terrifying Sovereign.

Alistair was currently hiding in the deepest, most secure corner of the estate’s sprawling archives.

He was surrounded by towering stacks of ledgers, attempting to balance the budget for the upcoming winter quarter.

He was exhausted.

The glitter from his previous makeover had taken three aggressive scrubbing sessions to fully remove from his pores, and he was determined to avoid any further interaction with the small, chaotic demon.

’She is probably playing with dolls,’ Alistair reassured himself, writing a neat column of numbers in the ledger. ’Or napping. Children nap constantly. I am safe here. The archives are a sanctuary of boredom. No child would ever willingly enter a room filled with tax records.’

Rustle.

Alistair froze. His quill paused over the parchment.

He slowly turned his head around.

Sitting perfectly cross-legged on top of a stack of highly classified agricultural reports, silent, and staring at him unblinkingly with large, dark eyes, was Seraphina.

”By the Light!” Alistair gasped, dropping his quill, clutching his chest. ”How did you get in here?! The door was locked! The wards were active!”

”I walked in,” Seraphina replied simply, swinging her legs. ”You left a crumb of bread on the floor outside. I tracked you. You are very messy for a shiny person, Auntie Alistair.”

”I am not an Auntie! And I am incredibly hygienic!” Alistair hissed, his emerald eyes darting around the room as if expecting an ambush. ”What do you want? I am working! His Grace demands these reports by sundown!”

Alistair stared at her.

Seraphina stared back.

The silence stretched between them. Finally, Alistair slowly bent down and retrieved his fallen quill.

”Whatever you are planning,” he said carefully, ”the answer is no.”

Seraphina blinked. ”I didn’t ask anything yet.”

”I know.”

”How?”

”Because whenever you enter a room with that expression, something financially catastrophic happens.”

Seraphina’s cheeks puffed out. ”I have a normal face.”

”You have the face of someone who has already committed the crime and is now deciding whether I am useful enough to receive the explanation.”

Seraphina smiled.

Alistair immediately regretted being perceptive.

”Don’t worry, Auntie Alistair.”

”I told you—”

”I only came to ask a question.”

Alistair narrowed his emerald eyes.

”What question?”

Seraphina pointed at the enormous stacks of ledgers surrounding them.

”What is all this?”

Alistair stared.

”You entered my secure archive, bypassed three layers of magical wards, climbed onto a stack of confidential agricultural reports, and tracked me here because you wanted to know what accounting documents are?”

”Yes.”

”...”

Seraphina nodded.

Alistair slowly pinched the bridge of his nose.

”I am going to resign.”

”You can’t.”

”Why?”

”Papa needs you.”

Alistair froze.

That was...

Annoyingly true.

He looked back down at his ledger. ”Fine. What do you want to know?”

Seraphina hopped down from the reports. She wandered over to his desk and placed both hands against the edge.

”What’s a budget?”

Alistair blinked.

”A budget?”

”Yes.”

”A budget is an allocation framework used to regulate projected expenditure against available revenue.”

Seraphina stared at him.

Alistair stared back.

”...Did you understand any of that?”

”No.”

”Excellent.”

He picked up his quill.

”A budget tells you how much money you have, how much you can spend, and how much you absolutely must not spend unless you want me to experience cardiac failure.”

”Oh.”

Seraphina’s eyes brightened.

”So Papa gives you money and you tell him what he can buy?”

”Yes.”

”Then you’re Papa’s money nanny.”

Alistair’s quill stopped.

”...I am his Chief Administrative Aide.”

”Money nanny.”

”Chief Administrative Aide.”

”Fancy money nanny.”

”Administrative.”

”Shiny money nanny.”

Alistair slowly closed his eyes.

’Do not react.’

’She is only six years old, and you are a highly educated administrator.’

’You have survived war budgets, famine projections, military procurement disputes, and three separate attempts by the Imperial Treasury to overcharge the North.’

’You can survive one child.’

He opened his eyes.

”Now please leave.”

”No.”

”Why?”

”I want to help.”

Alistair’s expression changed instantly.

”No.”

Seraphina frowned.

”Why not?”

”Because the last time you ’helped,’ you reorganized the household supply ledger according to what you called ’snack efficiency.’”

”It was more efficient.”

”You moved twelve crates of flour because you discovered the bakery was three minutes farther from your bedroom than the pantry.”

”The old system was inefficient.”

”You also classified the kitchen’s emergency sugar reserve as a strategic military asset.”

”It was important.”

”It was icing sugar.”

”Very important icing sugar.”

Alistair’s eye twitched.

”Please.”

Seraphina leaned closer.

”What are you calculating?”

”Winter expenditure.”

”Why?”

”Because winter is expensive.”

”Why?”

”Because the North is cold.”

”Why?”

”Because—”

Alistair stopped.

He looked at her.

She smiled innocently.

”Are you doing this on purpose?”

”Yes.”

”I knew it.”

Seraphina giggled.

Alistair sighed and returned to his calculations. For several minutes, remarkably, she behaved.

She stood beside the desk, watched him work, didn’t touch anything, didn’t summon ducks, didn’t rearrange the ledgers, didn’t turn him into a princess.

Alistair gradually relaxed.

’Perhaps she really is just curious.’

He dipped his quill into the ink.

”This column represents grain procurement.”

Seraphina nodded.

”That one?”

”Military clothing.”

”That one?”

”Medical supplies.”

”That one?”

”Fortification maintenance.”

”That one?”

”Emergency reserves.”

”And that one?”

”Taxes.”

Seraphina went silent. Her expression changed.

Alistair noticed.

”What?”

Seraphina pointed at the tax ledger.

”Why is the Capital taking so much?”

Alistair’s eyebrows rose.

”Because the Imperial Treasury levies regional tariffs and administrative taxes.”

”How much?”

Alistair hesitated.

Then he gave her the number.

Seraphina’s eyes widened.

”That is a lot.”

”Yes.”

”Papa pays that much? Every year?”