Chapter 23: Grandpa, Cookies, and a Ruby Crisis

Chapter 23: Grandpa, Cookies, and a Ruby Crisis The waiting room felt like some 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 me neatly beside him on the plush velvet couch, like a precious ornament—something 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 merchants 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 merchant outranks the throne." No pause. No mercy. Classic Papa. Every word they spoke felt like arrows being drawn and aimed, 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. Merchants don’t march when ordered. They need to be lured in—with something valuable." Oh great. Western provinces again. Yawn. But me? My focus was elsewhere. Namely, on Osric. The little menace sitting in front of of me, 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. Meanwhile, I’m over here, chewing gold like some 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 me. I keep avoiding it, but he keeps glancing at me. Why does Grandpa Gregor keep glancing at me? First, he had the nerve to crack a joke earlier about Papa conquering the empire’s hardest challenge—aka, me. Now? He won’t stop looking at me like I’m some fascinating, rare artifact. Oh, I get it. Maybe he’s just never seen a baby this gorgeous. Understandable, honestly. And then—Our eyes met 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 met. 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 me. Hey... hey, kid! Don’t come near me! 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 me, crumbs on his face, cookie half in his mouth, eyes wide like we weren’t standing on a political battlefield. "You want some?" he mumbled, holding out the cookie like some... peace treaty. The AUDACITY. My royal blood boiled. My cookie-deprived nerves snapped. Is he mocking me?! 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 me 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 me in on some 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 someone spreading scandal about me in the court already? Was I being framed?! 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 some character out of a fairy tale, Grandpa Gregor reached into his pocket. "I didn’t want to come empty-handed for our first meeting," 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 came... a crimson ruby. Not just any ruby. An absolute monster ruby. It gleamed 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. Wooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww.... My eyes probably sparkled with literal golden, diamond-shaped stars. It was shiny. It was red. It was big. Clearly, it belonged to me now. I stretched out both my chubby hands, determined to claim my prize—even if it meant juggling it like a circus act. But just as my fingers were about to graze the glittering surface— Swoosh. A large, firm hand scooped me right up off the couch like I was some 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 some forbidden weapon. Oh no.He’s entered Full Jealous Tyrant-y Father ModeTM. Grandpa Gregor merely raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. His smile was as mild as a spring breeze, while Papa’s aura practically screamed bloodshed. "It’s only a welcome 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 Gimme. It sparkles. I want it. Grandpa gregor’s lips twitched. "Look, even my granddaughter wants a gift from her dear grandpa." EXCUSE ME, WHAT NOW?! GRANDDAUGHTER?! I froze mid-wiggle, pacifier hanging loosely. Did I hear that right? Did he just claim me?! 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 time. If you can roll heads in front of me 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 me. 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 me like some dragon hoarding its treasure. His aura practically screamed, "Mine." Me? 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 me, 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 excitement— 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 me— Papa... Papa... and my birthday... ARE ON THE SAME DAY?! I gaped, pacifier long forgotten, brain struggling to process. Wait, wait, wait. So, we’re... we’re both born on the same day?! Same zodiac sign?! Same cosmic alignment?! SAME 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 mean I have to SHARE my cake?!