Chapter 33: Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Chapter 33: Cruel and Unusual Punishment Hmm... warm... My eyes opened slowly. Everything looked fuzzy and bright, like the sun was tickling my eyelashes. Something 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 me like I was something fragile. Like a glass doll. I turned my head slowly, and— Papa. He was sitting on the bed right beside me, leaning close. His face was next to mine. His long, golden hair was all messy, falling over his cheek. His eyes were closed. He was sleeping. Papa never sleeps near me like this. He always tucks me in and goes away to his scary emperor stuff. But now... he was here. Hugging me like I might disappear. Did he take care of me 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 me. My chest felt weird and squishy. Then, suddenly—his eyes opened. Crimson eyes. Sharp like a lion’s. They landed right on me. 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 me 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 me back, careful but warm. So warm. I felt safe. Later, after Nanny heard I had woken up, she rushed in and immediately scooped me into her arms, hugging me tightly. She was crying. "I was so scared," she whispered into my hair, her voice trembling. "You scared me, 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 moments 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 punishment. Why? Because someone(who will not be named 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 something! 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 mean. Ugh. I slowly... very slowly... tried to sneak one arm down— "Put it back up." He didn’t even look at me!! I gasped so loudly I almost fell over. My arm shot back up like lightning. "If your hands go down again, your punishment time will increase." Excuse me??? Am I not his precious, most lovable, most beautiful, almost-drowned-and-totally-traumatized daughter?! Shouldn’t he be giving me hugs and cake and letting me nap on his chest??? Nope. He didn’t just punish me. 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. Time to try something 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 me. 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 punishment time 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 me like I was an unpaid intern. I groaned. Louder. Then I mumbled under my breath, very softly,"I want Grandpa..." "Triple the punishment." "...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. Someone 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 me. And I unleashed my most powerful weapon —The Big EyesTM. "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 shimmer with helpless beauty. Theon blinked. I threw all the innocent stars in my eyes at him, silently begging for mercy. I screamed 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 melting like butter on hot bread. Theon walked straight to Papa. "...Your Majesty," he said carefully, like someone 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 me 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 met. He saw me 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. "Come 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 me. He picked me up. Big. Warm. Safe. I beamed 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 me. 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 same man who looks at me 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 somewhere... just tell me. 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 me back my macaron.