Hmm... warm...
My eyes opened slowly. Everything looked fuzzy and bright, like the sun was tickling my eyelashes. Sothing cold was sitting on my forehead.
A wet towel?
I blinked. My head felt heavy, and my throat was dry. Ugh. Not nice.
Then I saw it.
A big arm. Strong and warm, wrapped around like I was sothing fragile. Like a glass doll. I turned my head slowly, and—
Papa.
He was sitting on the bed right beside , leaning close. His face was next to mine. His long, golden hair was all ssy, falling over his cheek. His eyes were closed.
He was sleeping.
Papa never sleeps near like this. He always tucks in and goes away to his scary emperor stuff. But now... he was here. Hugging like I might disappear.
Did he take care of last night?
I glanced up at the wet cloth again. It looked fresh. Papa did it. Papa, who always made other people do things, did this for . My chest felt weird and squishy.
Then, suddenly—his eyes opened. Crimson eyes. Sharp like a lion’s. They landed right on .
He stared. Like he couldn’t believe I was real.
Then I gave him my biggest, sparkliest, fairy-princess smile. "Good morning, Papa."
He paused. Just for a second.
Then he smiled, slow and soft, and reached over to ruffle my hair. "...Good morning."
His voice was gentle. Really gentle. Like when he talks to late at night, thinking I’m already asleep. Like when he whispers promises in the dark that no one else can hear.
Then he kissed my forehead.
I giggled.
"You sleep like a log, papa," I whispered and wrapped my little arms around his neck.
He squeezed back, careful but warm. So warm.
I felt safe.
Later, after Nanny heard I had woken up, she rushed in and imdiately scooped into her arms, hugging tightly. She was crying.
"I was so scared," she whispered into my hair, her voice trembling. "You scared , my princess..."
I hugged her back as best as I could, my little hands patting her back.
Beside her, Marella stood with her hands clenched over her chest, sniffling loudly. "Y-You really gave us all a fright, Princess..."
I blinked at her. It was warm.
Warmth filled the room—and yes, this is what I need. But of course... warm monts never last long in this palace.
***
Later—Papa’s Royal Scary Office,
"Uuuuugh, my aaaarms..."
I groaned loudly. Very dramatically. On purpose. Maybe he’d feel bad for his poor, tiny, angelic daughter who almost DIED yesterday.
Nope.
I was kneeling on the couch in his big, boring, scary office. My arms were up like I was flying—but I wasn’t flying.
I was suffering.
This was punishnt.
Why?
Because soone(who will not be nad because I’m innocent) maybe accidentally snuck out of the palace and maybe gave everyone a teeny-tiny heart attack. Maybe almost drowned. Just a little.
But! I survived! I’m alive! I’m a strong, brave girl! That should count for sothing!
But Papa was mad. Not the yelling kind of mad. Papa never yells. He does worse.
He punishes.
With cold, scary silence and actions so dramatic, I want to scream into a pillow. Like now. My poor arms were up in the air like branches. TREE BRANCHES! And I’ve been like this for a thousand years!
I peeked at Papa.
He was buried in a mountain of boring emperor papers. His hair glowed like gold even when he was being an. Ugh. I slowly... very slowly... tried to sneak one arm down—
"Put it back up."
He didn’t even look at !!
I gasped so loudly I almost fell over. My arm shot back up like lightning.
"If your hands go down again, your punishnt ti will increase."
Excuse ???
Am I not his precious, most lovable, most beautiful, almost-drowned-and-totally-traumatized daughter?! Shouldn’t he be giving hugs and cake and letting nap on his chest???
Nope.
He didn’t just punish . Noooo. He went to the pond and had giant fences built around it. GIANT. Like he caged the poor pond. Like he was ssaying,no more sparkly butterfly adventures forever.
I sighed. Okay. Ti to try sothing smarter.
"Papa..." I whined, putting every bit of sadness I had into that one word.
Still nothing.
Cold. Ice cold.
Okay. He forced my hand.
Secret weapon: activate.
I turned just enough so he could see . I made my eyes go huge. I wobbled my bottom lip. I sniffled like the world’s saddest puppy.
"Papa... I sorry... I was lonely... and the butterflies were so sparkly... and I missed you..."
Silence.
My heart pounded.
Did it work?!
He looked up. Slowly. Calmly.
"Make that face again, and your punishnt ti doubles."
"WHAAAAAAAAAT?!"
I almost fell off the couch. I even flailed a little. My arms wobbled. My soul wobbled.
"This is cruel!" I yelled, flopping like a dying fish. "Cruel and unfair! This is child abuse! I’m writing a letter to the emperor—wait, that’s you! YOU’RE the emperor! This whole system is corrupt!"
He blinked slowly. Unbothered. Unmoved. He went back to ignoring like I was an unpaid intern.
I groaned. Louder.
Then I mumbled under my breath, very softly,"I want Grandpa..."
"Triple the punishnt."
"...I didn’t say anything.
***
I was dying.
My arms were jelly sticks. My knees were made of wobbly pudding. My lips? Dry. Cracked. Forgotten by the gods. I was fading away—a tragic flower withering under royal cruelty. Soone should be painting a portrait of my suffering.
Title: "The Beautiful Princess in Pain." Hang it in the palace gallery.
Then—
The door opened.
Theon. My salvation. My light in the darkness. My emotional support noble.
He looked at . And I unleashed my most powerful weapon —The Big Eyes™.
"THEON!!!" I cried out like a princess in a drama play who just found out her puppy ran away. My voice trembled. My bottom lip wobbled. I made myself shimr with helpless beauty.
Theon blinked.
I threw all the innocent stars in my eyes at him, silently begging for rcy. I scread internally. I even sniffled for extra points.
"Tell Papa I’m suuuuffering!!" I whispered, my lips trembled.
Bam. Hit him with the double combo: baby voice betrayal pout.
His face turned red, just as I predicted. He was lting like butter on hot bread. Theon walked straight to Papa.
"...Your Majesty," he said carefully, like soone trying not to poke a sleeping dragon. "Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on her?"
Papa didn’t even look up. Cold. Silent. Scary.
"She deserves it."
TRAITOR. I gasped loudly, like he’d stabbed with his icy words.
"But...she’s still recovering, Your Majesty," Theon said, trying again. "And I don’t think her little arms can take much more."
Papa finally looked up.
Our eyes t.
He saw trembling like a sad, soaked kitten in a rainstorm. My arms were up like a tree, but my soul was curled up in a ttiny,sad ball.
He sighed.
"...Alright. Put your hands down."
"FINALLYYYYYYYY~~~~~~~~~~!!!"
I collapsed onto the couch like a majestic pancake. My arms dropped like anchors into the ocean of freedom. I was reborn. I was ALIVE.
Then—Papa spoke.
"Co here."
I blinked. ... wait. Was that it? Was I finally free? Or was this... round two?
But his voice wasn’t scary now. It was soft. Warm. Like marshmallows.
I slid off the couch, waddled to the snack tray, grabbed a bright pink macaron—my victory prize—and ran to him with arms stretched out like: Lift .
He picked up. Big. Warm. Safe. I bead like the glorious star I was.
Then—GASP—he STOLE my macaron.
"WHAT?!" I shrieked. "That was MINE!"
I tried reaching for it, but he held it out of reach, that villain. I glared at him, channeling every ounce of my betrayed soul. But Papa was already looking at . Cold. Stern. Dangerous.
And then...he begins.
"If you sneak out again," he said in a voice that made the windows shiver. "I won’t just punish you. I’ll throw you into the dungeon."
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?!"
The. Dungeon.
Was this the sa man who looks at like "his little sunshine"? The one who thinks I was his treasure, his light, his reason for living?!
Was this the start of his evil arc?
"Did you get it?" he asked, still low and scary.
I puffed up my cheeks like a sad, betrayed little fish.
"...Alright," I mumbled.
There was a brief silence. Then he sighed, reached over, and ruffled my hair with that weird gentleness only Papa has. Then his expression changed—soft, worried. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"If you want to go sowhere... just tell . I’ll take you, okay?"
...I forgot what I was mad about. I nodded quickly, hugging his neck. "Okay. I’m sorry."
He smiled.
And—at long last—he gave back my macaron.
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