The waiting room felt like so kind of royal dungeon.
Everyone sat stiff. Stiffer than Papa’s ironed cuffs. Tension hung in the air so thick, you could probably slice it, roast it, and serve it on a silver platter with a side of imperial garnish.
Papa set neatly beside him on the plush velvet couch, like a precious ornant—sothing fragile, glittering, and possibly dangerous if dropped. I, of course, was busy gnawing on my golden pacifier. Priorities.
Across from us sat Grandpa Gregor, cloaked in black like he’d swallowed a thunderstorm, and Grand Duke Regis, who looked like he hadn’t smiled since the empire’s founding. Between them, an untouched pot of tea sat steaming gently, like it knew better than to interrupt.
"The rchants in the western provinces still resist imperial oversight," Grand Duke Regis was saying, voice smooth but tight like a noose. "Several trade routes remain under independent control."
Papa didn’t blink. His voice was cool as polished steel.
"Then break them. No rchant outranks the throne."
No pause. No rcy. Classic Papa.
Every word they spoke felt like arrows being drawn and aid, heavy with sharp intent.
And then—Grandpa Gregor’s voice slid in, dry and cutting like a blade being unsheathed:
"It’s not so simple, Your Majesty. Trade isn’t soldiers. rchants don’t march when ordered. They need to be lured in—with sothing valuable."
Oh great. Western provinces again.
Yawn.
But ? My focus was elsewhere.
Naly, on Osric. The little nace sitting in front of of , happily munching away on crispy chocolate cookies like he personally inherited the empire.
I stared, pacifier forgotten in my mouth. Those cookies... they looked divine. Perfectly crisp. Perfectly chocolatey. Probably baked in heaven itself.
anwhile, I’m over here, chewing gold like so underfed royal hostage.
This is betrayal.
Back to the grown-ups:
"You have no choice but to go yourself," Grandpa Gregor added, voice steady, eyes sharp. "Only you can settle the western provinces, Your Majesty."
Ah. So that’s why he’s here. The nobles must be exhausted trying to convince Papa to set foot in the western provinces. Only one person in this empire has the guts and charm to face Papa head-on: Grandpa Gregor.
I glanced up at him.
Oh! His eyes were already on .
I keep avoiding it, but he keeps glancing at .
Why does Grandpa Gregor keep glancing at ?
First, he had the nerve to crack a joke earlier about Papa conquering the empire’s hardest challenge—aka, .
Now? He won’t stop looking at like I’m so fascinating, rare artifact.
Oh, I get it. Maybe he’s just never seen a baby this gorgeous. Understandable, honestly.
And then—Our eyes t again.
Oh, no.
Abort. Look at the curtains. The ceiling. Anything but—
But then—my eyes landed on Osric.
The cookie thief himself. Happily munching. Gleefully shoving one cookie after another into his mouth like it was his divine birthright.
Hey, kid, do you even know I’ve never tasted one of those cookies in my entire royal life?! Not one crumb! And here you are, double-fisting them like it’s a buffet! I am, royal blood and all, pacifier in mouth, and he’s over there living the chocolate dream!
Ugh...I am pissed.
Is this treason? Should I summon the royal council to draft an anti-cookie decree? Should I ban cookies for two years? Three? Maybe exile them entirely?
And then—Ugh! Our eyes t.
Why does my gaze keep locking onto uncomfortable people today? First Grandpa Gregor and now Osric.
Osric, still blissfully unaware, grabbed another cookie, jumped off the couch, and started walking toward .
Hey... hey, kid! Don’t co near !
We may be "friends" now, boy, but don’t get too comfortable. You’re my future enemy. My tyrant-y father won’t blink before crushing you.
Back off! Retreat! Save yourself!
But nope. He stopped right in front of , crumbs on his face, cookie half in his mouth, eyes wide like we weren’t standing on a political battlefield.
"You want so?" he mumbled, holding out the cookie like so... peace treaty.
The AUDACITY.
My royal blood boiled. My cookie-deprived nerves snapped.
Is he mocking ?!
Offering forbidden cookies to a one-year-old baby who, thanks to imperial choking hazards, isn’t allowed solid food yet?!
The sheer insult.
I really should ban cookies.
And then—
A large hand reached down and effortlessly scooped Osric in his arms.
Grandpa Gregor.
"Osric," he said, voice smooth but firm, "princess cannot eat cookies yet. She’s only one."
Osric blinked, cookie still dangling from his hand, and gave a solemn little nod like he’d just received a royal decree.
I exhaled, victorious. But then—
Grandpa Gregor looked at again, crouched down to my level.
Oh no.
Here we go.
His sharp, stormy face softened ever so slightly as he rested one hand on his knee and leaned in close.
"Hello, Princess Lavinia," he murmured, voice low and warm, like velvet draped over steel. "Don’t worry... when you’re older, I’ll make sure no one denies you cookies."
I blinked, pacifier still lodged in my mouth, unsure if I should be flattered, suspicious, or preparing a royal decree banning eye contact for the next ten minutes.
Grandpa Gregor smiled faintly, the kind of smile that made you wonder whether he’s plotting five coups or just being lovely.
Honestly? Probably both.
and then...
"I think the rumors were true," Grandpa Gregor murmured, voice low, like he was letting in on so grand imperial secret.
Rumors? What rumors?!
I blinked up at him, pacifier still lodged firmly in my mouth, processing whether I should be concerned. Was soone spreading scandal about in the court already? Was I being frad?! I was one year old—how much political damage could I have possibly done?
Then Grandpa Gregor smiled even more warmly, eyes crinkling like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. "Our little princess is really cute."
HUH?!
That’s the rumor?!
I paused, processing this glorious information.
What a beautiful rumor! Excellent journalism. Truly, the people have eyes. Well, they’re not wrong. I am cute. Adorable, actually. What can I say? It’s a burden.
And then, like so character out of a fairy tale, Grandpa Gregor reached into his pocket. "I didn’t want to co empty-handed for our first eting," he said casually, like this was no big deal. "So, I brought this for you."
Okay, grandpa, I will accept all your gifts. even It’s Trash.
Then, out ca... a crimson ruby. Not just any ruby. An absolute monster ruby. It glead like it had been plucked straight from the crown jewels, big enough to flatten a man if thrown hard enough.
I gasped audibly. My pacifier popped out of my mouth like it had seen a ghost.
Wooooooooooowwwwwwww..
My eyes probably sparkled with literal golden, diamond-shaped stars. It was shiny. It was red. It was big. Clearly, it belonged to now.
I stretched out both my chubby hands, determined to claim my prize—even if it ant juggling it like a circus act.
But just as my fingers were about to graze the glittering surface—
Swoosh.
A large, firm hand scooped right up off the couch like I was so precious artifact being stolen from a museum.
Papa.
His grip was secure, his jaw tight, and his voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade:
"Don’t lure my daughter."
The temperature dropped ten degrees. Papa’s Crimson eyes narrowed at Grandpa Gregor like the ruby was so forbidden weapon.
Oh no.He’s entered Full Jealous Tyrant-y Father Mode™.
Grandpa Gregor rely raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. His smile was as mild as a spring breeze, while Papa’s aura practically scread bloodshed.
"It’s only a welco gift, Your Majesty," Grandpa Gregor said smoothly.
Yes, Papa! Just a harmless little gift! I wiggled in Papa’s iron grip, stretching my hands out in the universal toddler language of Gim. It sparkles. I want it.
Grandpa gregor’s lips twitched. "Look, even my granddaughter wants a gift from her dear grandpa."
EXCUSE , WHAT NOW?!
GRANDDAUGHTER?!
I froze mid-wiggle, pacifier hanging loosely.
Did I hear that right?
Did he just claim ?!
Papa’s expression turned positively glacial. "She is not your granddaughter," Papa snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass. "I killed her grandfather years ago. She has no grandfather."
Wow.
Okay, Papa.
Casually bringing up murder in front of your pacifier-sucking toddler like it’s snack ti. If you can roll heads in front of during breakfast, I guess a little casual death talk’s no big deal.
Grandpa gregor didn’t even flinch. "But I raised you."
Papa’s smile was pure frost. "Thank you," he said, tone so flat it might as well have been a sword to the gut. "But you cannot steal away my daughter."
Oh dear.
We’ve reached Peak Tyrant.
Then, out of nowhere, Grand Duke Regis strolled in, sipping tea like he’d been waiting backstage for his cue.
"See," Grand duke Regis said blandly, nodding towards Papa, "I told you. He’s changed a lot."
Grandpa Gregor smirked, clearly enjoying every second of this trainwreck."Yes, I can see that."
Then, just when things felt like they couldn’t get any tenser, Grandpa Gregor casually reached out—AND PATTED PAPA ON THE SHOULDER.
"It’s good to see you being such a good father, Your Majesty," Grandpa gregor said with syrupy warmth.
"...But kids tend to love . What can I do?"
Papa flinched.
Actually flinched. The mighty, feared Emperor. Defeater of armies. Slayer of grandfathers.
Flinched.
I almost applauded. The sheer audacity.
He wanted to snap. I could feel it—Every muscle in his arm tensed like he was two seconds away from declaring war on Grandpa Gregor right there in the waiting room.
But alas, diplomacy.
Instead, Papa’s grip tightened protectively around like so dragon hoarding its treasure. His aura practically scread, "Mine."
?
I was still trying to figure out how to get that ruby without accidentally triggering another political assassination.
Then, cool as ever, Grand Duke Regis stepped in and said casually, "It’s okay, Father. We can give the princess her present at the upcoming event."
Event?
I blinked, suspicious.
What event?
Before I could process, Grandpa Gregor’s smile widened like he was plotting twelve things at once. "I agree," he said smoothly. "And I think..."
He glanced at Papa, who was still glaring like a territorial beast. "...it’s going to be the grandest event in the empire."
Huh?!
What are they talking about?!
What kind of event is this where presents, potential coups, and family drama are being exchanged like appetizers?
Then Grandpa Gregor looked down at , eyes twinkling. "Our little princess is going to turn one very soon..."
I perked up. Oh, is that so? First birthday, huh? Okay, okay, maybe that explains the excitent—
But then.
Then.
Grandpa Gregor glanced sideways, eyes gleaming mischievously, and added, "...and her father is going to turn twenty-five this year."
WHAT.
I froze.
Wait—
Wait, hold on.
Don’t tell —
Papa... Papa... and my birthday... ARE ON THE SA DAY?!
I gaped, pacifier long forgotten, brain struggling to process.
Wait, wait, wait.
So, we’re... we’re both born on the sa day?!
Sa zodiac sign?! Sa cosmic alignnt?! SA CHAOTIC ENERGY?!
We... we really share a birthday.
Well... I guess that explains why we’re both dramatic, terrifying, and prone to owning entire rooms without saying a word.
Still, I have questions. Very important, earth-shattering questions.
Like—
Does this an I have to SHARE my cake?!
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