The scent of roasted figs and honeyed bread reached Elysia before the knock. Her stomach stirred to life with the urgency of a small, indignant dragon, growling for attention.
She blinked up from the chaise, nestled beneath the heavy blanket Malvoria had draped over her, and blinked toward the soft morning light slipping through the velvet curtains.
Kaelith was still asleep in her crib, swaddled in a storm of blankets and faint flickers of violet fla.
A suspicious curl of smoke rose from her hair. That, Elysia decided with a wry smile, was definitely Malvoria’s doing.
The knock ca again no, more like an intrusion. It was the sort of knock that didn’t ask to be answered. It announced its arrival like a trumpet blast.
Then the door opened. Of course it did.
"I brought breakfast!" declared Veylira, striding in like a conquering general.
Behind her floated trays upon trays of food sweet pastries, rich ats, bowls of fruit, jugs of cream and tea, and sothing that looked suspiciously like a tower of cheese.
Elysia sat up with a groan. "Is that... three types of bacon?"
"Four, if you count the one cured in bloodwine," Veylira said, planting her hands on her hips proudly. "We are celebrating."
Elysia blinked. "Celebrating what?"
Veylira gestured broadly to the crib, as if the baby glowing faintly with demonic power was a new couch. "The miracle of life, obviously."
Before Elysia could respond, the door banged open again.
"I heard there was breakfast," Lara announced, already chewing on sothing.
She was still half-dressed in battle leathers and looked like she’d gotten into a fight with her closet and only half-won. "I stole a scone from a servant tray but I think it was fake. It tasted like regret."
Elysia narrowed her eyes. "You didn’t knock."
"I did!" Lara said, flopping onto the edge of the bed. "I knocked with my soul."
Behind her, Malvoria’s grandmother entered with her usual imperial calm.Saelira swept in like a breeze of steel and perfu, dressed in midnight blue and trailing the scent of old roses and subtle nace.
"Your soul doesn’t count," she inford Lara sweetly. "It’s too shriveled."
"Rude," Lara mumbled around a sausage.
Elysia watched in stunned amusent as more trays floated in. She caught Malvoria’s eye as her wife entered last, dressed impeccably in black with her hair still damp and swept into a loose braid.
"Is this a siege?" Elysia asked.
Malvoria leaned down and kissed her temple. "No. This is my family trying to be subtle."
Then, as if the gods had a sense of humor, there was yet another knock.
This one was hesitant. Polite.
Everyone paused, heads turning toward the door.
It creaked open slowly, and in stepped King Thalor.
Elysia sat upright, startled. "Father?"
Thalor cleared his throat. He wore royal blue robes, his silver beard freshly grood, his hands clasped awkwardly behind his back like a visiting uncle who wasn’t sure if he was welco at the party.
He looked so shy it was almost funny.
"I heard there was a breakfast gathering," he said, eyes scanning the room and very obviously avoiding Lara, who was now pouring syrup onto her bacon.
Veylira narrowed her eyes at him imdiately.
Saelira smiled, the type of smile that had ended wars—or started them. "Ah. The human grandfather arrives. How quaint."
Thalor blinked. "I am her grandfather," he said, stepping forward with mild dignity, though his gaze flickered with uncertainty toward Kaelith’s faint purple glow.
"So am I," Veylira said, crossing her arms.
"You’re her demon grandmother," Thalor said.
"Excuse you," Veylira replied, tossing her hair like a theatrical actress about to duel. "I am her best grandparent. Ask anyone."
"Ask ," Lara chid in. "It’s obviously ."
"You don’t even count!" Veylira and Thalor barked in unison.
"I’m the cool one," Lara mumbled through a mouthful of peach tart.
Thalor cleared his throat. "I brought a gift."
"Oh, how novel," Veylira said.
He produced a small velvet pouch from his robe and handed it solemnly to Elysia. Inside was a silver pendant, engraved with the symbol of the royal family of Arvandor—a sun cradled by a blooming rose. Elysia’s throat tightened.
"For Kaelith," he said quietly. "A symbol of her human legacy."
"Thank you," she whispered, brushing her fingers over the pendant.
Veylira scoffed but her eyes flicked toward the baby. "Fine. Sentintal. I’ll allow it."
"Allow—?" Thalor started.
Malvoria, seated calmly beside Elysia, interrupted with perfect timing. "Shall we eat before you both attempt to duel with breadsticks?"
Elysia stifled a laugh as Thalor and Veylira grudgingly took seats on opposite ends of the room.
The table was an informal arrangent—trays spread across low surfaces, couches and cushions pulled together. Sohow, it still felt like a war council made of eccentric relatives and snide royalty.
Saelira had already begun feeding Kaelith with a bottle she’d taken from the crib like she owned the child. "She drinks like a queen already. I respect that."
"I swear she growled at last night," Lara muttered. "She’s a baby."
"She’s a demon baby," Malvoria corrected. "Growling is a sign of affection."
Thalor blinked. "What does it an when she sparks fla mid-burp?"
"She loves you," Elysia said sweetly.
"She wants to eat you," Veylira added.
"It’s both," Saelira confird, smiling serenely.
Elysia laughed, head falling back. Her body still ached in places she hadn’t known could ache, but the warmth in her chest drowned out the soreness.
Kaelith gave a hiccup and sparked a wisp of fire from her blanket, and Saelira just nodded with grandmotherly pride.
And then Thalor, ever the composed monarch, leaned forward and said with deliberate clarity:
"I think we should hold a banquet."
The room went utterly silent.
Even Kaelith stopped squirming.
"A banquet?" Malvoria echoed slowly.
Thalor nodded. "To announce her. To both realms."
"Wait," Veylira said. "Did we just... agree?"
"Don’t look at like that," Thalor warned. "This doesn’t an you win."
"I always win."
Elysia rubbed her temples. "Is this going to beco a royal grandparents competition?"
"Absolutely," Lara said, mouth full again. "And I want a front row seat."
Malvoria chuckled, resting her hand over Elysia’s. "He’s right, though. She’s the child of both our nations. Hiding her forever won’t do."
Elysia nodded. "But a banquet? With dignitaries?"
"Nothing too formal," Saelira said, eyes twinkling. "Just a little announcent with dangerous people, elaborate desserts, and heavily enchanted forks."
"That is formal," Elysia said.
"It’s subtle," Veylira said.
"It’s a statent," Thalor added. "She deserves it."
Elysia looked down at her daughter, wrapped in flickering warmth, her tiny hand curled into a fist. Her eyes were closed, but there was sothing fierce even in sleep—like she was already dreaming of conquest.
A banquet. A declaration.
Not just of birth, but of existence. Of unity. Of sothing new.
"I want it to be beautiful," Elysia said quietly.
"It will be," Malvoria promised.
"I want flowers. Music. No poisonous desserts."
Lara raised a hand. "Define poisonous."
"Lethal."
She lowered it. "Noted."
Thalor leaned forward. "I know so human lords who would be honored to attend."
"Only if they bow first," Veylira snapped.
"They will," Malvoria said darkly. "Or they’ll burn."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Kaelith burped again, a tiny puff of smoke curling from her lips.
Everyone burst into laughter.
Elysia smiled and leaned into Malvoria’s side. The ache in her body still lingered, but sothing stronger swelled in her chest—a quiet, growing joy. Her family was chaos. Complete, unhinged chaos.
But it was hers.
And Kaelith, their daughter, their storm in the cradle, would be loved by every strange, ridiculous soul in this room.
Even if it took three kingdoms and a thousand argunts.
She glanced between Thalor and Veylira, who were now trying to out-feed Kaelith from opposite sides.
Elysia sighed, deeply and happily.
The banquet was going to be a disaster.
She couldn’t wait.
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