Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

”If I were the puppy,” Seraphina declared, her voice echoing with the terrifying, unyielding authority of the Sovereign. ”I would have stayed. I would have learned how to bite back, and I would have stood behind the guard dog and protected his back. I would have kept the den warm while he hunted. And when he came back covered in snow and blood, I would have shared the food with him. I would have told him he was a good dog.”

Seraphina slid off Elara’s lap, her small boots hitting the stone floor.

”You didn’t save the guard dog by leaving,” Seraphina said softly, looking at their devastated faces. ”You just made him freeze to death from the inside out. He survived the wolves, but he forgot how to be happy.”

She dusted off her pristine white dress.

She didn’t wait for them to answer. She didn’t wait for the tears.

Seraphina turned on her heel and walked toward the exit of the conservatory.

She moved with lazy, deliberate, ultimate toddler swagger, not looking back for a single second.

She walked out the glass doors, leaving Caspian and Elara sitting on the iron bench, shattered, destroyed, and finally, undeniably confronted with the catastrophic reality of their fifteen-year mistake.

As Seraphina marched down the hallway, the sound of agonizing, cathartic, unrestrained weeping erupted from the conservatory behind her.

’Phase One complete,’ Seraphina thought, popping the last piece of her blue dragon lollipop into her mouth. ’The emotional blockage has been detonated. Now, it’s time to go find my grumpy hedgehog and fix his family.’

The Elder’s Council’s mandate regarding Duke Kaelus von Nacht’s marital status hung over the Capital Estate like a toxic, suffocating cloud of cheap perfume.

Count Valerius, despite having been unceremoniously pantsed and dumped into a koi pond, possessed the cockroach-like resilience of a career politician.

He had returned to the estate the very next day, armed with a fresh, dry coat and a brand-new, velvet-bound portfolio of eligible noblewomen.

He had spent his mornings loudly discussing fertility rates, political dowries, and the ”tragic necessity of producing a legitimate, pure-blooded heir.”

Seraphina von Nacht, operating her shadow-empire from the comfort of her plush floor cushions, found the entire situation absolutely annoying.

’The old toad is trying to weaponize biology,’ Seraphina calculated, aggressively chewing on a candied Valen-nut. ’He knows Papa won’t yield to threats of violence. So he is using the ancient Northern laws. If Papa doesn’t marry one of these Capital vipers, the Council will petition the Emperor to invalidate his title. It is a brilliant, disgusting trap.’

Seraphina could not allow a stepmother into the estate.

A Capital noblewoman would bring her own spies, her own maids, and her own agenda. She would attempt to remodel the fortress, complain about the lack of sunlight, and worst of all, she would undoubtedly try to discipline Seraphina.

’Hmph, I am the Sovereign. I do not take orders from a woman who thinks ruffles are a substitute for a personality,’ Seraphina vowed.

She needed a solution.

She needed a way to completely, permanently, and spectacularly disqualify Kaelus von Nacht from the Imperial marriage market.

She needed a scandal so undeniable, that no self-respecting High House would ever allow their daughter to marry the Reaper of the North.

Seraphina looked across the study.

Alistair, the Chief Administrative Aide, was currently standing near the mahogany desk, meticulously organizing a stack of wax seals by color, size, and melting point.

His flawless blonde hair was tied in a pristine braid. His emerald eyes were focused. His posture was the picture of aristocratic elegance.

A wicked, brilliant, utterly devious idea ignited within Seraphina’s old, transmigrated soul.

’If the nobles think Papa is... romantically unavailable... in a direction they cannot legally compete with...’ Seraphina’s dark eyes narrowed into calculating slits. ’If the Capital believes the terrifying Reaper of the North bends the wrong way on the romantic spectrum, the marriage proposals would evaporate overnight. The Elders would have collective strokes, and the Count would lose his primary leverage!’

She stared at Alistair.

He was beautiful, constantly hovering around Kaelus, was fussy, dramatic, and practically acted like a disgruntled spouse already.

’It’s perfect,’ Seraphina thought, an evil grin spreading across her chubby cheeks. ’I just need to stage a compromising situation. A carefully timed misunderstanding. I’ll just tell Alistair to unbutton his collar, lean over Papa’s desk, and complain about being sore.’

Alistair, who was currently reaching for a stick of red sealing wax, suddenly froze.

The beautiful scholar dropped the wax.

He stood perfectly rigid, a cold shiver racking his slender frame. He slowly, terrified, turned his head to look at the corner of the room.

He saw the six-year-old staring at him with a grin that could only be described as demonic.

”Absolutely not,” Alistair stated, his voice trembling with strong survival instinct, despite having absolutely no idea what she was thinking. ”Whatever you are plotting, Lady Seraphina, the answer is a non-negotiable negative. I resign. I will throw myself into the sea.”

Seraphina let out a heavy sigh, her grin fading.

’Tsk. That won’t do. He’s too fragile,’ Seraphina conceded, crossing her small arms. ’If I even suggested he fake a scandalous romance with the Archduke, his heart would literally stop. He would spontaneously combust from the indignity. The rumors would destroy his academic standing.’

She needed someone else.

Someone who didn’t care about their reputation, thrived on chaos, possessed the acting chops of a seasoned theatrical professional, and actively enjoyed tormenting Kaelus.

Seraphina’s pitch-black eyes slowly widened.

She knew exactly who to call.

****

The secondary study was quiet, save for the scratching of a quill.

Professor Roan Charte was sitting behind his desk, reviewing the latest blackmail acquisitions secured by the Duck Service Squad.

The Obsidian Network was rapidly expanding, and the handsome Archmage was thoroughly enjoying his new role as the CEO of a toddler’s criminal syndicate.

The door clicked shut, the heavy iron bolt sliding into place with a thwack.

Roan looked up.

Seraphina marched toward his desk.

She was holding a small, slightly lopsided, hand-painted porcelain plate. Resting on the plate were five chocolate-chip cookies. They were slightly burnt on the edges, highly irregular in shape, and practically oozing with melted chocolate.

Roan raised an elegant eyebrow, setting his quill down.

”A peace offering?” Roan drawled, his pitch-black eyes glittering with amusement. ”Or a bribe? Because if you expect me to grade Castor Valen’s latest essay on fire-combustion, you are going to need significantly more chocolate. The boy spelled his own name wrong.”

”It’s a bribe, Mr. Balcony Ghost,” Seraphina announced, hopping onto the guest chair and sliding the plate across the desk. ”I baked them myself. In the kitchens. I only burned three batches. These are the survivors.”

Roan’s expression softened.

The ancient trickster looked at the slightly charred, misshapen cookies. To the Supreme Archmage, they looked like Michelin-star masterpieces.

He reached out, picked up a cookie, and took a bite.

He closed his eyes, chewing slowly, letting out a soft, dramatic groan of culinary ecstasy. ”Flawless. The slight carbonization adds a delightfully rustic, smoky profile to the cacao. A triumph of modern baking. What do you require of me, Boss?”

”I need you to ruin my father’s reputation,” Seraphina stated bluntly.

Roan choked on a chocolate chip.

He pounded his fist against his chest, swallowing hard, his eyes watering.

He grabbed his silver-wire glasses from his face, tossing them onto the blueprints.

”I beg your pardon?” Roan coughed, an unholy, utterly delighted grin breaking across his handsome face. ”Ruin his reputation? Lady Seraphina, the man is known as the Reaper. He slaughters armies of tens of thousands. His reputation is already a terrifying bloodbath. What more could I possibly do to him?”

”The Uncle is trying to force him to get married,” Seraphina explained, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hands. ”He brought a whole book of shiny ladies. If Papa doesn’t pick one, the Elders are going to petition the Emperor to take away the North.”

Roan’s smile faded into a sharp, calculating scowl. ”A classic, pathetic political vise. They are attempting to dilute his power base through matrimony.”

”Exactly,” Seraphina nodded. ”But they can’t force him to marry a lady if the entire Capital is convinced he... prefers a different kind of company. Company that cannot produce an heir.”

Roan stared at the six-year-old child.